Speak ...

I was incredibly saddened to hear of Wade Belacks death, one in a series this summer/spring of hockey-related suicides. I am not a Leaf's fan, did not know who Wade Belack was, and was completely unfamiliar of his career. I will make no attempt to convey that I know anything about hockey beyond what my brothers and Don Cherry have taught me. Nevertheless, I was both sad and frustrated to hear of his passing.

When I began to write this blog, I received a number of emails from friends and acquaintances who congratulated me, but expressed their surprise that I suffered from depression. To them, I came across as happy, funny and (relatively) outgoing. To me, my depression was so intense that I felt that it must be physically visible as well. I knew that this wasn't the case, but it could be so deep and crippling that I couldn't believe that others hadn't noticed. In retrospect I realize that there was no way they could have. I had become an excellent actress. If I needed to laugh and have fun, I usually could muster the energy. If I couldn't handle seeing people, I didn't go out. If I needed to leave early, I had excuses ready. If I couldn't cope, I didn't let anyone see me. Only my sister, mother and very close friends knew what was going on, and then only pieces of the whole story. I was responsible for keeping people in the dark with regards to what I was going through and how bad it became. Despite my outward appearance, I was often drowning in anxiety and depression.

Many of the articles and reports regarding Wade Belacks death mentioned his promising post NHL career. He had a number of irons in the fire, more so than many other retired professional sports players. He was scheduled to participate in the CBC show, "Battle of the Blades", and was pursuing sports commenting work. He was a father, a husband, and as teamates and colleagues recollected, "comedic, great personality, good looking and talented." In short, he had everything going for him.

The problem with depression is that, good fortune does not necessary alleviate or protect one from this illness. Neither does career success, age, colour, marriage, religion or gender. It rarely manifest itself physically. We can't see it on a bone scan, or diagnose it from a blood test. I'll never have a doctor point its location out exactly for me on an X-ray. What so many fail to realize is despite the lack of visual proof, mental illnesses are real, complex and can be crippling, confusing, and terrifying. In short, mental illness can be deadly. 

Talk about what is going on. Reach out to someone and explain. Don't assume. Ask questions. Stop judging (both yourself and others). It's the only way that we're going to all get through this.