The Good News Project: Vol. 34— An Unexpected Lesson from a “Great” Dane by Ashley Kowalczyk
This is the thirty-fourth edition of The Good News Project: A series where anyone can share a personal story of inspiration or an event in life where they overcame tremendous odds. Everyone has a powerful story to tell and something to teach the world. (Here are guidelines on how you can write for The Good News Project.) Here we have Ashley Kowalczyk with "An Unexpected Lesson from a “Great” Dane"
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Everyone has a different way to describe depression. To me, depression is a dirty grey, worn, hole-ridden blanket that I’ve had wrapped around my body tightly even though it doesn’t keep me warm at all. I started struggling with depression when I was twelve years old and have dealt with it in varying degrees ever since. The most wrapped up in depression that I have been was when I was nineteen years old.
The story actually begins when I was fourteen years old attending Rockford Christian Camp… where I met Dane. He was different from all of the other boys, with his black band t-shirts and piercings. As a blossoming “Emo” girl, I was attracted to him instantly. But even more, he had a contagious laugh and the biggest heart out of anyone I had ever met. Dane had this magical ability to show a person a mirror featuring all of the good and beauty that they had inside of themselves. I fell for him fast and when I was fifteen we started dating. He made me feel beautiful and special, a strange feeling for a teenage girl with depression and a crippling self-image.
However, Dane had his own insecurities and struggled with a deeper depression than my own. He had self-injured and attempted suicide several times during his short life. We were together for almost a year before I broke up with him—I didn’t know how to deal with my own issues, let alone someone else’s. While we were apart, Dane experimented with drugs and eventually became addicted to heroin. After an attempted overdose, he decided to turn his life around. We reconnected, and at my insistence, Dane was honest with me about all that he was struggling with, and eventually we started dating again.
Our relationship had its ups and downs as Dane fought with his demons, occasional relapse, and the belief that he wasn’t good enough for me, let alone anyone else. But we loved each other, and he asked me marry him once I had graduated from college. Even through all of his pain and suffering, Dane never stopped seeing the good in people or being the best friend everyone needed, and making me feel incredibly happy and loved. When I graduated from high school and started attending Bradley University to pursue a degree in teaching, the only people prouder than him were my parents. Dane had also started working to become a counselor to help people struggling with the same issues that he had.
On the day of March 11, 2010, shortly before his twentieth birthday and after six months of being completely clean, Dane lost his struggle with heroin. I soon felt my depression blanket encase me so tightly that I felt that I couldn’t breathe. My best friend was gone. Sleep was foreign to me, but I couldn’t make myself get out of bed. While I managed to finish my freshman year of college, I was completely lost. Why couldn’t he have kept a shred of the love he held for other people for himself? My anger towards God and Dane was only matched by my hopelessness, and I started coping in unhealthy ways.
A few months after Dane had been gone, I saw a Facebook post from To Write Love on Her Arms (TWOLHA), an organization whose mission statement is: “…dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire, and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.” A light bulb switched on in my head—even though Dane was gone, I could try to help people who struggled as he had, and connect with people who had felt pain the way I had. I contacted TWLOHA to start a chapter at Bradley University, and they connected me with a young woman who was also interested in starting a chapter at the school as well. We worked hard that year and formed a strong core group of people who were accepting and wanting to connect with other struggling people. For three years, I was the president of our chapter. We held meetings discussing issues related to mental illness, organized concerts, and invited speakers. During this time, I started counseling and began sharing my own struggles with people that I trusted. The depression blanket I carried around, once wrapped so tightly around me, began to loosen and I worked through putting an end to my unhealthy coping habits. I made amends with God, and found my strength in the people who loved me so dearly and would not let me give up. Even though it has been four years since Dane has been gone, I still miss him and feel the impact of his love. His life and death have taught me that I am stronger than I ever knew, and I can rely on the people I love to help hold me up when I can’t stand—as we all do from time to time. I also learned to truly love and see people for all the beauty and good that they are. Conversely, I also needed to learn to see the beauty and good inside of myself, something I was not used to doing. I am trying to live my life without judging others, to see people the way that Dane saw them, and to look at myself the way that he saw me. As I finish my semester of student teaching, I am terrified at the thought of graduating but am excited to start the next chapter. My blanket of depression is looser than it has been in years. I know that I am strong enough to make it through anything and will be a teacher who incorporates a strong sense of community and self-love in my classroom.
