In defence of not being okay

Trigger Warning: This piece discusses suicide.

In Australia, the second Thursday of September is known as, R U OK? Day. It is a National Day of Action that encourages people to reach out to their friends and family to have frank and supportive conversations about mental health. Being the bloody good bloke that he is, every year, on this day, my mate Azzy messages me to do just that. Normally, I’m happy to receive Azzy’s message, as it acts as an excuse for us to have a little catch up. This year, however, I was dreading it.

Because, frankly, I’m not okay.

In a word, I’m not okay because of pain. Low back pain, muscles spasms, and nerve pain known as sciatica that has my right leg oscillating back and forth between being completely numb to riddled with sharp pangs that often make it hard to walk, stand, and sit. There’s also SI joint pain, hip pain, pins and needles, nerve twitches, and a sort of aching restless-leg throb. Depending on the day these symptoms range from bothersome to excruciating. And they come and go seemingly at random. The only thing that’s consistent is that, in one form or another, there’s always pain.

For close to a year now, this has been my ‘new normal’. And it’s becoming unbearable. The pain itself is bad enough, but what it’s done to my life is worse. It feels like I’ve been tied up and made to watch as the pain sets fire to everything I once knew. Not only is sitting essentially impossible due to the agony it causes, but even something as innocuous as sneezing is now a terrifying prospect. Imagine then, how hard it is to go out in the world to do everyday things. Driving to work? You’re dreaming! Going out for dinner? Good luck! Grocery shopping, visiting family and friends, going skateboarding? No, no, and double no! Okay, what about simply finding a comfortable position I can stay in for more than half an hour so I can write? HA!

It’s hard to explain what it’s like to watch from the sidelines as the world carries on without you. Peering out from your pain-induced bubble, the world begins to seem more and more alien. Sheltering from it’s harsh reality, you can’t imagine being part of such a place ever again. And even if you could, you know every outing would have to be negotiated from within the pain’s rigid constraints. And so, your world shrinks. Moving from your bed to the toilet, and from the kitchen back to your bed – the despair of living out an agonising sort of Groundhog Day sets in.

Roughly a year ago, I published a 12-part series on Substack, which documented my first bout with chronic pain; so, in a sense, you’d think I’d be handling this better. You’d think I’d be able to stay positive even though I’ve spent thousands of dollars seeking various treatments, none of which have offered any respite. You’d think I’d be able to stay upbeat as one medical professional after another shrugs their shoulders, and says in sympathetic tones, “Yeah, backs are tough.” You’d think that going through that first ordeal would’ve bolstered me to deal with this one. But it hasn’t. Instead, as the months go by and the pain remains, I feel myself losing hope. And as much as I wish this wasn’t the case, feeling defeated in this way has led me to have intrusive thoughts about suicide.

Gavin Larkin started R U OK? Day in 2009 to honour his father who died by suicide. Unfortunately, despite Larkins efforts, suicide rates have continued to rise in many parts of the world, including Australia. I was planning to share some alarming statistics to highlight that fact, but I decided against it as it feels cold to reduce a person’s life to a number. There was also the problem that different websites gave different statistics. One thing I found that seemed unanimous, though, was that a major factor impacting many suicide victims is social isolation and loneliness. And it’s important to note, that some of these victims may not appear socially isolated, but they may still feel that way.

I have seen this issue play out before. See, I used to work on construction sites. And while there were plenty of idiots on those sites who did a whole bunch of macho posturing, what I saw when I looked in the eyes of many of those men was the same defeat I feel now. These guys were stuck. Trapped by the momentum of their earlier decisions. Saddled with debt. And imprisoned by their inability to conceive of a way out of what they saw as a rigged system. Throw a divorce, a sick loved one, addiction issues, or their own injury into the equation, and suddenly, these guys were battling with things you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Worse still, they didn’t know how to communicate how they felt. Being vulnerable like that just wasn’t done. So, they shut up about it. Choosing instead to toil away next to another guy struggling with similar issues. That is, until one of them, didn’t rock up to work. Within days we’d find out they’d become another statistic. Beyond the shock, sadness, and confusion of such situations, what always struck me was that, still – no one talked about it. Instead, solemn silence steeped the air for a day or two. And then, things went back to normal. Until another one of our mates offed themselves.

