A guest blog post by Randy Ladiski…

Hello, and welcome to this week’s guest blog post. I’ll start with a quick word of introduction. I am Jim’s younger brother, Randy. I’m a musician, a Trekkie, and I love dogs and baseball. That’s pretty much all you need to know about me. I’m also more attractive than Jim, but that’s neither here nor there.

When Jim put out the invitation for guest bloggers, I was apprehensive about answering the call. My writing endeavors typically do not extend beyond lyrics of either the sad country, or death metal persuasion, and it’s tough to be transparent about struggles with mental health while so many stigmas on the subject exist. So, at the outset, I would like to applaud my older brother for doing just that, and for inspiring me to tell my story.

First, a little background. Anyone who has been following Jim’s blog knows about the losses we’ve endured in our family. For those who haven’t, here’s the CliffsNotes version. Between September of 2011, and September of 2016, we lost 3 grandparents, (the fourth passed before Jim or I were born) an aunt and uncle with whom we were very close, our mother, and our 38-year-old brother. It was a devastating period, which also included, for me, a home foreclosure, a permanent layoff from a job of 8 years, and an unwanted hiatus from music due to a throat issue. I’m not trying to throw a pity party, unless you plan to bring cards with money, in which case, party away.

The real meat of my story begins a few weeks after my brother, Kevin died unexpectedly of a heart attack. For several days in a row, I had the feeling of being on edge. I was convinced that I had low blood sugar, despite having never manifested symptoms prior, because I felt so shaky. I even went to the ER a few times; once for a pain in my chest, and once because I felt like my throat was closing. Several hours and several hundred dollars later, I was left without an answer as to why I was feeling so crappy. What the heck was going on with me? If it wasn’t physical, what was it?

A week or so into dealing with this, it came to a head. I woke up one afternoon (I was working third shift at the time) completely freaked out. I didn’t know whether to cry, scream, try to go back to sleep, or what. What was happening to me? It felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and the whole world was caving in around me. I was sweating profusely, my heart was going a mile a minute, and I felt completely helpless and out of control. The only possible explanation at this point was an issue of mental health.

My brother had revealed to me his struggles with depression and anxiety prior to this event, so the possibility of that being a reality with me began to set in. How could this happen to me? I was the guy who could always laugh everything off. Was I going to turn into one of “those” people? While I was growing up, issues of mental health were either hushed up altogether or joked about by comic relief characters on 80’s sitcoms who were always in and out of therapy. I was always the guy who thought issues of mental health were for the weak. I’m sorry, that’s what I was led to believe.

With that sort of attitude regarding issues of mental health, I plunged into a huge despair. I got meds from my doc, but they were the kind that take a few weeks to take effect. I took some time off work and spent the next couple of weeks laying on the couch. I did nothing. Food didn’t taste good, so I didn’t eat. I was afraid to interact with people, so I stayed home. I wanted to sleep to escape reality, but my bedroom became a source of anxiety. It sounds odd, but my bedroom is where I had my first big breakdown, and every time I tried to sleep, my mind would go a mile a minute, my stomach would knot up, and I’d begin shaking. I was anxious about anxiety. I would lay in bed for hours saying two prayers over and over again. “Jesus, I trust in You,” from the Divine Mercy image, and “Mary, Mother of Jesus, be a mother to me now,” a prayer of St. Mother Teresa.

At this point I was at my lowest. I had a very important concert coming up, one which had already been postponed several months due to my throat ailment, and there was no way I could perform if I couldn’t even get off the couch. What was I going to do?

Well, seeing as how I’ve already exceeded my word limit, I’ll employ Jim’s technique of leaving on a cliffhanger. Tune in next time for the stunning conclusion! Same bat-time, same bat-channel. (Spoiler alert: I got better.)

At the risk of his head swelling, I want to say that I’m really proud of my little brother. I remember sharing these times with him, when both of our worlds were crashing in. It was such a difficult time, but it proved also to be a time of great bonding for us. (Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a butthead, but he’s also one of my best friends!)

Stay tuned to see the next installment of Randall’s Story. In the meantime, you can connect with Randy by email at: iloveagooddog@yahoo.com.

Be well…

P.S. If you have a story to tell and would like to join Jim Ladiski Writes as a guest blogger, please contact me!