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Everyone has a different way to describe depression. To me, depression is a dirty grey, worn, hole-ridden blanket that I’ve had wrapped around my body tightly even though it doesn’t keep me warm at all. I started struggling with depression when I was twelve years old and have dealt with it in varying degrees ever since. The most wrapped up in depression that I have been was when I was nineteen years old.
The story actually begins when I was fourteen years old attending Rockford Christian Camp… where I met Dane. He was different from all of the other boys, with his black band t-shirts and piercings. As a blossoming “Emo” girl, I was attracted to him instantly. But even more, he had a contagious laugh and the biggest heart out of anyone I had ever met. Dane had this magical ability to show a person a mirror featuring all of the good and beauty that they had inside of themselves. I fell for him fast and when I was fifteen we started dating. He made me feel beautiful and special, a strange feeling for a teenage girl with depression and a crippling self-image.
However, Dane had his own insecurities and struggled with a deeper depression than my own. He had self-injured and attempted suicide several times during his short life. We were together for almost a year before I broke up with him—I didn’t know how to deal with my own issues, let alone someone else’s. While we were apart, Dane experimented with drugs and eventually became addicted to heroin. After an attempted overdose, he decided to turn his life around. We reconnected, and at my insistence, Dane was honest with me about all that he was struggling with, and eventually we started dating again.
Our relationship had its ups and downs as Dane fought with his demons, occasional relapse, and the belief that he wasn’t good enough for me, let alone anyone else. But we loved each other, and he asked me marry him once I had graduated from college. Even through all of his pain and suffering, Dane never stopped seeing the good in people or being the best friend everyone needed, and making me feel incredibly happy and loved. When I graduated from high school and started attending Bradley University to pursue a degree in teaching, the only people prouder than him were my parents. Dane had also started working to become a counselor to help people struggling with the same issues that he had.
On the day of March 11, 2010, shortly before his twentieth birthday and after six months of being completely clean, Dane lost his struggle with heroin. I soon felt my depression blanket encase me so tightly that I felt that I couldn’t breathe. My best friend was gone. Sleep was foreign to me, but I couldn’t make myself get out of bed. While I managed to finish my freshman year of college, I was completely lost. Why couldn’t he have kept a shred of the love he held for other people for himself? My anger towards God and Dane was only matched by my hopelessness, and I started coping in unhealthy ways.
A few months after Dane had been gone, I saw a Facebook post from To Write Love on Her Arms (TWOLHA), an organization whose mission statement is: “…dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire, and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.” A light bulb switched on in my head—even though Dane was gone, I could try to help people who struggled as he had, and connect with people who had felt pain the way I had. I contacted TWLOHA to start a chapter at Bradley University, and they connected me with a young woman who was also interested in starting a chapter at the school as well. We worked hard that year and formed a strong core group of people who were accepting and wanting to connect with other struggling people. For three years, I was the president of our chapter. We held meetings discussing issues related to mental illness, organized concerts, and invited speakers. During this time, I started counseling and began sharing my own struggles with people that I trusted. The depression blanket I carried around, once wrapped so tightly around me, began to loosen and I worked through putting an end to my unhealthy coping habits. I made amends with God, and found my strength in the people who loved me so dearly and would not let me give up. Even though it has been four years since Dane has been gone, I still miss him and feel the impact of his love. His life and death have taught me that I am stronger than I ever knew, and I can rely on the people I love to help hold me up when I can’t stand—as we all do from time to time. I also learned to truly love and see people for all the beauty and good that they are. Conversely, I also needed to learn to see the beauty and good inside of myself, something I was not used to doing. I am trying to live my life without judging others, to see people the way that Dane saw them, and to look at myself the way that he saw me. As I finish my semester of student teaching, I am terrified at the thought of graduating but am excited to start the next chapter. My blanket of depression is looser than it has been in years. I know that I am strong enough to make it through anything and will be a teacher who incorporates a strong sense of community and self-love in my classroom.
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