Friday, September 2, 2011

:(



Sadface - smiley face.....winky face. Seems we're always telling people how we feel. In 140 characters on twitter - you can tell a bunch of strangers just how you feel about anything. But do you have to? Have we become a bunch of people that have to say just how we feel all the time about any and every given thing?
I am feeling very sad about the suicide of Wade Belak. Not that I know anything about him or about hockey at all. Frankly, I'd never really consciously heard of him before this week. I may have heard his name on the news but that's about it.
What struck me as so incredibly heartbreaking was when he killed himself, so many people who considered themselves his friends came out, spoke publicly and swore that he was never depressed. He was always such a happy guy, laughing and joking around. He had a perfect life, lots of prospects for the future and a great supportive network of family and friends - how could this be?
Well it could be, because the depressed, the truly clinically depressed, don't wear signs or special t-shirts. Depression is a hidden illness. A shameful illness. We are all taught to put a smile on, suck it up buttercup, put on our big girl panties and deal with it and walk it off. As a matter of fact, there's no crying in baseball. I'm pretty sure that goes for hockey too.
This hockey guy wasn't just a little sad. People who are a little depressed or "going through a rough patch" don't hang themselves in luxury hotels. They hide it. They don't show their tears and struggles. None of his friends or colleagues will never know what he was going through. And more is the pity.
I wonder if he wanted to reach out to people? To say:
Hey guys, my life is going through major changes and I just can't quite wrap my head around it all on my own. I don't want to ask for help but if you could just help me anyway - that would be great. I know you all love me and care for me but sometimes, when I am having dark days, it doesn't matter. That's what depression is - I can't feel that love. I look fine on the outside but the inside is black and hollow. I talk but I don't believe what I say. I ask questions and hear your answers and I make jokes as much as I laugh at yours but at the end of the day - it doesn't mean anything. I feel hurt and I feel empty and sad. Nothing helps me change this.

I'm just wondering if this is what it felt like to be him - but we'll never know. He suffered in silence like so many depressed brave people do - happy face plastered on. Not that any of us know what that feels like, right?