Modern Boheme | October 2021: (Some of) My Mental Health Journey

Trigger warning for strong language, talk of depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation.

Shit. We were stuck in the mud.

Let me take a step back. My partner and I went on another (much shorter) camper van trip upstate New York this past weekend and as we pulled into our campsite, the van got stuck in the mud. Mind you, this was a 9-foot tall camper van on an incline near a tree with branches that made it difficult to back up and the ground was covered in slippery leaves. To say it was a feat is an understatement, but it was also largely okay. What struck me the most was how calm I was the entire time and how not stressed I felt about it.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever gotten a van out of the mud before, but it somehow felt like it was going to be fine. And it was. Which made me flash to this post that I knew I needed to write and suddenly now had some inspiration and direction. Dealing with my mental health over the decades has felt a lot like having a vehicle stuck in the mud.

Sometimes, it was a bicycle.

Sometimes it was a bus.

But every time I can recall feeling seen or feeling like everything would be okay, all I can think about is the people who were with me. Sometimes they were with me physically, but a lot of times they were also with me from afar. They checked on me and I confided in them. I could be despondent, angry, unmotivated, on edge, and anxious and there were a handful of people who still showed up and still called and still listened. And it’s the listening that is really the key. Unlike with the van, I didn’t often need anyone to help me and I didn’t want to problem solve. What I needed more than anything was someone with me who was present and validated whatever I felt and however it came up.

When I lived in Los Angeles, I fantasized about suicide quite a bit. I never made any plans to carry it out, but my life was in a really rough place and I could not see a way to get it out of being stuck in the mud. This was a bus if anything ever was. I wished, more than anything, to not have to be the person to figure it out. I wished to not have to make decisions anymore. Adulthood should come with a hazard warning and hazard pay because this shit is hard as fuck.

Even still, I survived it and gradually the thoughts faded. But what stands out the most as I think back was that one of my friends knew this and she didn’t balk or panic or anything. She just listened and validated me and called me and that was enough to get me through the next day and the one after that.

During the pandemic I developed anxiety, which was a new vehicle, and I finally got a therapist. Therapy helps me identify the vehicles and identify a toolbox, but it is still work. Sometimes, I don’t feel like work and I don’t feel like getting out of the mud and I’m reminded that it is okay to rest and regroup. The most important tool in my tool box is knowing that I have a whole host of people by my side to sit with me.

in health,

Also, this blog post is late because I decided that my mental health and enjoying my weekend road trip with my partner were more important than trying to write on the road with spotty internet. I hope it still resonates with you.