When I was a little boy, as is so common for children, my parents were my idols. I wanted nothing more than to come home from elementary school with a decent grade on a quiz or test and for them to say they were proud of me, especially my dad. I always wanted him to be proud of me, and he was someone who I wanted to completely mimic. That was until he got sick.
One day my mother called upstairs for my brother and I to come downstairs and have a family meeting. Now, I don’t think any kid likes to hear that, so my brother and I were already on edge going downstairs. What came next was a conversation about how my dad’s life now had a timer on it. He was diagnosed with COPD emphysema, only this wasn’t new, he had had it for years, and my parents were just waiting to tell us. I was just barely old enough to understand the weight of that conversation.
Life was normal for a while after that, but a while only lasts so long. About one year after first hearing about my dad’s disease, the changes appeared in full swing. He went from a kind and gentle father to a stranger. It started with him and my mother getting into arguments daily, this eventually led to emotional abuse as he continued to lose cognitive function as well. Sometimes it was him telling us he hated us, sometimes he would hit us, and sometimes the words he said had a bigger effect on us than any slap or punch. This continued for a while, a lot longer than any of us, or any doctor for that matter, could believe.
Towards the end, my dad’s cognitive ability was minimal. He couldn’t form sentences, he couldn’t read, and we had to spoon feed him. After he passed, I was going through quite a lot of emotional baggage, and I didn’t know how to react to it. I would shut myself away from everyone and never talk about how I felt. He used to be my hero, but then he turned into something different. For about two years, I was barely surviving. I hardly ate, was on medication, and had a drug abuse problem. At one point I even tried to take my life. This happened on 2 December 2021.
Afterwards I briefly stayed at a hospital in Missouri where I finally opened up to someone. What was the worst that could happen? I was already willing to die. This is what I thought going into therapy; however, I’m glad to say that I was wrong. I finally learned how to express myself when I was at my worst. I talked about issues that I never told anybody, not even my family, and at first, I thought it didn’t help. However, as the sessions went by, I started to come around to the idea that maybe I could be okay. The kind of okay where I could get out of the house. The kind of okay where I could laugh again. The kind of okay where I could have friends. After I left the hospital and school started back up, I noticed that I was starting to find it easier to motivate myself to achieve smaller goals. I started re-evaluating myself and saw that there was a chance for a better life. Six months later I had graduated from high school with good grades and a plan for my life going forward, which was new for me.
I learned quite a bit through the whole journey. Most importantly, it’s okay to talk about your feelings. If I hadn’t done that, I might not be here today, but I’m thankful that I am. Now I make it a point to advocate for everyone’s mental health as it is sorely neglected still to this day. No matter how much emotions are bottled up, they’re still there. Sometimes traumatic events are tough to speak about, but that’s the only way that healing can take place. I also learned the importance of my physical health. I started to eat better and more often, which lead me to having a stable weight. A situation in which I had no hope, with my idol falling from grace, eventually led me to the point where I’m at now, not perfect, but I wake up smiling every day.
