Editor’s note: This is the second in a three-part series on CNA Sports Editor Ryan Kronberg’s battle with depression.
Physical, emotional scars
I see reminders every day of what happened on May 26, 2013.
There’s the scars left on my chest, from the puncture wounds. I see those when I get dressed, shower.
There’s emotional wounds I’ve had to recover from.
I see the reminders when I make the turn down Interstate 180 into downtown Lincoln or drive by on Interstate 80 just west of the 180 intersection.
The apartment complex is visible from both roads.
When I’m at Memorial Stadium, home of my beloved Cornhuskers football team and see the statue of Coach Tom Osborne and the late Brook Berringer, it’s a reminder.
The statue was the last place I was before things fell apart that night.
That night in Lincoln is one I’ve tried to forget, forgive myself for.
It took the better part of three and a half years to finally truly forgive myself for everything that happened — finally happening for good last August on a perfect summer’s night standing near the statue of Coach and Brook at Memorial Stadium.
There’s been many prayers of forgiveness asked, even though I knew it was granted the first time.
I’ve tried to apologize to my ex-girlfriend with the sincerest of heart-felt apologies about what happened that night and the weeks leading up to it.
Even with all that said, it’s never far from my mind.
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Self-medication
One of the things that happens when you’re not on the proper doctor-prescribed medication, when one is not properly diagnosed by a trained medical professional, is self-medication.
Self-medication has taken on different forms over the years for me.
In high school, I was the class clown, the one who always did the wild, crazy, dumb, weird things, too many to recall or want to recall.
Even after I was officially diagnosed as bipolar during my junior year of college at Northwestern College in Orange City, I was less than receptive to the idea of proper medication.
At that point, I was partying regularly, drinking alcohol heavily. If I wasn’t an alcoholic, I was really close.
After college, somehow I quit drinking for the most part. But self-medication took on new forms.
For awhile it was eating — to the point where I was morbidly obese. My career, with hopes and dreams for the future, was another form of self-medication.
In early 2009, self-medication came through a rigorous workout regiment and strict diet. I lost the nearly 140 pounds I’d put on.
Self-medication took on a whole new aspect in 2011.
This time, it was a relationship.
The relationship took off that summer and flourished. I loved every second of it, even with the ups and downs.
After many years of wondering if I would ever finally get married, I was convinced this young lady was the one, my soulmate forever.
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Faith, and the bedrock it has been
Faith has always been an important part of my life.
Ever since I was little, Sundays have been spent in church.
I accepted Christ when I was 7.
Faith became real in high school. We had a strong Fellowship of Christian Athletes group back in Stromsburg, a wonderful church family at Stromsburg Baptist — to this day I’m still close with my old pastor. In high school, I went to a couple of FCA camps near Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado where I had the “rocky mountain high” spiritual feeling.
Faith crashed and burned in college, but those first couple years post-college in the Lake Okoboji area, it was rejuvinated, reborn at Faith E-Free church. It grew, became much stronger.
The same happened when I moved to Charles City. I found a church, Bethany Alliance, and lifelong friends there that helped nuture it, strengthen it. Pastor Kent, Andy and Bill, and others challenged me, pushed me in it. It grew quite a bit in those days.
When I moved to Muscatine, it did not take long to connect at Calvary Church. I quickly bonded with the staff — pastor Dan, pastor Ty, pastor Bruce, pastor Nate. All awesome brothers in Christ. They helped mold it, guide it.
Little did I know when I moved to Muscatine, how much more real it would become.
Little would I know how much those times of strengthening the past seven, eight years would become the foundation I would rely on in those dark, awful days in the summer of 2013 and beyond.
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Post suicide attempt
The summer of 2013, I went on medication for the first time.
It took the better part of the summer to get adjusted, get used to this new reality.
There were many counseling sessions in Rock Valley, near where I lived in Hull, where I was working as the news editor at the paper there.
My counselor and I developed a strong bond. God bless him, he helped me work through the struggles I’d blown off for years.
Life was finally starting to come back together. Slowly, but surely, I began picking up the pieces of my life. There were a lot of tears that summer, wondering what had all happened, why.
There was also a lot of grace and a lot of mercy too, which I needed much of that fateful summer.
That fall I’d moved back to Charles City, started another chapter in the healing process. I was around friends who loved and cared about me.
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The first big step in truly emotional healing
There was a major step to do in the healing process, symbolically, if not emotionally.
On Jan. 9, 2014, I went “home” for the first time, to Lincoln for a Nebraska sporting event.
Sure, Lincoln may not be “home,” but it’s “home” in the sense it’s where my heart truly is.
And my heart’s passion beyond faith and family is Nebraska sports.
One of my closest college friends, who lives in a suburb near Omaha, and I met to watch Nebraska and Michigan play in men’s basketball at the brand new Pinnacle Bank Arena.
The game, though, was a mere side note of what was to come afterward.
Late that night, we made our way to the statue of Coach and Brook outside Memorial Stadium.
At this hallowed place, I prayed for my former love, prayed for forgiveness for what happened that awful day, sobbing as hard as I ever have.
It was an emotional return to my favorite spot at my favorite place in my favorite city on the planet.
Jeff prayed that the event of that day would not define me, that I’d be able to heal and move on, that a spirit of peace and love would come over me even that night.
A huge weight was lifted off my shoulder on that cold, dark January night.
It was the hardest day since May 26, and a day I needed more than any other.
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Tomorrow, in day three of the series, I talk about the mental health crisis ongoing in Iowa, a major life change, the longest winter, dealing with medication and the end game in my battle with mental illness.
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If you need help
The National Sucide Prevention Lifeline is here for anyone struggling with difficult emotions – one does not have to be thinking about suicide to call. The number is 1-800-273-TALK (8255). If you or someone you love or care about is contemplating suicide, seek immediate help. Contact the nearest medical facility or dial 911 if necessary.
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Contact the writer:
Twitter – @ryankronberg
Email – rkronberg@crestonnews.com