The day was dazzling and I tried to rise halfway to meet it. Children’s laughter floated up into the air over the sparkling pool water as I drifted by on my daughter’s unicorn float. And right there, in the middle of Summer at the Pool: The Movie, the horrible little thought invaded like a demon ninja. Why don’t you just put your face in the water and keep it there?

Now, I knew I was riding low. But until suicidal ideation opened up its nasty trap, I didn’t realize how much my depression was muscling up. This is my superpower, except when it’s not: my mental health can have more holes than Swiss cheese, but you wouldn’t know it because I’m still going to get the project done, pick up my kid, and have dinner on the table.

Earlier in the summer, I figured, blue skies, sunshine, secure employment…safe time to go back to my reliable old low dose of meds. I didn’t figure on the family and I Going Through Some Things just as my work stress crested high. I definitely didn’t figure on the global pandemic kicking back up again into its highest gear yet, leaving me to feel like a caricature of a hermit as I head down to work in my basement office, again, safe but alone. 

But is it really possible to be safe if you feel alone? Safe from COVID, yes, which matters a lot. But as my deviating-into-darkness brain reminds me, there’s more to safety than the physical. And the physical can look fine, while hiding a maelstrom. It’s like the old iceberg metaphor, except in some people, there can be no iceberg showing above the water, or maybe just enough that it looks like the crest of a wave. 

My friend Dan was an iceberg-crest-of-wave type of guy. I met Dan at the beginning of my career, a time when I was desperately seeking direction as I struggled through a rather epic quarter-life crisis. Dan was a sales guy and I was in charge of marketing at my hometown ice rink, which meant I sat through regular pitches from the Dan’s of local radio stations, newspapers and free grocery store magazines. They ranged from well-meaning to obnoxious, focused not on us, but on selling their pre-packaged thing and getting our money for it. 

But Dan was a listener. He’d come to us initially to see if we’d be interested in a package of year-round radio spots. My boss and I explained that the price tag was too high and that our business was cyclical – we needed airtime in the colder months of the year. Dan wasn’t even an iota of a jerk about our refusal. He called us a few days later, and explained that another of his clients only needed advertising in the warmer months. We split the package and Dan became a part of the regular rink crew, stopping by every month or so to check in on the advertising he continued to tailor for us. 

Once we’d talked business, Dan and I would always spend a few moments chatting. I heard about his love for his wife and his grown son, and over time, I heard hints and shadows of his demons. Decades before, Dan had been sucked into disaster when the Silver Bridge  collapsed. As a seventeen year old, he went down to the riverbank to see what was causing the commotion and wound up pulling bodies out of the river. I, a casual work friend, knew the images of that day never left him. But I also knew how much he loved his wife and his son. I knew how conscientious he was, and how easily and thoroughly he surpassed anyone I’d ever seen doing sales, with his genuine care, sharp mind and diligent work ethic. 

I was heading out the door when Dan stopped by unannounced one day. We chatted for a few moments in the parking lot, before I headed out on my errand and Dan went inside to talk with my boss and the rest of the crew. I didn’t think anything of it. Dan made a point of checking in with us regularly. 

The next day Dan’s boss came to see me. Clutching a wad of Kleenex in her hand, she told me in a shaking voice that Dan had died of suicide. He’d visited every single one of his clients the day before, and left his wife with a neat packet of insurance and financial information. His wife had no idea Dan had been having suicidal ideations. I don’t think anyone did. 

I can’t speak for Dan. I can’t tell you why. I can tell you, his death left a hole in our rink community, multiplied by the dozens of communities he worked with, multiplied a million times over in the lives of his wife and his son and everyone who loved him, multiplied who knows how many times in the lives of all the people like me who called him their friend. I don’t think Dan realized those dozens and hundreds and thousands of holes that would appear in so many people’s lives when he was gone from the world. 

I don’t want to leave holes. I don’t want to even consider it. I live with a chronic illness called a mood disorder and it’s a pain in the ass, but I’ve had this stupid thing long enough that I know what to do. I called my psychiatrist and upped my meds. I reached out to a few friends and my husband and told them about the demon thought ninja. I told on myself to my therapist and made plans to see her more frequently. I saw friends, like actually saw them, and felt like a starving plant drinking in the sun, so close I could’ve touched their laughing faces. Are you impressed? Dammit, I am. Carrie Fisher used to joke about how she won awards for being the best bipolar woman alive. I want to add a bipolar excellency award to my working mama ones.

Not going to lie to you, this is going to be a scary blog to hit “Publish” on. But unless we talk about these things, kick the stigma out, to quote the Lorax, “Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

Crisis Text Line – text “HOME” to 741741 in the US & Canada. Free 24/7 support, with crises of all kinds.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – call 1-800-273-8255 in the US. Free, confidential support 24/7.

You can find a list of global mental health resources here and a list of all (and I mean allllll) kinds of mental and emotional health resources here.

People who know me: don’t panic. Really. Text, email or FB message if you like….but no calls, please and thank you, appreciate the thought but I’m not a phone call person. I’m doing better and I will be good again. Remember I am way more blabby than 99% of people you know about hard stuff. So be kind to all your folks, you know? XO.

Photo credits: dock girl by Sasin Tipchai, candle hands by Myriams-Fotos. Both from Pixabay.