Struggle breeds strength. These three words have been tattooed to my brain for a couple of years now. I've been writing it down, repeating it aloud, and staring at this collection of words in obsession. It's short and simple, but this phrase has a unique meaning to everyone who reads it. This isn't about growing thick skin so you no longer feel pain or any other emotion connected to suffering. Pain blankets this world as equally as pleasure, and both are mutually important. What I'm asking is, what is your struggle, and how can you use it to make you stronger?
Personally, at the peak of my own depression, the last thing I thought was, "how can I use this shitty feeling to my advantage." People suffering from depression can rarely see the silver lining of their mental affliction, me included. I felt like I deserved to feel depressed, and that it would be my status quo forever. I unwillingly embraced it, like a hug from a "handsy" uncle. So, instead of searching for a path of healing, I gave in and let depression rip me apart like a small child dissecting a bug. As my mental health waned, so did my physical health. Medically speaking, (I'm no doctor, by the way) key neurotransmitters in my brain were no longer firing and the cells in certain areas of my brain were slowly dying off. This manifested itself in lethargy, clouded thought, inability to formulate sentences,
bouts of deep sadness, isolation from friends and family, and pretty much every other depressive symptom that you can find in medical literature. Physically, I gained fat from poor diet, lost muscle from lack of exercise, and my body persistently ached. I was pale, weak, and completely lost. I quit playing hockey. A sport that consumed a large part of my life for about 25 years. Any other hobby that I had was shelved and left to gather the dust of lost confidence. Depression coupled with anxiety, already had me feeling hopeless. Dump all of these other setbacks on top of that and there was no possible way for me to see a glimmer of hope. Luckily, somewhere in the cracks of my splintered soul, my rabid stubbornness laid dormant but not defeated. My historical confidence, once prominent but now lost, was smoldering in wait, like a ground fire in a passing rainstorm.
For me, redemption and rebirth presented themselves as options only after my self-destructive thoughts had run rampant in my brain and had torn me limb from limb. A funny thing happens after suicidal thoughts have been unwillingly placed in your head. A large part of me just stopped caring. And, I know that sounds like a bad thing, but let me explain.
My poor self-image fed off of opinions. My opinion of myself, as well as other people's opinions of me. My depression needed these opinions to stay on top of the food chain. Worrying about what other people think of me has held me back many times in my life. A good example is this blog. I've been writing for a few years now, and this one of the first times I've decided to actually share anything that I've written. Although my ego put on a good act and allowed me to believe that I wasn't phased by opinions, it was all bullshit. And, being overly self-critical, I find the things that I create heavily flawed and not worth showing the world. So, if I just choose to not create anything, then I can't be judged by me or the rest of the world, thus protecting my ego from potential threat. So, how did anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts release me from this mode of thought?
It's needless to say, but facing my own mortality was a huge wake up call for me and for my ego. If I die, the ego goes with me. Both parties involved realized that the state I was in was not healthy or sustainable. Something needed to change. Which meant I had to admit that I had been living a fraudulent life surrounded by bullshit confidence for many years. Truth is, I was unhappy with most aspects of my life. I hated my job, my lifestyle, and my wasted potential. I wasn't who I thought I was or who my ego portrayed me as. I had to come to terms with my weaknesses, I had to recognize my fears, and I had to become friends with failure. This also meant that I had to stop caring what other people thought of me, or I'd suffer a life that wasn't truly my own.
Starting over at the bottom gave me a unique opportunity to pick apart all of the shitty attributes of my life. This was it. There was no going backwards. My only option was to pick up my feet, admit that I was wrong, that I was lying to myself and to others, and that creating a new life was my only road to redemption. And, if you read my last blog post, I mentioned that 'all beginnings are weak.' This meant failing often, but failing forward.
In the world of health and fitness, there's a term called "reps to failure." This means, lifting a weight or doing an exercise as many times as you can until your body can no longer handle the load. Then you have a short rest and do it all over again. The entire objective is to work as hard as you can and then fail to maximize future strength. When I think of "Struggle Breeds Strength," I think of "reps to failure."
In my opinion, building a new life when recovering from mental health issues is all about finding the lessons in your past failures and staying on a healthy path. Know that your defeat is only temporary, and that each morning that you wake up is an opportunity at redemption. The rotted and decrepit hands of zombies will always be bursting from graves to try and drag you down with them. The key to survival is the strength you obtained while digging yourself out of your own grave.