A guest blog post by Randy Ladiski…

Hello, Randall here again. I’d like to present the conclusion of my story and invite you to read episode one if you haven’t already. Now where were we. Ah, yes…

“So”, I thought, “This is what insanity feels like.” This was the nervous breakdown I had heard so much about on TV but had always assumed would never happen to me. I was convinced I was done being a productive member of society and days away from sharing a padded room with a potential Batman villain. Not to make light of mental health issues, but this was the attitude I had. Also, I like to use humor to create levity when discussing things that are uncomfortable. So, poopy butt. See? Levity achieved.

As you may recall from part one of my story, this nervous breakdown happened just prior to playing in a very important concert. To understand the gravity of this, I should give a little background. I’ve had the privilege of playing in musical projects with the most wonderful humans on the planet since about 1998. I send these guys the same text on their birthdays that I send to my biological brother, (Happy Birthday, you dried up douchebag!) because they too, are my brothers. One musical project, our metal band, Dagon, had just started playing again after a 5-year hiatus. We were gearing up for our return show when a throat ailment hit, so it was postponed. Fast-forward 6 months, and this show that I’ve been looking forward to for over a year looked like an impossible task.

Now understand, that this was not merely stage fright. I hadn’t had stage fright since an early incarnation of this band tried out for the St. Johns High School talent show in 1998. (We were rejected, but oh well, life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.) More than that, this situation was an inability to function and a sure belief that my life was over. I texted the dudes the day of the show and explained that I simply couldn’t make it. I knew I was breaking their hearts, and I was letting not just them, but a lot of other people down as well. Believe it or not, we had a great many people interested in seeing some old dudes play thrash metal again. Looking back on it from a much better place mentally, it’s difficult for even me to understand my perceived inability to go.

I reluctantly pressed send on that text message and waited for the inevitable response to come. I was sure I was going to get a text back saying, “You’re fine, dude,” or “Are you serious? Do you know how much this show means to us?” but those texts never came. What I got, was a response that I should’ve expected in the first place. One of absolute kindness, and one expressing that my well-being was paramount. They told me to do what I needed to do, and that they’d be there for me either way. This episode, and the one which I’m about to relay, are examples of why the “community” that my brother always talks about is so important. I knew I was loved, no matter what, and that was the first of many steps toward healing. 

I was faced with a decision. In the words of The Clash: “Should I Stay, or Should I Go?” So, I did what I always do in situations where I need to make an important decision and called my brother, Jim. I explained what was going on, and that I didn’t think I could do the show. He invited me over to chat about it and I took him up on that. We talked about it, we prayed for strength and wisdom, and, with Jim’s help and assurances that I could do this, I ultimately decided to go. Jim went with me as my safety net, and to help ensure that I wouldn’t be the oldest guy there. When we arrived, we were immediately met by my bandmates who were quite relieved that I had made it. Not because of what it meant for them, but because of what it meant for me. That I was taking an important, albeit small, step away from the darkness. I cannot overstate how supportive my friends (yes, Jim you’re included in that group too) were in this situation.

My friends, my brother, and I went outside of the heavy metal bar, and prayed to The Lord for strength and courage for me. I believe without a doubt, that He granted me the strength I needed through the wonderful people He put in my life. After that, we played the show, and I felt great, albeit a little (okay, more than a little) out of shape. I wish I could say it was all peaches and cream after that, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s every word in the movie “Spaceballs.” Specific to this experience however, I’ve learned that mental health is not a destination, it’s a journey. It was a struggle for several months after that show, but with the help of friends, family, St. Dymphna, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, and most importantly, Almighty God, I was able to build upon the steps taken at that show and avoid the aforementioned Batman villain-inhabited padded room.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my story. Please feel free to leave me a comment and/or contact me if you’re experiencing a similar struggle. I’m way over my word limit, but with Jim’s permission, I’d like to return later and share more of the lessons I’ve gleaned from this struggle. Until then, you stay classy, San Diego.

Thanks, bro! I remember this time in our lives with great detail. I thank God we’ve had each other to lean on! And, yes, permission is definitely granted for you to share many more stories on this blog! In fact, I cannot wait for the next installment.

So how has Randy’s story impacted you? Do you have a similar experience to share? Please comment below and let us know what you think.

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!