Those experiences always left me wondering what would’ve happened if those guys felt like they had someone to talk to. Would things have been different if they’d been able to make one genuine connection? And while no one can ever know for sure, those experiences highlight an issue with campaigns like R U OK? Day – they are only helpful if people feel like they can actually talk about such things. And far too often that’s simply not the case. I mean, it’s hard to break through social stigmas. And it’s even harder when you’re not in a good headspace. I even said at the beginning of this essay that I was dreading receiving that message from Azzy because I didn’t want to delve into all the uncomfortable stuff going on with me. I didn’t want to burden my friend. I didn’t want to seem as though I was complaining. And I didn’t want to admit that life feels too much right now. But what I realised is that I was adopting the same approach as the guys on site. And frankly, I don’t want to follow their lead. I also realised that others might feel more comfortable talking about their struggles if they hear from someone whose also in the thick of it. And so, even though I’m terribly ill-equipped to do so, and even though it feels terribly uncomfortable – I’ve decided to talk about how I’ve been feeling.

I’m not exactly sure when the first intrusive thought appeared, but I know that each time another treatment fails to help the thoughts get worse. It’s not just that more appear, or that they get louder, it’s that they become more compelling. So much so that over the last few months they’ve morphed from thoughts into fantasies. Fantasies that offer some sort of psychic solace from the emotional turmoil of being in constant pain. And it scares me. It scares me that I get lost in these fantasies. It scares me that they provide a sense of comfort. And it scares me how elaborate they’ve become. Having grappled with these thoughts for a while, I’ve started to see suicide differently. Before I used to think of it as a choice people made. One where, eventually, it all gets too much, and people decide to end it to escape their suffering. But now, I see it as a force that envelops someone. As if the circumstances of a person’s life get so dire that they find themselves sucked into the orbit of a blackhole. And there’s nothing around to grab onto. There are no ropes or footholds they can clasp to resist the gravitational pull of that dark pit. The force is simply too strong. And suddenly, what once looked like a choice, now seems like an inevitability. In my darkest moments that’s how I’ve felt.

But then. . .

The cats run to the door, the key jiggles in the lock, and Evie walks in. Smiling at me, her cheeks glow with the cheer of a cartoon chipmunk. Stretching her arms out wide, I collapse into her embrace. Holding her, really holding her, I have to stifle my tears. Not because I’m sad, but because her love is so redeeming, so relieving, so restorative that she makes me feel like not only can I bear this shit, but that with her, for her, I can bear anything. They say a blackhole is a dead star that has collapsed under its own gravity, and if that’s true, then Evie is the opposite. She is the sun. The centre of my universe. The antidote to the darkness. A warm, life-giving, supernova whose radiance renews my hope. Not wanting to let her go, I extend our hug longer than normal, which prompts Evie to ask, “Are you okay?” To which, I think, I am now.

I didn’t want to write this piece. I really didn’t. But after recognising the profound impact Evie has on me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all the people who are struggling with such things alone. And so, while I hate to be proscriptive, this is my call to arms. If you are okay, and you feel safe and capable to do so, reach out to someone. I’m not going to tell you how to reach out, or what to say, because I don’t know what the best approach is. All I know is that no one should feel as though they are alone in their struggles.

And if you don’t feel okay right now, then please understand, there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, in this crazy, fucked-up world, it seems not only reasonable, but expected, that from time to time we’re not going to be okay. If you’re having intrusive thoughts, please remember that you are not your thoughts. You are something much greater than your thoughts. And finally, please know that there is no shame in asking for help. To ask for help, is to embrace your humanness. It is to acknowledge reality as it is. And it is to create a space to let others in. And what I’ve found is that when your vulnerable enough to open yourself up like that, the love you receive is a force that transcends all others. I mean, fuck, Evie has been putting my socks on, cutting my toenails, and caring for me in ways that in one sense has made me feel enfeebled and weak, but in another sense, it has made me feel so held and supported and loved. And I truly believe that kind of love can heal anything.

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In the name of mental health, I am, as of right now, taking a break from Substack. So, I’ll catch ya’s when I return. Thank you all, for your kind words and support. Your companionship means a lot.

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