My Rational Response to The Matt Walsh Blog on Depression and Suicide

First, let me say that I don't hate Matt Walsh.  Unlike many of those who have responded to him, I don't think he's a monster and I don't wish harm to him or any of his loved ones.  Honestly, on more than one occasion I have found myself agreeing with Walsh's counter-cultural opinions and blog posts.  I actually find some similarities between Matt Walsh and myself.  I don't even disagree with everything he said about depression and suicide.  However, I do think he was wrong about some things, and I would like to talk about them now.

One of the major things that stood out to me from his post (which you can read here), is that Matt Walsh was obviously speaking as someone who has dealt with some kind of depression in his own life.  As someone who has done the same, I would never even begin to discount anyone who claims to struggle with such a thing.  What I will say, is that I think Walsh fails to acknowledge that there are many kinds of depression.  The Mayo Clinic defines depression as "a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest."  Call me crazy, but that sounds like it covers and incredibly broad spectrum of conditions.  I believe there are some forms of depression that are purely emotional in their origin and some that have a physical or chemical cause as well.  In simple terms, that's to say that there are some people who deal with depression as a result of life circumstances that are extremely difficult to deal with and others who deal with depression as a result of their body being inhibited or incapable of producing the chemical reaction which our brains interpret as feelings of happiness.  Both are completely legitimate but I would argue very different in how they effect a person and how they need to be treated.  I'm not a doctor or a psychologist and there may be a million other forms of depression that I'm not addressing, but I'm intimately familiar with these two (I would be happy to share my experiences but in the interest of keeping this blog under a eleventy billion words, I would ask that you contact me directly with any questions).

The reason it is important to recognize that depression comes in different forms is because it means making a generalized statement of any kind about the condition will probably not be accurate in a large number of circumstances.  It is entirely possible that in the instances of depression Matt Walsh has struggled with, suicide seemed like a choice and he chose to live.  And I say with 100% sincerity, thank God he did.  That being said, I also believe there are forms of depression where suicide is not a choice, its the tragic end of a disease that has infected someones life.  I will use diabetes (type 1) as an example, if for no other reason than I can speak about it with some authority having lived with it for 20 years.  As a diabetic, I am resigned to the fact that my diabetes will some day take my life.  But you know the funny thing is that it probably won't be from a fluctuation in my blood sugar when it happens.  It will probably be from heart disease, or kidney failure, or a stroke.  All of these things will be direct results of being a diabetic, but none of them are actually diabetes themselves.  So when Matt Walsh says that depression doesn't kill people, suicide does, he is right, but only in the sense that I am right when I say diabetes won't kill me.

That brings me to another point where I disagree with Mr. Walsh.  He says that suicide doesn't happen to you, that it doesn't attack you like cancer.  I would argue the exact opposite is true.  In the times I have struggled with depression, it feels like an attack, like something is crushing me.  Depression is a cancer of the mind and soul.  If it goes untreated or unchecked it will consume you.  And just like cancer, sometimes despite the best efforts of the afflicted and those around them, they succumb to the disease anyway.

Now there are a couple things Walsh wrote that I agree with, the first being that it is a fine line between expressing the sentiment of someone who commits suicide being free from their demons, and making it appear as though it would bring the same relief to someone else dealing with similar demons.  I know what people mean when they say, "he's a peace now" or "at least now he's free" and I think everyone else understands as well but I can understand how their could be a danger in someone who is struggling viewing phrases like that as a refuge to their pain.

Second, I agree with Walsh about the incredible guilt that suicide saddles with those who are left behind.  I have had two people in my life commit suicide and I feel intense guilt about each of them to this day.  One of them will have occurred 11 years ago in November, and I would say at least once a week something reminds me of the guilt I feel about my friends passing.  This is not to say that suicide is selfish or cowardly on the part of the person who commits it, it is only to say that suicide is devastating.  That's all.

I will leave you with one final thought.  I am not so arrogant as to think that it is impossible that Matt Walsh could be right on some level and I could be wrong.  Obviously I don't believe that, otherwise I wouldn't have taken the time to write this, but I won't say that it's impossible.  I will say this; there exists a place within oneself where the idea of hope and joy seem lost forever, even though that is not the reality to everyone else.  There exists a place so filled with darkness that it feels as though no light could penetrate it.  At this point, a person does not need a debate on whether or not they have a choice to live or die, they need our love and our prayers and a miracle to heal them the same way a miracle would cure someone of cancer or diabetes.

