CORONAVIRUS (COVID-19) RESOURCE CENTER Read More
Add To Favorites

The Creston News Advertiser, Iowa, Ryan Kronberg column

Creston News Advertiser - 5/25/2017

May 25--Editor's note: This is the third in a three-part series on CNA Sports Editor Ryan Kronberg's battle with depression.

The mental health crisis in Iowa

In Iowa, the options for those needing critical inpatient psychiatric inpatient units are few and far between. There's 740 inpatient beds available across the state, and in predominantly rural areas in the northern part of the state near the Minnesota border and in southern Iowa near the Missouri border, distances to travel to find beds are lengthy, unlike near the urban population centers such as Des Moines, Cedar Rapids, Davenport and Sioux City.

According to the nonprofit Treatment Advocacy Center, it recommends 50 beds for mental health patients per 100,000 people.

Iowa has two per 100,000.

That ranks dead last in the country.

While former Gov. Terry Branstad's administration says the system now is better, providing more quality care, particularly after closing mental health facilities in Clarinda and Mount Pleasant, medical professionals on the ground say otherwise.

According to a report by Cedar Rapids TV station KCRG earlier this month, finding beds is difficult at best, if not impossible. The 20 bed inpatient unit at Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids is constantly full, the report showed.

It went on to say if a bed is not available there for someone in crisis, the search is on for a bed anywhere in the state.

"The system is broken and it's getting worse," said Dr. Alan Whitters, the Medical Director of Behavioral Health at Mercy Medical Center in Cedar Rapids.

----

Life changes

By the spring of 2016, I sensed a new part of my life was coming. I was ready to finally start dating again, sensed a job change coming.

Early in May, I accepted the offer to become the sports editor here at the News Advertiser.

A few days after making the decision public, I received an email at lunchtime from a dear friend back in Nebraska.

She said God had been placing a friend of hers on her heart, and with my name too. She wondered if I'd be interested in meeting, talking. I was intrigued and searched her out on social media before saying yes. Soon we made contact and started talking.

I moved to Creston the week of Memorial Day, dove headfirst into the duties here.

By that weekend, the relationship was quickly taking off. Soon, we were officially dating.

I had a new job and a new girlfriend.

The first weekend of June, we formally met in Lincoln, where she lives. We had supper in the Haymarket, our first official date. It was like life was coming full circle in so many ways.

Three years after the worst day of my life, things seemed to be turning around.

If only it were so easy.

The relationship went through some wild ups and downs over the next few months. I made many, many mistakes, could not give her the emotional support she needed, the time she needed, did not put her first in everything I did like she truly deserved.

The relationship collapsed in mid-September.

There were flutters of possible reconciliation around Thanksgiving, but a really dumb mistake on my part led to a complete collapse for good.

My heart was crushed. After three years of waiting for this, it wasn't meant to be. My depression flared badly. Even though I was on medication, it couldn't help with the dark cloud hanging over head.

----

Fighting hard through the longest winter

The depression deepened as the winter wore on. Work was fun, but plenty busy.

But the signs of an impending emotional collapse were mounting.

There was a minature collapse at state wrestling, but I held on strong.

The full emotional collapse came in mid-March, right before leaving to cover the Southwestern Community College men's basketball team at the NJCAA Division II National Tournament in Danville, Illinois.

Between a conversation two days before leaving, a serious panic attack that Saturday night and the lack of truly good, regular rest since the start of the year, and even less leading up into the couple days before leaving for Danville, a shattered heart was crushed into a million pieces.

For six hours that Sunday, I sat at my desk, bawling uncontrollably; my heart was shattered, like it was never going to heal again. That night, I felt like there was hardly anyone to talk to who cared. I talked online with a few friends outside of the immediate area, one in Creston.

It was the lowest I'd felt since that awful night in Lincoln nearly four years ago.

I never considered anything harmful, thankfully, just cried my heart until I couldn't couldn't cry any more.

I survived the week, and what a wonderful one it was with the Spartan men capturing the national title.

I came back, albeit tired, but combined with terrific help from Managing Editor Scott Vicker and sports department cohert Kaleb Carter, we put together an incredible post-championship paper.

In the most important assignment of my career to date, I crushed it, absolutely crushed it.

But lurking was the depression, bipolar.

The aftereffects of a lack of good sleep in Danville, and the thrill of the week wearing off flared the Wednesday after I came back. I crashed emotionally again, another night where I sat at my desk sobbing for hours. It was a true miracle the pages were done Thursday, right up against deadline (my apologies Scott).

----

Putting on a brave face

The cruel thing about the downward spells is sometimes you have no choice but to hide the dark side of it.

You have to put on a brave face in public, even if your heart is screaming in agony.

I found that out six days after Easter.

Another message popped up that Saturday. This message was the most cruel, vile thing I've ever read. From what I could tell, and talking with friends after, the intent appeared to be to hurt, wound emotionally, and deeply.

Mission accomplished.

It tripped off another crying spell. This time though, there was no hiding at my desk. I had to put on a brave face as I was in public, shooting an event for the paper. Shooting the event was an emotional nightmare, having to put on a brave face when I wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else, bawling.

The depression battle took on a whole different level, fighting harder than ever.

A heart that had been crushed and rebuilt so many times over the years, even more so the past four years was crushed again once more.

This time, the heart, the soul was crushed the worst it has ever been.

----

Winning the war

It's a battle I face daily -- the battle of my mind. It's one I wouldn't wish on anybody.

It's a full-blown war and it's ugly.

My mind fights and fights and fights.

If I can survive May 26, 2013, this past winter and early spring, I know I can survive anything.

There's been many times where I've wondered why God didn't let it all end that night at 4455 North 1st Street in northwest Lincoln, there in that moment.

God must have something planned through all this, the wild adventure I went through that night, have been through since.

If my journey, my fight, my battle helps anyone, someone to seek help, treatment, then maybe that was the point of all this.

That's my hope and prayer.

----

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.

----

Contact the writer:

Twitter -- @ryankronberg

Email -- rkronberg@crestonnews.com

___

(c)2017 the Creston News Advertiser (Creston, Iowa)

Visit the Creston News Advertiser (Creston, Iowa) at www.crestonnewsadvertiser.com

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.