*Content Warning: Depression, suicide, substance abuse*
The holidays can be a rough time for people. Most of us are focused on what’s going on up there at the North Pole, while others are busy trying to cope with seasonal depression and family stress. It’s very polarizing.
One of my earliest memories comes from holiday times. It’s not about gifts — even though the Nintendo Christmas was epic! — or even tragedy, really. Although my maternal grandfather did die from lung cancer the day before New Year’s Eve during my sophomore year. This memory is just me.
We were visiting my paternal grandparents, and they had a mirror with a little shelf for keys or mail, hanging right by their front door. One last chance to give yourself a once-over before going out into the world. I don’t remember if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas, but what I do remember is looking at myself in that mirror.
I was about six or seven. Stopped in front of that mirror with the night waiting for us outside, as parents talked to other adults over my head. Last goodbyes before leaving. In front of that mirror and I was looking at myself. The totality of my attention was focused on that face looking back at me. The world going on all around, but the only thing that existed in that moment was me looking at myself with one solitary thought echoing through my head: I hate you.
Maria Bamford came out with a book earlier this year (she also has a special on Apple TV coming out December 12th). She made the rounds to promote it, including a couple of podcast guest appearances. In each of those podcasts I listened to, she talked about how she took training to be a Peer Support Specialist. That all you needed was one year of lived experience dealing with mental health issues or in recovery for substance abuse, then you take a training class, and you can start working with others that are going through the same thing to try and help them.
This happened right around the time that one of the kids on my daughter’s dance team died by suicide. Everyone was thrown for a loop, and I was sort of on the outside of it all, since I’m not that ingrained into that community — what with my social anxiety, and all. I looked up some local resources and asked my wife to share them with the adult instructors and other parents on the team.
*And as I always used to mention on Better Band: you can always call 988 for the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, or text “HOME” to 741741.*
She was just 16, and I’ve fuckin been there, y’know... So, I looked into the training that Bamford had mentioned, and coincidentally, there was a class coming up. Just five bucks! It was for a whole week, but I had the vacation time at work to burn.
Since I had never heard of this thing before, I figured that no one else had either. I walked in expecting that there were going to be five total people there, tops. Nope. Twenty damn people!
Okay, I can handle this. We’re all in the same boat. We’re all dealing with our own shit, and we’re all here to ultimately try to help people. It’s going to be okay. I can do this.
The first thing we did was go around and introduce ourselves. We went around and talked about how we heard about peer support, and why we wanted to pursue the training. My side of the room started, and I didn’t know if the pressure of going early was worse than if I had to wait with anxious anticipation. As part of their introductions, people started to full-on go into their stories of recovery.
Now, writing and stories are something I’m comfortable with, but I’ve never really told my story before. I’ve never thought about my radioactive spider bite and becoming a wrestler and all that jazz. If you’ve gone to twelve step groups, you’ve probably gotten some practice telling your story. It’s like an open mic night, but with way fewer laughs. And the thing is, there aren’t really any groups like that if you’re depressed or anxious. Support groups are mainly relegated to substance use disorders and other addictive behaviors (OCD, sex, gambling, spending, etm.). Actually trying to get together like that in a room to talk to each other is kind of antithetical to that whole deal, y’know.
But we all go around, and I realize: I’m the only one here because of mental health struggles. I mean, I did my fair deal of self-medicating until I got prescribed actual medication and not 19th century “Here drink this so we can start amputating.” But it would be inauthentic for me to try to trade in that phase of my journey for that chip. I couldn’t help but feel like I was just being a whinny baby compared to everyone else that actually went though some shit.
And it’s not necessarily that I didn’t think that I belonged there — that I was in the wrong class, or misunderstood the purpose of who can be a Peer Recovery Support Specialist. Recovery is right there in the name, so that was huge a clue. But again, maybe it’s just because I never looked into it, but there aren’t really communities for people dealing with their mental health, right?
There is a Recovery Community — there are meetings and everything. People can talk and find things out and share knowledge when they get together. Being a PRSS is something that is obviously a known quantity for the people in those communities — I sat in a room full of that fact. For us nomadic Debbie Downers, we have to build from the ground up any community that we want to have. Movies would have me believe that if you’re an inpatient at a mental healthcare facility, then you get some group time. But those are some pretty serious lengths to go to get some face time with people who are struggling in the same way you are.
During the week of training, I had some contributions to discussions that I felt helped to elucidate some concepts. I had good interactions with everyone that I forced myself to talk to. At no point was I made to feel like I didn’t belong — like I was an imposter. There was just this feeling.
A feeling like I was being judged. Like I was being looked at with disdain and ire like I was looking at myself in the mirror in my earliest memory and holy shit, did I just have a breakthrough?...
I don’t really know where to go from here after that. It’s almost a sort of cliffhanger, but not strong enough to end on. There should be some sort of resolution after that revelation. But I guess sometimes stories — just like Recovery — are always going to be a work in progress.
-bcp
Make sure you’re taking care of yourselves as we get into this stress ridden part of the year. It’s okay to not be around people that bug the fuck out of you, even if there is some sort of social norm that obligates you taking part in a gathering that includes them. Life’s too short on time and too long in suffering to force yourself into emotional contortions so that you can do the dance of appeasing the feelings of others at the cost of your own mental health.
Here’s a song for you by the band Slothrust that has me kicking myself, because my band never thought to do this cover. They’re going on tour at the beginning of the year, and you better believe I’m gonna check them out when they come to Reno!