Hello. My Name Is Jack. I Have A Mental Illness.

If you know about it, you're well along the road to understanding me.

We’re all broken. It’s how the light gets in.

• Ernest Hemingway

If you know me, you know that I’ve dealt with depression quite likely for my entire life. I don’t know why, and I wish my life weren’t that way, but there it is. Sometimes I can manage it. Sometimes it manages me. And there’s often no way to know ahead of time which side of the equation I’m going to find myself on.

Sometimes depression will be off doing its own thing for weeks or months at a time, only to settle down next to me when I least expect it. It never announces itself, never provides a warning or prepares me for its sudden reappearance. Then, one day depression reappears, acting as if it’s the most natural thing to tapdance its way back into my life. Then it begins blowing things up, and my carefully constructed reality comes crashing down around me.

It’s a part of myself I wish I could carve out and cast to the four winds…and yet it can be part and parcel of my creative process. I’m able to continue writing through depression, though it’s a coping mechanism, not a way to chase away the blues. What does suffer is my guitar playing, and when I realized yesterday that I’ve barely touched any of my guitars over the past three months, it was an indication that something was not copacetic in Denmark.

I know that I’m a pretty intelligent guy. I’ve taken the IQ tests, and I can hold my own when it comes to discussing arcane topics that interest me. Yet when depression has me in its grips, I feel fat, ugly, and stupid. My self-image and self-esteem are both lower than a snake’s belly, and my desire and ability to interact with others- even friends and family- plummet to nearly zero. I find it difficult to imagine anyone wanting anything to do with me.

Depression can force my energy level to the point where it’s tough to want to do anything. For instance, right now, I’d love nothing more than to crawl into a hole, pull the cover over it, and let the world pass by me.

Sometimes I feel stupid.

I very often feel as if people around me think I’m stupid.

I frequently think I’m “less than” those around me.

Sometimes I feel weak.

Sometimes I feel incapable of dealing with even the simplest tasks.

I worry that people will see through my excuse that I’m an introvert and realize I’m actually an asshole.

Sometimes I feel defeated and overwhelmed.

Sometimes I struggle to make even the most basic decisions.

Sometimes I have to reschedule or cancel events or appointments because I don’t feel I have the strength or courage to make it through.

I can’t tell you how often I’ve begged out of commitments at the last minute- even things I’ve been excited about- because I didn’t feel as if I was in a place where I could deal with people as if I was their equal.

There are things I can do and am doing to pull myself out of this dark place. First, I’m looking for a counselor (sadly, the one I’d been seeing died suddenly of a heart attack). I’m also trying to get a handle on my medication, which is always a challenge. I recently changed medications because I didn’t enjoy the sexual side effects even though it was working reasonably well. The medicine we moved me onto has no sexual side effects but leaves me feeling emotionally wrecked. It’s a constant juggling act.

Over the past 35 years, I’ve been through more psychotropic medications than I can remember. I’ve become a walking pharmacopeia as various doctors and I have tried to find the magic bullet that stabilizes me emotionally without any unpleasant side effects. It’s a process not unlike trying to nail Jell-O to a wall- with all the attendant frustrations and setbacks.

Part of what I’m dealing with now is the product of a medication-related setback. And part of it is that, after all these years, I’m still dealing with the same demons. They’ve never gone away. Now and again, they reappear to remind me they’re still around and can @#$% with me anytime they see fit.

I wish this wasn’t my reality. I wish I was “normal,” but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that normal is aspirational, not actual or realistic. We spend our lives chasing a state of being that doesn’t exist, all in the hopes of being something we’re not and can never be.

That said, this is about how I’m feeling. It doesn’t define me. Of that much I’m certain.

I’m sharing this not because I’m into oversharing. Or because I’m looking for sympathy. I’m doing it because this is who I am; these are the demons I wrestle with. This is my “normal,” and I know I’m not alone. I want to do what’s within my power to normalize mental illness until it no longer carries a stigma.

I’m not ashamed of my mental illness, even though there are times I feel as if I’d give anything not to be this way. Yet I AM this way, and I can no more change that than reverse how the Earth orbits the sun.

I’m sharing this for the people like me who can’t. I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I know I’m not the only person fighting this battle. If I can somehow help or make things just a little bit better for one person, then putting myself through this will have been worth it.

This is who I am.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll take a few seconds and join the party via a paid subscription. While you’re at it, why not forward this to a few like-minded friends who might also enjoy it!! You can also donate via Venmo (@Jack-Cluth).