An Invisible Battle
I love punctuation and proper grammar, but the semicolon on my left wrist is a message of affirmation to myself against suicide, depression, and anxiety. It means my story isn’t over yet.
September is National Suicide Prevention Month, and today, September 10, is National Suicide Prevention Day. My story isn’t more special than anyone else’s. I’m not a celebrity or a professional athlete with a platform to share my experience and change the lives of thousands of people with one tweet. Regardless of the platforms, a stigma remains about depression and suicide - particularly among men.
This week, Dallas Cowboys quarterback Dak Prescott shared his story about battling depression during the COVID-19 pandemic and after his brother died by apparent suicide in April. That’s bravery. Strong people share their trials, especially when it can help save lives. Yet, Skip Bayless said that talking about depression exhibits weakness for an NFL quarterback.
What. In. The. Actual. fuck?
Skip Bayless is a narcissist whose name will never be uttered by me again.
Dak’s story hit me hard. Just as hard as the deaths of Robin Williams, Anthony Bourdain, Chris Cornell, and Chester Benningfield. They were people I admired and who were hurting so much.
Sharing his story about depression will make him a better leader, not a worse leader. Hearing Skip’s words reminded me of one of the most difficult times of my life. I battled depression throughout high school because I didn’t have many friends. I was up and down in college until I met my future wife, Ashleigh because she was the first person that truly understood me and accepted me. My depression was manageable over the next few years, and it didn’t flare up again until I moved to Texas to work at Baylor University. A decade ago, I was a young go-getter in college athletics, and I put all my energy into my work. My work gave me value (in my eyes). At 27, I was promoted to Associate Director of Athletic Communications at Baylor. I was proud of that because I was rewarded for my hard work and dedication to the craft. However, that’s when workplace bullying started. I was one of three assistants (all male) who were the same age, yet I was the one who got promoted. It’s as if my promotion escalated it. My boss fed that insecurity by jumping in with them.
I was told - at one point - by an older coworker to “get over it and be a man” and to stop complaining about it. She said I was bringing a lot of it upon myself because I was vocal about mental health, my depression, and how active I was on Twitter.
I stopped going to lunch with them. I stopped talking to them at work. It was my self-preservation mechanism. If I put up a wall, then they couldn’t hurt me. I would put all my energy into my work with the men’s basketball team and being so good that my co-workers couldn’t ignore me. A few months later, I had a nervous breakdown at home. Not many people know (before this). I didn’t tell anyone at Baylor because I was afraid that would make the target bigger on my back. Aside from my a handful of times, I thought about suicide in high school, that breakdown and that toxic work environment almost led me to leave this planet.
Upon leaving Baylor for the University of Miami, I thought I was free from the bullying shackles. Even from 1,400 miles away, the bullying continued through social media. I stood up, and I shut them down. I don’t care what they think about me. I never waved in my belief that mental health was the most important thing in my life. I even penned a column for CoSIDA about my battle with depression. Ironically, it was written and published after I was told I was losing my job and ultimately ending my college athletics career for good.
I chose not to mention the names of those with whom I worked at Baylor. They don’t deserve to have their names written by me, but if you still work in college sports or worked in the profession, you won’t be surprised by the names that surface.
CHRIS! Your rambling doesn’t make any sense!
Thank you, internal monologue. My rambling is probably all over the place. The fact is: we are fighting an invisible battle. You don’t know what’s going on in someone’s life. There are more hate and anger now in our society than ever before. It makes more energy to be ugly to someone than it would if you were kind. Don’t be an asshole. Be kind, dammit. It’s not hard.
There are many more people like me and I know there are millions of people enduring excruciating pain that I can’t even imagine. We’re all hurting on some level. Don’t be the hurt person that hurts people. Be the hurt person that tries to uplift people.
I have a clearer head now because of Ashleigh’s unwavering love and support as well as the help of six - yes, six - different therapists throughout my life. Going to therapy isn’t bad either. It makes you better.
I will never be a Dak Prescott or Rachel Baribeau, but I know I want to make a difference. It may not seem like much, but I try to do a little bit every day.
How You Can Help
For the last few years, I’ve become involved in NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. I wish I could volunteer my time with this great organization, but all I can mentally do is help them raise money. I am raising money for NAMI through the 2020 NAMIWalks St. Tammany Virtual 5K on October 10. Last year, I raised more than $1,200, and I hope to exceed that amount this year. All money goes to helping NAMI support mental illness programs in our community.
While I am an author and I want to sell books, I want the proceeds to go to a good cause. If you use smile.amazon.com and select ‘NAMI’ or ‘NAMI St. Tammany’ as the charity of choice, a portion of the transaction will be donated to them. This may not seem like a lot, but it’s all I can do right now. I just want to do whatever I can do to make an impact.