I honestly cannot remember a time when I felt happy and normal and completely content. Sure, there are flashes of light and joy—indescribable joy—as well as heartbreaking sorrow and loss. Moments of clarity, of oneness with the rest of humanity, and elation that the darkness has lifted, a hope it was just a phase, a temporary downturn. And then, predictably, the darkness and panic and hopelessness all come crashing down on top of me, smothering me, threatening to steal all hope. This is my daily battle--fighting the blackness, the darkness, of depression.
Depression--not melancholy, or feeling blue, or being in a bad mood, or having a bad day--although all these can (and do) accompany depression. No, depression is like being poised precariously on the edge of a precipice of a yawning abyss that threatens to pull you into it, to make you part of it and obliterate any sense of worth. It is always there, always waiting, demanding vigilance and a keen sense of alertness to avoid succumbing to its pull. And, as if that is not hard enough to deal with, there is an overwhelming sense of aloneness, an intractable feeling of helplessness, and the knowledge that no one will ever understand, ever. And I am not exaggerating in the least when I say I recall feeling this way, no, being this way, since I was three or four. All my memories from childhood up to the present are blurry and shaded by the specter of depression--it has been a familiar, constant companion for my entire life. It is as much a part of me as my blue eyes, or my freckles. And while I have at times ignored it, embraced it, treated it, or cursed it, it nevertheless is always, always there.
Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I know that means I am assured a place in heaven, for eternity. The funny thing is, though, being a Christian and being depressed are not mutually exclusive states of being. Sometimes I am a Christian suffering from clinical depression, other times I am just plain depressed and glad to be a Christian, but never EVER am I depressed because I am a Christian, or a Christian because I am depressed. And maybe that makes no sense--the point I am trying to make is that one is not the cause of the other, nor is one the solution to the other. Sure, being self-centered and doubting of my own intrinsic value is part and parcel of being human--I am flawed, I am imperfect, and I am always striving for a perfection I will never attain (at least not of my own accord, anyway).
Do I realize every single human being feels small and insignificant at times? Yes. Depression, though, doesn't lift or go away when something great happens--it just loosens its grip ever so slightly. For someone suffering from depression, insignificance is the norm, the expected. And, oddly enough, being depressed helps me understand even more clearly my need for salvation, and how hopelessly lost I am without God's grace. So, in a weird sort of way, being depressed insulates me from feeling superior, and guarantees I will never think I can make it on my own, and get to heaven on my own good deeds. But I can become mired in my sufferings, stuck in a rut of depression, and get so comfortable with the numbness and the feeling of hopelessness that I am no good to anyone, and definitely not giving glory to God.
I have had a lot of time to ponder what it means to be depressed...and I mean a LOT of time. More often than not, I’m likely to be up way past midnight, trying my damndest to busy myself with enough mundane, mind numbing tasks so as to finally be unable to keep my eyes open. Then I crawl into bed, gingerly sliding under the covers next to my husband (and possibly one of our dogs), trying to claim enough space to not fall out of bed without waking anyone up. Although there is the rare night when I go to bed first, and before 11 pm, most nights it is after 3 or 4 in the morning by the time I fall asleep. Of course this means less than 4 hours of sleep; yet I persist in this crazy sleep deprivation cycle for weeks at a time, sneaking a nap or two when I can. I wake up exhausted, groggy. As I stumble through the first half hour, on goes my best “I got this!” armor and mask, and now I’m ready to carry on with all the world requires and expects, with no one the wiser.
However, I also use all this late night "alone time" to conduct some serious introspection of my depression. Taking apart my psyche, my soul, to examine them from every angle, trying to ascertain what, or who, caused me to be this way. Is it an innate, genetic weakness? Was it brought about, or exacerbated, by my upbringing, i.e. can I blame someone for this? Will I always need medication? Does anything really help? What about my impact and my effect on my family, friends, and people I interact with on a daily basis? Can they see through my mask and peer into my craziness? Is it contagious, or infectious? Should I hide it from everyone, or try to explain it to those close enough (and brave enough) to hear it? Or is that just some distorted means of getting attention, or provide rationalization for bad behavior? Will they stop loving me? Will they run away? AAAAHHHHHH!!