And I do believe it takes a miracle, and here's why: throughout human history we have persevered and survived as a result of the most basic instincts which are ingrained in our DNA.  That instinct is for self preservation.  Depression takes someone to a place where they will literally override the biology which has guided all of human existence and an act of God, not a choice, is the only way they can come back.

The Pains Of Adulthood

Adulthood is a funny thing. While legally it occurs when you turn 18 or 19 years old, most people agree they don't feel like an adult until well after that point. The tricky part is when exactly.

I suppose for some people it happens when they get married, or buy their first house, or when they tell people they're pregnant and everyone reacts like it's a good thing. Not for me though. While I've only experienced one of those things (matriage) and am hopefully on the cusp of another (buying a house, cross your fingers), I didn't feel like an adult until tonight. 

I was heading over to my friends house to watch the NBA Finals game. Now my friend had surgery on his ACL so I thought it might be nice to bring him some food. He asked for Taco Bell and I had no issues with his request. Unlike a lot of people I don't really mind that whatever you order at Taco Bell probably isn't actual food. I find it tasty so I don't really care that the main ingredient is sawdust.

I was pretty hungry by the time I pulled up to Taco Bell so I went with my standard order when I need to get my grub on; the Taco 12 Pack. I understand that this sounds like a lot of food, and it is but for some reason, I've always been able to consume large quantities iof tacos without any issues. For example, my all-time taco record occurred when I was 17. I was at a get together where Taco Bell had been "catered" in (aka someone's mom but a butt load of tacos) and I was the last one to eat. So I ate every last taco that was on that table and when I was done, I had put down 18 tacos. I still maintain had they not run out of tacos I could've eaten several more. Even within the past year I have crushed a taco 12 pack no fewer than twice without any negative reprocussions. 

Unfortunately tonight was different. As methodically took out a dozen tacos, I felt fine. As I finished watching the game, I felt fine. As I drove home even, I felt fine.   However, shortly after I walked throughy front door, everything changed. My stomach cramped and my intestines quivered. Only later would I realize this was the pain of my youth forsaking me. 

As I lay here nearly two hours later with whatever industrial chemicals make up taco meat still churning in my stomach, I know that this is what adulthood feels like.  We had a good run taco 12 pack, but our time together has come to an end. I'm an adult now, and Chipotle and I have a pretty good thing. 

Teach Me How To Dougie

When Creighton hired Greg McDermott to replace long-time coach Dana Altman there was mixed feelings amongst Bluejays fans. McDermott was leaving Iowa State after a somewhat rocky few years in Ames. While the new coach of the Jays had been successful in a previous stop at Northern Iowa, the Creighton faithful were left pondering one question; Do we really want to be like Northern Iowa?

Despite the uncertainty surrounding his hiring, a rumor surrounded Greg McDermott when he got to town. The word from those in the know was that the new coach had a son and the kid could play a little bit.  That kids name was Doug. 

Now Doug McDermott was tall, about 6'8", but he was skinny and hadn't been widely recruited, and certainly not by the major D1 programs.  He was overshadowed by a high school teammate named Harrison Barnes who just happened to be the most coveted player in the country. As the story went, Doug's own father didn't even recruit him at Iowa State. 

When Doug arrived at Creighton, the plan was to redshirt him, allow him to develop. An injury to a returner changed this plan and thrust the younger McDermott into the starting lineup.

As a freshman Doug proved those original rumors to be true. Averaging almost 15 points and 7 rebounds a game   The kid could indeed play a little bit. He even earned all-conference honors which was a rarity for a freshman in the Missouri Valley.  He by no means was dominant but a solid career like that of Dane Watts appeared well within the realm of possibilities.

Something funny happened though as Doug McDermott continued his career at Creighton. He kept getting better. Like a lot better. Like by leaps and bounds. He started as a post player with great footwork and a soft touch. Then he proved he was an absolute sniper from long range. Then he showed off a Dirk Nowitzki-esque wrong-footed fade away. Now he has improved his ball-handling enough to create his own shot, go coast-to-coast, or even occasionally break the press.

In the matter of three short years Doug McDermott had done the unthinkable. He had raised his ceiling from probay being the next Dane Watts to possibly becoming the closest thing we have seen to Larry Bird. 

