My brother Craig is 4 1/2 years younger than me. He's also one my of dearest friends. He asked me if he could write a post for my blog. I was thrilled. What a wonderful idea! He's written a beautiful post on the beginnings of my struggle with depression from the view of his child's mind. He has great insight and great advice and I'm so grateful he's willing to share with me, with us. So without further ado, I present my Craig:
In the beginning, I was the youngest child. I had an older brother and sister. Sometime at the beginning of my memories, another baby appeared in our home. A long time later, after moving to another state, another baby brother was born. A shorter time later, yet another baby brother was born. The new babies in the family, as cute and fun as they were, were not as important to me as my older siblings. I know that sounds awful, but I basically idolized my older brother and sister. I think it must have been around this time that Sara started suffering from depression. I don’t know for sure the time period, but if she was 14, then I was only 10. I guess part of the reason… probably a huge part of the reason is that I had no idea that was happening.
More years passed. I was in sixth grade, in elementary school, when situations started developing. I know it was sixth grade because Gregory Marsh was one of my friends through this. After sixth grade we weren’t friends anymore, but that’s a story for another time.
I like food. Always have. It’s physically apparent how much I like food. Even clear back in the sixth grade, I liked food. I remember one day that I was in the kitchen and needed a knife to cut some food. I opened the knife drawer. There were no knives. I couldn’t find a single knife in the entire house. These things just don’t disappear. Turns out the knives in the house weren’t the only items to go missing. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was also empty. I was 11, pushing 12 years old. I know 11 and 12 year old kids aren’t too smart, and my young mind just couldn’t figure this out.
Maybe it was the same day, or another day close to it, but Sara, my older brother, and I slept outside in the backyard under the stars. Sure, it was fun, but something wasn’t adding up. This wasn’t a party. What was going on?
Sometime later one evening, Sara and my mom and dad were in some kind of frenzy. At least that’s the way it seemed to me. The next thing I know, my dad is taking a suitcase out to the car and the three of them are gone. Sara didn’t come home. No matter how young and simple a mind may be, your idol doesn’t leave unexplained, and life continues as normal.
I must have asked or said something because I learned that Sara had been taken to a Neuropsychiatric Institute. Like I knew what that meant. Yeah, I was young and simple… but not that young and simple. The following Sunday, after church, my mom and brother and I went to visit Sara in this place. It was totally strange to me. Suffice to say, it was a horrible experience for me. I had no idea what was going on, but I needed to. I could understand; I just needed an explanation. Osmosis tends to be ineffective. After we left our visit, I had a come apart. SOMEBODY EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT IS HAPPENING. I KNOW SOMETHING IS WRONG. But I didn’t know what it was.
Finally, my mom and I had a conversation. Things started to make more sense… more sense, not complete sense. It will never make complete sense because as far as I could see, Sara was totally and completely normal. She was happy (on the outside). She did everything that I thought a normal teenager—and a good person—would do. How could she be so sad on the inside yet so happy and normal on the outside? I still don’t know. I guess that is was makes depression and other mental illnesses so destructive and devastating. They work on the inside, not the outside.
I’ve had sad days. I’ve had several sad days consecutively. I’ve had days when I get home from work and crash and cry for no darn reason. But… but I will never pretend to feel the depth that Sara has described in this blog. I think I understand her words, and it breaks my heart to know that she and others are suffering so deeply… on the inside. I wish I knew some magical words to say to make everything better, but I don’t. I doubt the words exist. I love my sister. Sometimes I have hated her, but if I didn’t love her, then the things I hated her for wouldn’t have mattered.
Like Sara has mentioned about some of the topics she has written about, I have never talked about this. I’m not entirely sure what my point is with this post other than to say it… put it on the internet for everyone in the world to see. 1) I think I deserved to know from the beginning what was happening. Never underestimate the resilience of a young person’s mind. Oh well. I know now and that’s good enough. 2) Because of my job, I go through suicide prevention trainings regularly. It kills me when people don’t take mental illness seriously. It is absolutely serious and very real. A person with depression cannot simply “perk up” because someone told them to. Enough with the stigma! 3) Support! Support! Support! I don’t always know what to say, but saying nothing can be just as damaging. This needs to be talked about. 4) As I’ve written about before on my own blog, it’s about love. Love binds us together… no matter what. And if we ever break that bond, then there truly is no hope.
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