Mental Health

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It was a fun early-Summer day. We were relaxed. Life was good.

Our kids had started to come home form school. We were always thinking about them, but knew they were head-strong and pushing hard.

The fire pit had been set up with all of the chairs. It’s not a huge area, but it’s very peaceful. A little tucked into the corner of our lot. The pine trees jet out far enough that, if you’re on the sidewalk, you have to be looking in order to see us.

It’s where we go when the weather allows.

This spring day, we were just getting everything set up. Our daughter had just walked in the house after a 2-hour drive from Bowling Green. She went outside and had a nice long chat with her mom. It’s the kind of chat you don’t want to interrupt. So, I didn’t – until I got hungry.

“Hey, it’s almost time to eat”… I got crickets.

A few more minutes pass by and I said to them, “What pizza do you want me to order? I’ll buy, you fly”… I didn’t hear anything.

So, I walked out to the fire pit and Connie and Jess said that I should sit down. “She’s pregnant!”, I thought to myself.

Jess looked at me and said, “I have mental health issues”.

I had no idea what that meant and couldn’t think of what to say.

“What do you mean?” I felt sick to my stomach.

“The university health system diagnosed it as ‘depersonalization and de-rationalization’.” “Some days all I can do is cry”. “Other days, I feel like I’m not in my body. I feel like my face isn’t real”. “Some days feel normal”.

What? I’ll admit was scared.

“Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”.

“Yes!”

Shit just got real.

How can that happen?

She’s always so happy. She’s always on top of her studies and she’s going to Europe for six months. [insert record screeching here] She’s not going to Europe. How could she? Why would she? It won’t work. We can’t be that far way from her.

What? Now, I started to panic.

“What can we do?”

“How can we fix this?” “We’ll get you an appointment wherever you want”.

That day we started our journey with mental illness. It’s caused me to look back on family history and even my own experiences. I thought I was just being weak at the time. There was more to it than that. I was really struggling but couldn’t identify it.

My daughter, once again, did what no doctor could ever do. She opened my eyes.

This story has a happy ending. She made it to Europe. She made it to therapy. She got her meds at the appropriate level. I want you to have a happy ending, as well.