After so many years of asking such unanswerable questions, I am finally okay with my condition, my illness, my state of mind. Notice I did not say I am happy with it...just that I am okay with it, and I have accepted it as, well, me. I do not use it as a crutch (although I used to), I don't curl up and sleep for days (although I want to), I don't curse God for making me this way (although I have asked him "why me?" about a zillion times), and I do not have any intention of harming myself or others (although there are times when the blackness is so thick, so suffocating, that I briefly, silently, wish for death to come). But then, I get through that ever-so-low spot, and I grow, I learn, I pray, and I actually thank God for the strength to fight back the darkness. Because, someone suffering from depression has a unique opportunity to see the beauty of God's creation, the orderliness of a seemingly random and chaotic universe, much clearer than the Christian sailing through life nearly always smiling, handling occasional hiccups of drama and tragedy with appropriately measured emotions. It's as if I have this eagle-eyed view of my own weaknesses, and of the human propensity for sin and evil. I don't expect an easier, less painful life just because I am one of God's chosen. My only expectation is that warmth I feel within God's arms, the joy and relief of giving all sorrows and worries and tears to Him, and then resting, even basking, in the glow of Jesus' love.
Perhaps all that sounds a bit crazy and over the top, maybe even spiritually trite, as if I am romanticizing clinical depression. But the longer I suffer from this horrible disease, the closer I get to Jesus. The more tears I cry, the more comfort I find in His Word, especially the Psalms. Pity and sympathy are not the goal here, or even desired--understanding and acceptance, and love, those are better than any pill, any balm.Unfortunately, many so-called Christians look at depression as a weakness in faith, as totally incongruent with being saved. How can someone who is saved, who will spend eternity in God's presence, how can that person be depressed? Worse yet, how on earth can a Christian take the advice (and fill the prescription) of a doctor? I have been told I am weak, that I do not pray hard enough, or believe hard enough; I've been accused of not trying hard enough to "get over it," that I am harboring an evil spirit and may be possessed. Even worse, Christians have informed me that my depression is punishment for past sins, and that by trusting the pills to help me, I have abandoned God.Yeah, no wonder I have changed churches and denominations so often. Disillusioned and disgusted, I would quit reaching out to fellow church goers and just withdraw inside myself, inside my faith.
The result? I lean on God more. And I find peace and strength by leaning on Him. Because I am NOT this way because of something I did, or something my parents did; I am how I am to allow God's grace to work in me, to display His grace to those I meet, to give hope to others who suffer, to simultaneously be a witness and a testimony to how fleeting this life is, but oh the great and permanent joy we will find in the next life. Think of powerful Christian witnesses you have met or heard of or read about--Joni Erickson Tada, Bethany Hamilton, Steven Curtis Chapman, Amy Carmichael, Corrie Ten Boom--these suffered deformities, chronic pain and other thorns, as Paul put it.
The trick, as always, is to focus on what God will do and has done and wait for Him to work His plan through us. And not focus on our problem, or our pain.
"As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' Jesus answered, 'It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.'" (John 9:1-3)
Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I know that means I am assured a place in heaven, for eternity. The funny thing is, though, being a Christian and being depressed are not mutually exclusive states of being. Sometimes I am a Christian suffering from clinical depression, other times I am just plain depressed and glad to be a Christian, but never EVER am I depressed because I am a Christian, or a Christian because I am depressed. And maybe that makes no sense--the point I am trying to make is that one is not the cause of the other, nor is one the solution to the other. Sure, being self-centered and doubting of my own intrinsic value is part and parcel of being human--I am flawed, I am imperfect, and I am always striving for a perfection I will never attain (at least not of my own accord, anyway).
Do I realize every single human being feels small and insignificant at times? Yes. Depression, though, doesn't lift or go away when something great happens--it just loosens its grip ever so slightly. For someone suffering from depression, insignificance is the norm, the expected. And, oddly enough, being depressed helps me understand even more clearly my need for salvation, and how hopelessly lost I am without God's grace. So, in a weird sort of way, being depressed insulates me from feeling superior, and guarantees I will never think I can make it on my own, and get to heaven on my own good deeds. But I can become mired in my sufferings, stuck in a rut of depression, and get so comfortable with the numbness and the feeling of hopelessness that I am no good to anyone, and definitely not giving glory to God.
