Frequently, a sense of solitude creeps in on me during challenging days or moments of an emotional slump. The urge to delve into this topic arises from the certainty that countless individuals share this very sentiment. Penning down these thoughts holds the potential to champion mental wellness, extending a reassuring hand to kindred spirits such as yourself, making it crystal clear that the path you tread is shared by many.
The Concealed Pain of Isolation & Addiction:
In the early days of my marriage, I grappled with a consuming solitude as Amy battled her eating disorder. Our once-shared haven transformed into unfamiliar territory, leaving me stranded in isolation. Our connection dwindled, resembling mere roommates coexisting in silence. Burdened by the weight of secrecy, I hesitated to seek solace in others, fearful of tarnishing my wife’s image. Amid the mosaic of addiction recovery anecdotes, a recurring emotion surfaces: the deep-seated isolation experienced by all involved. Amy, too, undoubtedly confronted this emotional abyss, as her struggle with nourishment and insulin remained unfathomable. Regrettably, I buried my emotions, unknowingly deepening the divide.
Throughout my drinking days, solitude clung to me like a shadow. My family never witnessed my drinking bouts; it was my hidden vice. Swiftly after work, I’d gulp down eight shots of whiskey, sneaking in doses like clockwork to sustain the buzz. The shot glass and whiskey nestled beneath the bathroom sink, adjacent to an inconspicuous gun safe. Ingeniously masked by normalcy, my secret life remained concealed. Alone and adrift, the weight of years of secrecy kept me in isolation. A functional facade labeled me a high-functioning alcoholic, capable of consuming copious amounts yet maintaining appearances. However, I drew the line at drinking and driving, terrified by the potential harm to myself or others. This detrimental cycle took a toll on my self-care and mental well-being.
Whispers of Faith and Secrets of the Soul:
In time, even within the sanctuary of the church, solitude found me. My pleas to step back from responsibilities for the sake of my mental well-being seemed unheard. Sundays saw me leading prayers, guiding hymns, imparting wisdom in classes, and partaking in the Lord’s service. The enthusiasm remained, but the comfort had waned due to the weight of my personal struggles. Eventually, I had to make the tough decision to depart from the congregation. This departure was essential for me to recenter my focus on delivering sermons, freeing me from the whirlwind of multitasking and allowing me to delve into deeper spiritual contemplation.
Stricken with shame, I grappled with the duality of my existence. A colossal hypocrite, I’d impart lessons in teenage Bible classes only to retreat hours later to my bathroom sanctuary with a bottle of whiskey. The catalyst for my descent into this double life remained elusive; no single reason propelled me into this abyss. Drinking became a refuge, a way to quell the turmoil in my mind and find solace in slumber.
During the fragile stretch of my 7-day sobriety, tragedy struck: my 16-year-old cousin perished in a devastating car accident. Isolation enveloped me, for not only had I lost an extraordinary family member, but I was also navigating sobriety in solitude, my secret still closely guarded. Amidst the pain, none knew of my hidden struggle. Alyssa, akin to a daughter to both Amy and me, forged a profound bond within our hearts. A solitary confidant emerged: Alyssa’s grief-stricken father, the bearer of a monumental loss, compounded by their shared birthdays.
He shared the raw memory of losing his mother at the tender age of sixteen, recounting how he internalized his anguish, barricading himself from the world. Facing his daughter’s tragic demise mirrored this secluded journey, a parallel marked by isolation and solitude. As deep as my affection for Alyssa ran, I stood powerless before the overwhelming depths of his grief, incapable of truly comprehending the maelstrom of emotions that churned within him or the pain that her mother, Stacy, endured.
Moments Defined by Illness:
Learning of my father’s cancer diagnosis in 2019 sent me shivers of fear and isolation. Revealing my emotions, especially my fears, wasn’t a trait I often embraced. The mantle of strength weighed heavily, a mantle I believed I must bear for my father, mother, and the entirety of our household. Deep-seated anxiety coursed through me; while heart issues ran familiar on both branches of our family tree, lung cancer was an unexpected twist. My silence on the matter wasn’t about avoiding my own feelings but rather sparing the turmoil it might stir in others.
The precise moment my father’s cancer diagnosis was revealed is etched in my memory – July 16th, a mere two days past my birthday; I was expecting test results on the 18th, but the early news caught us off guard. A phone call from the doctor to my mom at her workplace changed the course of that day. Hearing the news from my mother, I sought refuge in a bathroom stall at work, tears flowing. The world suddenly felt solitary and foreign. The emotional surge was bewildering, another weight to bear while projecting an air of normalcy. Later, as my workday concluded, I dialed my parents’ home, yearning to connect with my father over this seismic revelation. To my astonishment, he was out mowing my grandmother’s yard, seemingly unaffected by the news. It was as if he had anticipated the diagnosis.
Both my parents remained oblivious to my struggle with alcohol. They never knew of my frequent attendance at various meetings as I grappled with being an alcoholic. The weight they carried was significant enough, and I refrained from adding another layer of stress. Furthermore, I understood that the depth of my predicament would likely elude their comprehension.
My mother’s discussions about someone deemed a “real bad alcoholic” echoed in my mind. The absence of a mention regarding their recovery focused solely on their past struggle. I yearned to escape the label of a “real bad alcoholic” that my mother might unwittingly attach to me. In my eyes, no middle ground exists; one is either an alcoholic or not, with no gray area. The journey is continuous; the term “used to be an alcoholic” holds no relevance. I remain an alcoholic, opting daily to abstain from the grip of alcohol.
Reclaiming Joy Beyond the Void:
Some might find it perplexing when I assert that a room teeming with people can still harbor a sense of isolation. Those who grapple with loneliness often emit subtle signals, easily overlooked by others. Adapting to the façade of happiness becomes second nature, a skill perfected to merge into the crowd seamlessly. This art of concealing embodies the essence of leading a dual life.
With the passing of both parents, I wasn’t merely adrift in solitude; I felt like an orphan. At 42 years old, who could fathom the notion of a grown orphan? The loss of both parents at that age was a unique ordeal – something my mother had never encountered. While my grandmother remains alive at the time of writing, I recognize I’m not alone in losing my parents prematurely. Yet, the need for a sibling’s support to navigate the complexities of settling the estate felt pressing.
Despite my wife’s profound support, an undeniable loneliness persisted. A void remained a space that couldn’t be refilled. Those everyday moments were now memories, and that transition left a palpable ache. Embrace your authentic self, and I implore, unafraid of tears or laughter, in the company of others. Embrace life’s richness without reservation, advised Terry, my closest companion. His refrain, “Life is a series of adjustments,” echoed frequently. In urging us to “find a way,” he emphasized pursuing happiness.
Indeed, happiness requires active pursuit, a journey of introspection. Life entails challenges, and every individual treads a personal path toward mental well-being. Our choices hold the power to shape the course of our lives. My foremost counsel for nurturing mental health is maintaining a journal as a canvas for thoughts and emotions. Explore counseling options; grief support groups abound. Remember, seeking help is a sign of strength. Banish negative thoughts, seek solace in your higher power, and don’t hesitate to seek assistance. Peruse our mental health blog on journaling. Above all, engrave in your heart: you’re never alone.
Isaiah 41:10
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.