Depression is a volatile life partner that annihilates any semblance of order when it comes to pursuing a sense of normalcy in this thing we call life. Just when I think I’ve achieved a bit of regularity, something comes unhinged from inside. In those moments I dawn an intricately designed mask so that the ones I love, mainly my children and wife, don’t see or feel my pain.
Until now I’ve never written about my mental illness. I think much of that stemmed from the stigma I’ve always felt is placed on men who share their emotions. Looking back on my childhood, when I reminisce on the pivotal moments such as the death of a grandparent, I can’t recall one moment where I ever saw my father cry. We didn’t talk about emotions. Those conversations were left to be had with my mother or my siblings. So by the time I’d traversed through adolescence into adulthood, I’d firmly cemented in my mind that the emotions I felt weren’t normal.