I have had a lot of time to ponder what it means to be depressed...and I mean a LOT of time. More often than not, I’m likely to be up way past midnight, trying my damndest to busy myself with enough mundane, mind numbing tasks so as to finally be unable to keep my eyes open. Then I crawl into bed, gingerly sliding under the covers next to my husband (and possibly one of our dogs), trying to claim enough space to not fall out of bed without waking anyone up. Although there is the rare night when I go to bed first, and before 11 pm, most nights it is after 3 or 4 in the morning by the time I fall asleep. Of course this means less than 4 hours of sleep; yet I persist in this crazy sleep deprivation cycle for weeks at a time, sneaking a nap or two when I can. I wake up exhausted, groggy. As I stumble through the first half hour, on goes my best “I got this!” armor and mask, and now I’m ready to carry on with all the world requires and expects, with no one the wiser.
However, I also use all this late night "alone time" to conduct some serious introspection of my depression. Taking apart my psyche, my soul, to examine them from every angle, trying to ascertain what, or who, caused me to be this way. Is it an innate, genetic weakness? Was it brought about, or exacerbated, by my upbringing, i.e. can I blame someone for this? Will I always need medication? Does anything really help? What about my impact and my effect on my family, friends, and people I interact with on a daily basis? Can they see through my mask and peer into my craziness? Is it contagious, or infectious? Should I hide it from everyone, or try to explain it to those close enough (and brave enough) to hear it? Or is that just some distorted means of getting attention, or provide rationalization for bad behavior? Will they stop loving me? Will they run away? AAAAHHHHHH!!
After so many years of asking such unanswerable questions, I am finally okay with my condition, my illness, my state of mind. Notice I did not say I am happy with it...just that I am okay with it, and I have accepted it as, well, me. I do not use it as a crutch (although I used to), I don't curl up and sleep for days (although I want to), I don't curse God for making me this way (although I have asked him "why me?" about a zillion times), and I do not have any intention of harming myself or others (although there are times when the blackness is so thick, so suffocating, that I briefly, silently, wish for death to come). But then, I get through that ever-so-low spot, and I grow, I learn, I pray, and I actually thank God for the strength to fight back the darkness. Because, someone suffering from depression has a unique opportunity to see the beauty of God's creation, the orderliness of a seemingly random and chaotic universe, much clearer than the Christian sailing through life nearly always smiling, handling occasional hiccups of drama and tragedy with appropriately measured emotions. It's as if I have this eagle-eyed view of my own weaknesses, and of the human propensity for sin and evil. I don't expect an easier, less painful life just because I am one of God's chosen. My only expectation is that warmth I feel within God's arms, the joy and relief of giving all sorrows and worries and tears to Him, and then resting, even basking, in the glow of Jesus' love.
Perhaps all that sounds a bit crazy and over the top, maybe even spiritually trite, as if I am romanticizing clinical depression. But the longer I suffer from this horrible disease, the closer I get to Jesus. The more tears I cry, the more comfort I find in His Word, especially the Psalms. Pity and sympathy are not the goal here, or even desired--understanding and acceptance, and love, those are better than any pill, any balm.Unfortunately, many so-called Christians look at depression as a weakness in faith, as totally incongruent with being saved. How can someone who is saved, who will spend eternity in God's presence, how can that person be depressed? Worse yet, how on earth can a Christian take the advice (and fill the prescription) of a doctor? I have been told I am weak, that I do not pray hard enough, or believe hard enough; I've been accused of not trying hard enough to "get over it," that I am harboring an evil spirit and may be possessed. Even worse, Christians have informed me that my depression is punishment for past sins, and that by trusting the pills to help me, I have abandoned God.Yeah, no wonder I have changed churches and denominations so often. Disillusioned and disgusted, I would quit reaching out to fellow church goers and just withdraw inside myself, inside my faith.
The result? I lean on God more. And I find peace and strength by leaning on Him. Because I am NOT this way because of something I did, or something my parents did; I am how I am to allow God's grace to work in me, to display His grace to those I meet, to give hope to others who suffer, to simultaneously be a witness and a testimony to how fleeting this life is, but oh the great and permanent joy we will find in the next life. Think of powerful Christian witnesses you have met or heard of or read about--Joni Erickson Tada, Bethany Hamilton, Steven Curtis Chapman, Amy Carmichael, Corrie Ten Boom--these suffered deformities, chronic pain and other thorns, as Paul put it.
The trick, as always, is to focus on what God will do and has done and wait for Him to work His plan through us. And not focus on our problem, or our pain.
"As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' Jesus answered, 'It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.'" (John 9:1-3)
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