Dealing with everyday mental health and where to get help

I’ve been going back and forth on whether to write this one. It’s been weighing on my heart for a while, so here it is.

I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety for a number of years. Not a bad week. Years.

Doing everything right, and still ending up in the ER

After I got out of the Navy, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I’d worked through the symptoms for years before that, and it took its toll on my body.

Once I knew, I did everything I was told to do. Insulin. Eating right. Testing my blood sugar sometimes 10 or more times a day. And still, for a stretch, I was in and out of the ER, at one point at least once a month.

I got berated by doctors more than once, because they couldn’t figure it out. Why isn’t this guy doing what he’s supposed to do to survive? But I was. It’s scary waking up in the ER not knowing what the hell is going on. Nobody does that on purpose. Thankfully, I woke up every time. 🙏🏻

If you live with diabetes and you’ve been through anything like that, hear this: blood sugar isn’t just food and insulin. The diabetes nonprofit diaTribe counts 42 different factors that can move it, including stress, sleep, illness, hormones and the weather. You can do everything right and still get blindsided.

And it wears on your mind, too. According to the CDC, people with diabetes are 2 to 3 times more likely to have depression than people without it. The CDC also describes “diabetes distress,” the exhaustion of managing it every single day, and says it happens to many people “often after years of good management.” That one hit home.

Then my body broke, one piece at a time

In the span of a couple of years, I dealt with a broken heel, a broken hip, and a below-the-knee amputation on my left leg.

I’m getting around good now. There’s a lot of metal in my right hip and leg, and the prosthetic is a part of me now. These days, other amputees regularly come up to me and ask: How are you getting around? What did you do to get strong?

What I tell other amputees

First, I talk to where their head is at. It’s a hard place to be when, after years of life, you can no longer do your regular things: getting around on your own, showering, getting dressed.

The important thing to remember is this: you’re not dead. It sucks to put it that way, but you still have life. Be grateful you have a chance to do something with it.

I had a good support system during rehab. They encouraged me to the fullest, and I made a lot of friends there. But when I got home, it was a different story. I was lonely, depressed and felt worthless all over again.

After a while, I started to realize exactly that: I still have life. I’m a web developer, and it’s what I love. I can still design websites all I want. So I started forcing myself to get out. Go places. Clean, or do some dishes. Take a short walk to build strength.

So here’s what I tell fellow amputees. If you can get out of that wheelchair, even for 5 minutes on your prosthetic, do it. Get some sunlight. Go chat with the neighbor. For weeks, I sat on the edge of my bed and practiced standing up and sitting down without using my hands.

It’s not easy, and it takes time. But don’t give up. It sounds cliché, but it’s the hard truth.

The hole

It wasn’t easy, and it put me in a deep, dark hole for a long time. I felt lonely, bored and worthless. Most days I didn’t even care to see daylight.

Nobody understands depression unless they’ve dealt with it. It’s not “oh, I feel bad, poor me.” Sometimes your mind goes to places that are hard to come back from.

Why it can hit veterans hard

Imagine joining the military at 18. Everything is fast-paced and action-packed. You, still basically a kid, are responsible for multimillion-dollar aircraft or specialized equipment. You’re seeing the world before you’re old enough to drink.

Then you get out. Everything moves at a snail’s pace, and you have to figure out how to be that guy again.

I’m not saying every veteran deals with this. But I do. Still.

The numbers say I’m far from alone. The VA’s most recent National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report found that 6,398 veterans died by suicide in 2023. That was slightly fewer than the year before, but the rate per veteran still went up for both men and women. Behind every one of those numbers was somebody who served.

The front door doesn’t always open

I’ve been through the VA mental health system, and I’ll be honest: it was a nightmare. It took me six months to see somebody.

The first time I walked into the brand-new mental health building, it was big as life, and there was not a person in sight. The only other guy there was standing in front of me, homeless, bawling his eyes out and begging to speak to somebody. I was pissed.

Nice building, though.

I’m telling you this not to scare anyone off, but so you know the long line isn’t the only way in. If you’re waiting, there are other doors, and you’re allowed to use them.

If you’re in that hole right now

You don’t have to be in crisis to reach out, and you don’t have to have it figured out. These are free, and the people on the other end get it.

• • Veterans Crisis Line: Dial 988, then press 1. Or text 838255, or chat at VeteransCrisisLine.net. It’s free and confidential, and you decide how much to share. It’s there for veterans, service members and their families, too.

• • Waiting too long on the VA? If the VA can’t get you a mental health appointment within 20 days, or the drive is over 30 minutes on average, you may qualify for community care: a provider outside the VA, paid for by the VA. You need approval from your VA care team, so ask them directly, and ask for the patient advocate if it stalls. Community care eligibility.

• • Vet Centers: Free, confidential counseling in a non-medical setting, including for depression. You don’t need to be enrolled in VA health care. There are service requirements, so call 877-927-8387 (24/7) to see if you qualify. Find a Vet Center.

• • If you’ve lost a limb: The Amputee Coalition’s Certified Peer Visitor Program connects you, free, with a trained volunteer who’s been through limb loss themselves.

• • If you live with diabetes: Tell your care team how you’re feeling, not just your numbers. Diabetes distress and depression are real, common and treatable. The CDC’s page on diabetes and mental health is a good place to start.

And if you’re the friend, check on your veteran. Not a “hope you’re good” text. Call them. Go get a coffee. Ask how they’re really doing, and then let them talk.

Still here

Today I’m stronger than ever. I still deal with depression, and some days are still heavy. But I know the hole has a bottom, and I know there’s a way back up, because I climbed it.

If any of this sounds like you, you’re not weak and you’re not alone. Reach out. I’m glad I’m still here, and I’d like you to be too.