Men's Group

I find, as long as I communicate very honestly about things that have happened, I get a lot of feedback, support, and some surprises too.

I called up my best friend the day after I was discharged from the psychiatric day program, and told him a lot of gory details. I was afraid what he would say, and think. And that maybe that was the last time I would hear from him. Instead, we've been talking a lot more than we had, previously I would hear from him every few months, now we're talking every 10 days, two weeks, and it's nice and helps me a lot. And I think it helps him, too, his wife is struggling with MS.

When I finally told my boss some of the gory details, the fact that I was undergoing psychiatric treatment, on meds, seeing a therapist, his reaction really surprised me. He sat me down and told me about his wife's battle with severe agoraphobia and his own battle with serious depression, and that after about 10 years he is still on SSRI's for depression. I wouldn't have guessed any of that, his wife is a very bright, bubbly woman, works full time as a teacher, loves to shop and go out to eat and to cultural events, and he is far from depressed in any of his actions.

I was afraid, going in to this, that he would be so upset to have a psychiatric patient working for him that he would fire me -- afraid he would think I was going to go off on a client or worst case, maybe not be "safe" to be around. Who knew we are kinda both in the same boat?

Jails -- now there is a concept I've had a problem with. Because when I heard "bipolar" I immediately thought, oh great, homeless guy walkin', that I was headed for the gutters and would probably be the guy that slapped a cop just so he could get a hot meal. Of course, that was just a healthy serving of anxiety with a side of paranoia, but it did open my eyes to both the stigmatization and the plight of many people with serious mental illness. When I drive home from my therapist's office, and when I drove home from the initial psychiatrist's appt where I was given this never-ending gift of a mental health diagnosis, I have to drive right by a men's shelter, and old courthouse that is just feet off the main street through a small, depressed urban city. It was/is really hard for me to see the homeless guys milling around waiting to be let in.

Weak, yes, I worry about weak, too. And, I have to admit, I buy into the concept of male strength. So much so that I really desperately want to take no contact/minimal contact boxing classes in the near future. Because I was so weak, emotionally, that I basically allowed my situation to happen. Sure, part of it is neurobiological, that happens, but the bigger part was my inability to control my reaction to events. Did I need psychiatric intervention? Absolutely? Did it have to be the rather traumatic route of the psych ward? Probably not, if I had been a little more able to just calm down and approach my solution from an intellectual rather than an emotional angle. I am doing my best to be both physically and mentally strong. But that isn't at all the same as stoic, aloof, the Marlboro Man alone atop a horse on the mesa. Part of being strong, a big part, is being strong enough to know when to say "I need help", which I didn't do soon enough this last time. I sure will in the future.