And I know what you're thinking, here we go again. Everytime a tall white guy comes around who can knock down a jumper, someone has to compares him to Larry Bird.  But you have to look past the obvious to see where this comparison rings true. 

Like Bird, McDermott isn't just a shooter, he's a shot-maker. What I mean is that it's not just spot up 3s that he knocks down, it's off-balance shots, shots in traffic and through contact, and big shots when his team needs them most. Just like Larry Legend. McDermott certainly isn't the passer that Bird was but everything else matches up incredibly well, including the most important thing that Larry Bird and Doug McDermott have in common. They both seemingly do not care about anything in the world besides basketball. 

They say you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone, but that's not always true. Creighton fans know exactly what they've got. He may or may not end up resembling Larry Legend, but he's a legendary Bluejay already. 

The Train Pin

From the time I was an infant until I was 18 years old, I went to church every Sunday with my mother. And I mean EVERY Sunday. I can probably count on both hands the number of Sundays I wasn't sitting in one of those red pews at Kingsway Christian Church over the course of those 18 years. And at every service I attended there, I saw Herman and Judy Bauman there too.

Judy ran the nursery at Kingsway and I was the first baby she took care of there. I would go as far to say I was not only her first but her favorite child she ever cared for but Judy had a loving way about her that probably made countless children over the years feel the same way. Herman was an elder at Kingsway and was famous for joyfully doing anything that needed done at the church and for praying unwaveringly for any and every prayer request he knew about.  One of my earliest memories in life is seeing Herman with his big smile at church every Sunday.

Herman was also an old school kind of guy. He considered the King James Version to be the "authorized" version of Holy Scripture and he always wore a suit and tie to church. Most, if not all weeks he accessorized his suit with a small golden pin. I'm sure there were many pins he wore over the years but I only remember one.  The train pin.

I was like many other young boys in that I was obsessed with trains. Seeing Herman's train pin every time I went to church made my day. Considering Herman was a lifelong railroad man, I have a feeling that seeing a child so enthusiastic about trains may have made his day as well.  One Sunday, while admiring Herman's train pin, he presented me with a train pin of my own.  I remember it as one of the happier days of my young life.  I believe the fact that I remember it at all testifies to that.

Two weeks ago, Herman passed away. More accurately I should say Herman was promoted.  Whenever a Christian brother or sister died, Herman would always say they had earned their promotion to Heaven. If anyone had ever earned their promotion, it was Herman. He may have been the kindest and most caring individual I have ever known.  More importantly, he was certainly one of the most faithful believers I have ever met.  His loving spirit was probably only matched by his wife Judy.

For whatever reason, since Herman's promotion, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that little train pin.  I don't know why this small trinket has suddenly been thrust into the forefront of my consciousness.  I've racked my brain trying to figure out some greater meaning of it, or some metaphorical significance.  At the end of the day, I think it may just be the fondest early memory I have of an extremely important man in my life.

I have been lucky enough to continue to see Herman and Judy on a regular basis throughout my entire life.  I never met either of my natural grandfathers and my adopted one passed before I was a teenager.  Herman filled that role in my life, even if I never told him as much.  I love and miss you Herman, but I will see you again soon.

I'm a Hustler Baby

Before I start I just want to give a heads up that this will be the start of a blogging binge that will last at least through the end of the year. So for the seven people in my life that actually enjoy it when I write things, consider this your Christmas present. And I don't mean that metaphorically. I didn't buy you anything, so this is your present.

Moving on.

I went to go see American Hustle with my wife on Friday night as the second half of our dinner and a movie date. The first half was dinner at Applebee's because my wife (a teacher) had received a gift card from one of her students. (Side note: my wife was bragging that her job was better than mine for reasons such as receiving gifts like this, until I pointed out that my job actually paid a livable wage.  She still get summers off so we called it a tie.)  Anyway, we had decided on American Hustle for a variety of reasons; It was being touted as one of the best movies of the year, it had a cast of actors and actresses we both thoroughly enjoyed and finally it sounded like an interesting story. So needless to say we were both going in with pretty lofty expectations.

Maybe that was part of the problem.  Let me be clear, this was not a bad movie. It just felt like it was missing something. And for being not much over two hours, it felt really long. Full disclosure here, we went at 9 and didn't get out of there until after 11, and I'm probably the oldest 26 year old around. I won't deny that this could have been a factor. But regardless, I could tell that I was siting in the same spot for over two hours and that's not a great sign for any movie.

