Hope.
Once gone.
Something I’ll never lose again.
Hope.
Hold.
On.
Pain.
Ends.
Holding onto the hope.
That I would get the help I need.
On my knees begging.
For professional advice I can heed.
Pain endures.
Ending a life I would never get back.
They say hold on to hope.
It gets better, they say.
Nothing will get better.
With so many barriers in my way.
If I don’t learn how to cope.
With my traumas and PTSD.
If I don’t learn how to manage.
My Depression and Anxiety.
If I don’t learn more about.
What triggers me.
Or how to manage my late-in-life diagnosis.
Of ADHD.
All hope will be lost.
And that comes at a cost.
Here I am.
One year later.
And I’m happy to say.
That is a cost.
I am never willing to pay.
But I couldn’t live like that any longer.
It had to get better.
I had to find a way.
I didn’t have hope yet.
But I did have tenacity.
I had love and support.
From my wife, friends, work, and family.
Everyone just wanting the best for me.
So I went to the ER.
After things had gone too far.
Then off to the psychiatric hospital.
To stop the spiral.
My stay there was brief.
About 5 days or so.
I was scared.
Wanting relief.
But the smell of my room.
Triggered my PTSD beyond belief.
I wanted to go.
I had enough of the psych ward.
But I fought for this help.
If I quit because it was scary.
I’d feel like a coward.
So I stayed and I learned.
From everyone around me.
What I learned was.
These people in here with me.
These people are not crazy.
A notion I admit I once thought.
They are just like me.
Feeling broken and distraught.
So I stayed and I learned.
Each one of them taught.
Me that I’m not alone in this struggle.
That what we’re going though is hard.
We can’t do it alone.
So we worked as a group.
On the skills we needed to hone.
CBT, DBT, group, and experiential therapies.
Day in and day out.
Until it was safe to go home.
I thought I was safe.
That I learned enough to be on my way.
Was my mental illness even bad enough.
To warrant that stay?
This was not a healthy mentality.
That much I knew.
I knew I needed more help.
To maintain my sanity.
I signed up for an IOP.
To stop the negative self-talk.
From running through me.
Just before I started with my new group.
Delusional thinking hit the scene.
I was thrown for a loop.
These thoughts took me over.
I really believed.
My wife, my family, my friends, the police.
Were all conspiring against me.
These thoughts lasted.
For more than a day.
When I finally came back to reality.
I was so scared of losing control.
Scared that this illness had become all consuming.
Scared of what became of me.
I knew it was time.
It was time for more intensive therapy.
So I fought to get into.
A residential program in Tennessee.
It took so much hard work.
It took everything I had.
To even show up.
But I remember feeling glad.
Glad that.
After a lifetime of suffering.
I finally saw a light.
The light I saw.
Was shining so bright.
The light was the women.
Fighting for their right.
We were all fighting for our right.
To live a happy life.
Those women.
Their stories.
Their fight.
Our stories.
Our fight.
Those women.
They changed my life.
Generous and kind.
Their courage was inspirational.
The affirmations they shared.
Incredibly motivational.
They motivated me to share my story.
Something I feared my whole life.
I feared speaking in public.
Especially when speaking.
Of matters that caused me such strife.
But these women.
I saw the strength that they had.
After everything they’d been through.
They bravely said all the words that needed to be said.
Their bravery gave me hope.
Hope that I could share too.
I mustered the strength.
Still so sure I would choke.
My heart raced.
I breathed deeply.
I spoke.
The words fell heavy in the room that day.
My voice trembled as I spoke.
But somehow I mustered the courage.
To get through what I needed to say.
It was uncomfortable.
It didn’t feel real.
But deep down I knew.
It was something I needed to do.
In order to heal.
The women around me.
Sat quiet.
And listened.
To what I had to say.
Regardless of how much.
My nerves got in my way.
Then those women.
They rallied.
So much kindness and love.
They showed their support.
With three second hugs.
The time that I spent.
In Tennessee.
Completely changed.
Life for me.
I needed this treatment.
I knew it deep down in my gut.
Lifelong friendships were formed.
Over deep conversations and popsicles.
Inside the smokers hut.
The therapists, staff, and residents.
All made me feel.
What it’s like to be present.
What it looks like to heal.
My time came to an end.
I went home once again.
With my new skills in tow.
And with a new affirmation.
I thought you should know.
I am calm.
I am competent.
I am confident.
I said it.
Over and over again.
Until I believed it.
It took me a year.
But finally I’m here.
I am at the place.
Where I can say.
That affirmation in the mirror.
Right to my face.
And finally believe it.
My affirmation is something.
That brings me great peace.
The work is not over.
Far from it I say.
I still put in the work.
Every.
Single.
Day.
To curate the life I deserve.
To keep the Depression and Anxiety at bay.
The pain is still here.
But because of the work that I put in.
Pain is something I no longer fear.
My mental illness isn’t gone.
But it’s not all consuming.
I know what I’m doing.
I have hope that I can handle.
The struggles I will surely face.
I have hope that just maybe.
If I share my story with others.
The world just might become.
An even brighter place.
That dark hole I was in.
Replaced with black ink on my skin.
Reading ‘hope’ for all to see.
A hope - that will always be a part of me.
Hold.
On.
Pain.
Ends.
I no longer believe.
Hold.
On.
People.
Endure.
That is the hope that I see.
EH.