Hello, Readers! Clevenger here again. Today I’ll put my finishing blog post on the Mental Health series and talk about how I need help to stay sane (mostly) through the writing process, life, and everything between.

First things first. I’m a wreck, and I know it. I present most of my life in the “duck on a pond” theory. On the surface, I’m remain calm and collected. Underneath, I’m chaos. I have chosen for much of my life to not expose the vulnerable bits of who I am. Most of that was because of my upbringing.

Growing up in the Midwest in the early to mid-90s, mental health was not something that was commonly spoken about. Life was hard, people had it worse than you, and things will always get better. Those were the mantras that were driven into my daily existence. No matter how much I was struggling inside, I had to hide that from everyone or feel weak. But eventually it became too much.

My first doctor in the 90s told me “I wasn’t that bad, and it was nothing to worry about…” and then three years later, I was on the verge of suicide. Reaching out to trust people after that was very difficult. But luckily I did. I got a MUCH better doctor, and began forging bonds that continue to save me daily. Because life is sometimes too much. I get overwhelmed and feel like I’m “failing everyone” and “letting them all down.” And I need reminded that I’m not.

My wife and my friends all now understand how much my mental health issues continue to shape who I am. I’m sometimes moody, I shut down and drop out of contact with people, and I struggle to handle change more than most people. Through it all, they continue to bear those challenges with me. And I’m grateful for my wife and her love and support. She helps center me and lets me be who I am without fear of consequence.

But fortunately, she has never had to deal with these issues herself. She can support me, but has difficulties in truly understanding how my brain works (or often doesn’t) and the lies that it spews to me when my depression and anxiety rear up. I try to explain to her what my brain is saying, but it makes no sense. And it shouldn’t.

Graham and I struggle with a lot of the same issues. We also have a package of our own unique special problems as well. But our shared struggles give us a common ground. This mutual battle is what makes our friendship and our journey through this process work.

When I am having a rough go, and the writing isn’t flowing, or I’m feeling guilty or bad about a particular scene, Graham will nudge me in a new direction. Graham will tell me it’s okay that I’m off my game for now, and that he’s either in the same place, or he’s got it for now. And then he’ll ask simple, innocuous questions like “What do you think Symon would say here?” or “I’m thinking of how this spell works, thoughts?” and get me to answer something small. Something that has a little impact.

But those little techniques break my wall of anxiety and unlock me again. Being able to see a minor aspect reminds me of how much I love our story and our world, and what we’ve built together. Then I’ll answer his question, then I’ll look over my notes and see something I didn’t see before. And then I have a new idea. And then I’m writing again.

With the stress of being a father, the sole-income of my household, and a pretty stressful job, writing is my outlet. It’s a way to relieve those stresses. But as the story became bigger, and the thought of publication became real, it felt like a job. And then it started providing its own stress. Graham helps remind me it should always be our hobby and outlet first, and that the “professional” aspects can come later. And when we are ready for them.

When I was a kid, I dreamed one day of becoming an author. It was a dream that I forgot for nearly thirty years. And though I started this journey alone, I now have my support system. My wonderful wife keeps me grounded at home as a father and husband. My friends give me support and encouragement by reading snippets and this rambling blog post of streamed thoughts, and my family, who now understand that the perspective of Mental Health in our family had to change and that it’s a big part of who we are.

But to my partner in crime, Graham. I couldn’t do this without you. Our world became a shared vision. And I hope that once we can share it with others, that maybe just one person out there becomes inspired by our art to begin their own journey. Thanks for the lifeline.

Be kind.

-Clevenger