American Hustle promised to resonate with the audience the same way Goodfellas did a generation before. That promise went unfulfilled. It's hard to put a finger on what exactly went wrong, but for whatever reason, the movie just didn't connect with me enough to force me to care about the fate of its characters.  The actors performed as well as I had expected and the story was interesting even if it was a little on the predictable side.  There were some funny lines interspersed with quality dramatic dialogue.  I just didn't care. The result of the film never mattered to me, and I think if you're making a good movie, you have to hook your audience so they feel invested in the outcome.  Nothing about this movie ever grabbed me and told me to pay attention.

It is entirely possible I'm alone in feeling this way, and I'm alright with that. Like I said, all the pieces were there for a great movie, it just didn't come together for me.  If you have seen the movie let me know what you think. 

Zach Sobiech is Amazing

I am laying in bed with a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes. My wife fell asleep before me and since I don't have to work tomorrow I thought I would browse Facebook for a few minutes until I fell asleep. Expecting to find mostly things I didn't care about and statuses to pray for Oklahoma (which we should), I stumbled upon a video. In fact I stumbled upon this video. Open that link and you will find a short story and a 20 minute documentary about a young man who I do not know and had never heard of until about an hour ago. Yet here I am. Laying in bed. Crying over a stranger who died this morning.

If you haven't watched the video yet, here's a spoiler alert, this kid is amazing. His name is Zach Sobiech and despite having never met him, I am borderline heartbroken that he's gone. You may have noticed I said that Zach is amazing and not the past tense was and that's because death cannot stop the impact of a life lived this way. His legacy lives on in everyone he knew so the least some random blogger can do is to show him the respect he deserves and give him a present tense compliment. Zach will continue to be amazing long after his death, just ask the girl who fell in love with him, or the sister whom he calls his his best friend or his parents who look up to him.

I'm not really sure why the story of this remarkable young man has touched me the way it has. I mean it's always tragic when a young person dies but in this instance it's more than that. Maybe it's so sad because he so very clearly has so much to offer the world. Maybe it's so sad because I can't stop imagining the pain his girlfriend and little sister and the rest of his loved ones are going through as I type this. Maybe it has gotten to me because I'm constantly wrestling with the idea of my own mortality. Maybe it's so sad because when I listen to the words of his hit song "Clouds" I hear the heartbreak from a kid who seemingly couldn't stop smiling even as his life slipped away. Chances are pretty good it's some combination of all these things and a few more that I can't properly put into words.

I guess at the end of the day learning about Zach just makes a lot of the things I do seem pointless. In this moment there is nothing I would like more than to live less pointlessly and more like Zach Sobiech.  I cant help but think that if more people spent just one day with the perspective that he had on life, the world would be irrevocably changed for the better. And I can't help but think that I should start today.

It's been a while . . .

So, apparently it's been almost two years since I've posted a blog on here.  That is a pretty good long time.  It has been probably about a year since I have written anything for public consumption at all.  I don't know if I've been missed or not, but I suppose that doesn't really matter.  What matters is that I miss writing.  I tweet from time to time because it's the lazy man's version of writing.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on twitter, I enjoy it quite a bit.  My point is simply that it is pretty difficult to wax eloquent in 140 characters or less.  If you are capable of such feats, you are more talented than I am.

I assume that most of the people who read my blog are people that know me and keep up with what's going on in my life in ways (mostly facebook) other than this blog.  Because of this, I am not going to waste your time with a rundown of everything that's happened in the last two years.  It's been two years; lots of stuff happened; that's not why I'm here.  Now if I have a random following in Iceland or somewhere that thought I was dead and is now ecstatic that I am in fact alive, I do apologize for not filling you in on what's been happening.  If you are one of these hypothetical people, get in touch with me and I will give you the scoop.

The logical question would then be, well why am I here?  This isn't an existential question, at least not in the way I mean it.  Basically I just want to make someone smile, or laugh, or if I'm really lucky make their day.  That can sound like a pretty ambitious goal from some random blog about some random guy's life but you never know, it could happen.  In the past you may have noticed that I had a tendency to stray away from serious topics in my blogs.  I was usually trying to tell a funny story or trying to tell a boring story while somehow making it funny along the way.  Well, I have a serious story today. I'd like to tell you about the loss of a loved one.

