Russ's Ravings: I'm Not Okay. And That's Okay

Editor's note: The following is Patch Field Editor Russ Crespolini's, hopefully, weekly column. It is reflective of his opinion alone.

It was a simple thing, really. I needed to buy a shirt.

Anyone who has grown up battling weight issues knows that buying clothes is one of the most traumatic experiences one can have. There is nothing good about having to go to a special section for your clothes and then the indignity of having something stretch too tight or the buttons not reach.

But I had to buy a shirt and so I thought if I brought my daughter, and we went out to look at some Christmas decorations to buy like we used to when she was younger it would take the sting out of the process a little.

Except, my daughter didn't want to go. She wanted to hang with her mother. Which of course, is fine. But for me, on this night, it just wasn't. It made me unbearably sad.

As some of you know who read this column I have been dealing with a brain tumor diagnosis for a few months. Here below is a nifty list of other stories in the "Tumor Tales" series:

• Russ's Ravings: The Doctor Called To Tell Me I Have A Tumor
• Russ's Ravings: Your Life Flashes Before Your Eyes
• Russ's Ravings: A Tale Of (At Least) Two Tumors
• Russ's Ravings: The Horrors Of Waiting Mitigated By Laughter
• Russ's Ravings: 'One Slip, And You're Toast'

One of the side effects I've been experiencing from the hormone imbalances is sadness. In fact, I usually cry right before going to sleep each night. Not a lot and not for very long. Usually just a few seconds I can't contain. Sort of like the venting of a hot water heater to stop it from exploding.

But there is more to it than that.

It isn't just a physiological response to what I am dealing with that I have to handle. There is a psychological component as well. I'm depressed about my situation. I am depressed about my struggle to find answers and treatment. I am guilty because I know people go through so much worse and I feel I should be better at handling it.

And I am still, in 2019, ashamed to admit I am struggling.

There is a mental health stigma that so many people face when they speak of their challenges with depression and anxiety and a myriad of other issues that may plague them.

Sure, we are much more woke than we used to be and we are making strides every day to be more tolerant and mindful of the challenges others are facing. But we still have a long way to go.

I was raised to "man up" when a problem hit you. Face it head on and don't shy away from the challenge. Life isn't about how hard you hit, it is about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. In a lot of cases this is a good approach. But not in all.

In truth, a person dealing with illness makes a very lonely person.

They are afraid to tell people the extent of how their struggles are impacting them because they don't want to burden them. They don't want to upset those they care about and make them uncomfortable. The last thing they want is to be a source of angst in someone else's life.

So they fake it. They fake it at work, they fake it at home, they fake it around as many people as they can. This is absolutely exhausting. And at the end of the day, it ends up isolating you.

I tell people I am fine because it is easier for everyone. It is a social contract we all enter into.

But the truth is I am not fine.

So I started seeing a therapist.

And there was a time, when I was younger, that I would have scoffed at that notion entirely. But the truth is I am not okay, but I need to be. So if I have any hope of getting to okay, I am going to need help.

And there is no shame in asking for it.

Russ Crespolini is a Field Editor for Patch Media, adjunct professor and college newspaper advisor. His columns have won awards from the National Newspaper Association and the New Jersey Press Association.

He writes them in hopes of connecting with readers and engaging with them. And because it is cheaper than therapy. He can be reached at russ.crespolini@patch.com