and the quiet truth I uncovered on the night everything made sense 

During my time in hospital — and in the weeks after I was released — not a single person, not even the ones closest to me, asked me the question that mattered more than all others combined:

“What caused it?”

“What triggered the crash?”

“Why did you spiral?”

Call it what you will: the breaking, the unravelling, the collapse. Among the “inmates” — as we half-jokingly, half-lovingly called ourselves — it had many names. But the question behind it had only one: Why?

I waited. Patiently. Silently.
And no one asked.

So today, I’m going to tell you myself.

Healing the Root, Not the Symptom 

I’ve always believed that those working in mental health — psychiatrists, psychologists, the whole constellation — should treat the cause, not only the cure. Fix the root, not only the branches.

That’s how I worked when I was an engineer.
That’s why I was good at it.
Find the real source of the failure, fix it, and move forward. A “perma-fix,” as we used to say.

But mental health treatment doesn’t always work like that. Many practitioners treat the label, the symptom, the outward presentation — not the hidden fracture beneath it. And yes, some do profit from your perpetual return. They keep you looping between diagnosis and coping, never quite arriving at understanding.

During my stay, another uncomfortable truth became clear to me:

We live in a world where empathy has thinned, where curiosity is shallow, and where people avoid the hard questions because they are inconvenient — or frightening.

And still, I waited.

The Night the Fog Lifted 

My first two days in the mental health clinic were a blur. Sedated. Unsteady. My mind wrapped in gauze. No thinking, no mulling, no pondering — the things I love most.

But on the third night, something changed.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic snoring of the others in my room — a strange lullaby. The fog had thinned. My thoughts, sluggish at first, began to move with speed again, whirling through my mind in spirals.

This was my second time in this clinic.
There had to be a thread tying the two hospitalizations together. One thin strand. One overlooked clue.

I searched my memories — the days leading up to both crashes, the conversations I’d had, the people I’d spoken to, even the mundane routines. And then I heard it: the opposing voices in my mind, sharp and venomous, like hissing snakes. Accusing. Twisting. Echoing truths that weren’t truths at all.

And then —

A jolt. A gasp. A clarity so stark I sat upright in bed.

The answer was simple. Disarmingly simple.
And the moment I understood it, everything inside me aligned.

It meant nothing was fundamentally wrong with me.
Not the way I had feared.
Not the way I had been made to believe.

I felt lighter instantly.
My yearning for my wife, for home, for normality — it surged.
But I told no one.

Not a doctor.
Not a nurse.
Not a soul.

The truth was mine. Raw, honest, selfish in the best way.
I held it like an ace of spades.

And still, no one asked.

So Here Is the Answer 

I have made you wait long enough.

The trigger — the thread, the cause, the spark — was an effervescent, pinkish magnesium supplement called SlowMag.

Yes, you read that correctly.

A daily supplement I had been taking for weeks. Not the magnesium itself, I believe, but the sudden absence of it. Magnesium plays a significant role in the body and brain, and deficiencies can lead to profound mental and emotional symptoms. These supplements provide far above the recommended daily amount — powerful enough to alter your system, subtle enough that you don’t notice… until you stop.

I don’t have all the answers yet.
But I know this much:

When I threw the SlowMag into the bin, I started feeling myself again.
Quietly. Gradually.
One slow day at a time.

And I’m getting there.

Closing Note (A Gentle Disclaimer)

This is my story, my experience, and my truth. Everyone’s mental health journey is different, and no supplement or medication should ever be altered without medical guidance. My intention is not to diagnose, blame, or generalize — only to share the clarity I found, the question no one asked, and the answer that helped me rebuild.