The Jeep first came into my life in September of 2007. I had been driving a 1994 Oldsmobile which can best be described as a boat. It was an enormous old man car. I liked the car but didnt love it, mostly because whenever I was braking down a hill I felt like a runaway freight train careening out of control. So as much as I enjoyed the luxury and leather seats, that's factor was a pretty big check in the negative column. My run with the Olds came to an unceremonious end when I was rear ended by a guy going 40 mph. I happened to be with my now wife in one of the first times we ever hung out. I quickly turned to her after getting hit and rather than checking to see if she was ok, I asked her in a panic if thy was my fault. That's me, always the gentleman. No wonder she married me. Anyway, I drove the mangled remains of that car for about a month before I had to turn it in to the insurance company to collect the fat check coming my way.

At this point I had been looking mostly at SUVs to replace my car since I lived at school down two miles of gravel road. It came down to the wire before I chose my new vehicle. It was a Sunday afternoon and my dad and I had narrowed our search down to a Cadillac and a 1997 Jeep Grand Cherokee limited. Don't ask me how the Cadillac my the finals, I think it's because my dad has always wanted one but either way, we test drove the Caddy first. It was a pretty smooth ride and everything you would expect from such a nice car.  We told the nice man selling the Cadillac that we had a Jeep to test drive before we made our decision. The man kind of chuckled and said, I will take my chances with my Cadillac over a Jeep any day, I will see you back here in a little bit.

To make a long story slightly less long, I never saw or spoke to the man with the Cadillac again. I think my dad called him to tell him we were no longer interested because that was the right thing to do but as soon as I got into the that Jeep, it was a done deal for me. I was immediately infatuated with this vehicle. I loved the way it looked, I loved the way it drove and I loved driving it. I couldn't have been happier with my choice. And then the winter came, and things got even better. Omaha was absolutely dumped on with snow that year and people were getting stuck and snowed in with much regularity. Not me. I drove where ever and however I wanted without any issues. If I wasn't in love with the Jeep before, I certainly was now. This thing was unbelievable and it was all mine.

While there were a few ups and downs with the Jeep (mostly a couple difficult repairs) my allegiance never wavered. Even as I got married and eventually bought a new, more fuel efficient car, I kept the Jeep and drove it whenever I got the chance. Things started to deteriorate a few months ago when my parents suggested they might want to donate the Jeep since it wasn't being driven as much anymore. By this point the Jeep was the third vehicle for my wife and I and it spent most of its time parked in my parents driveway. Despite this, I was physically shaken by the idea of the Jeep no longer being a part of my life. No one was more surprised by this reaction than I was. I thought I had gotten over the Jeep, I thought I had moved on, but clearly I hadn't.

After this, I started driving the Jeep more often, almost daily in fact. I spent some time, effort, and money fixing it up. In December I had a vintage Jeep moment. A heavy snow storm had shut down much of the city and the Jeep had been parked on the street when the snow plow came by. There was snow packed almost up to the door in the drivers side and it appeared as if I might be snowed in just like the rest of the helpless, non-Jeep owning world. However my wife had asked me to go get some groceries so I decided to give my Jeep a chance to shine. After cleaning the car off, I thought I would back up a little to try and create some space to get out. The Jeep barely budged. At this point I figured it was all or nothing so I put the Jeep in drive, turned the wheel all the way to the side and hit the gas. What moments early had appeared to be an impenetrable snow mountain felt like little more than a speed bump as I cruised out of my parking spot and into the road. Little did I know, that would be the last snow storm the Jeep and I would tackle together.

About two weeks ago, I was driving the Jeep to pick up my wife from work. It had been acting a little funny but I didn't think too much of it. On the way home, we started to have problems. I would push the gas pedal and the engine would rev but I couldn't accelerate. I pulled onto a neighborhood street to investigate the issue. My less than formidable skills mechanical skills were no match for what ailed the Jeep. As it would turn out the transmission had gone bad and the price tag on that meant it was not going to be fixed. The Jeep had passed away.

Last night as I battled through my first blizzard without the Jeep, I missed it more than usual. I always thought I was a good driver in the snow. I'm not. I'm horrible. It turns out the Jeep overcompensated for my lack of skills more than I could imagine. Now driving a sedan in the snow feels like Russian roulette every time I climb in the car.

When all was said and done, the Jeep gave me over 5 years of an undefeated record. Zero speeding tickets.  Zero accidents. Zero times getting stuck in the snow. Here's to you Jeep, you'll always hold a special place in my heart.