I Am A Christian With Anxiety and Depression

I am a Christian. I suffer from anxiety and depression.

I struggle to accept that this is not some kind of moral or faithless failing in me.

My first set-too with depression was in college. I was attending university with no friends, no support group, working, taking 18+ credits, no adviser or advocate, the professor in charge of my undergraduate course (choral education) was prejudiced against me because I was home-schooled and a Christian, my mother was mysteriously ill with heart troubles, my grandmother had contracted stomach cancer, and my church at the time did not support or care for me in any way.

I didn't know I was depressed at the time. I thought it was normal to have no interest in life or activities. I thought I was "just tired and stressed" when I drove to school every morning, fantasizing about a semi-truck crashing into me and killing me instantly. I thought it was normal to have a fog around my thoughts and senses. I thought it was normal to wake up constantly tired.

I remember one evening I was in my room, hanging out with my little brother, and we were joking around and I laughed. I heard mom gasp from the living room, and comment to dad, "It's been so long since I've heard her laugh!"

I realized something might be wrong.

I was blessed that my depression was largely influenced by my circumstances at the time. When I graduated, it pretty much disappeared.

For awhile.

After a difficult relationship, I was once again plunged into depression and this time, its paranoid friend, anxiety and their partner in crime, self-harm.

But God has a higher plan, and He works all things together for the good of those who love Him - something I'm so grateful for.

I did not understand it at the time, but Papa-God was preparing my soul for some serious healing.

I continued walking after God as best I knew how. I was still depressed, frequently anxious, and when my emotions would overwhelm me, I would scratch at my wrists with my fingers, or anything sharp at hand until they bled. I did not think this was strange or wrong, it was just something I couldn't help doing, and it made me feel better.

I believed I was worthless and inherently shameful - so it didn't matter if I hurt myself.

God, in His tender (and humorous) wisdom brought people into my life. I don't understand how He did it, but He gave me two friends who were patient and stubborn enough to start living His love into my life.

My concept of myself as a worthless and repugnant creature was directly challenged, and my sanity fell apart.

It would be easy to assume that experiencing people loving me would make me feel better, but instead it made me feel worse. Confronting the negative and contra-scriptural views I had of myself brought them up into the open, and I was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions.

I would become hysterical 2 or 3 nights a week. I had panic attacks, and lived in a constant state of dreadful terror of my friends abandoning me. The emotions were so constant and overwhelming, I began cutting myself much more frequently. I clung desperately to my friends, and simultaneously pushed them away.

There would be times we were hanging out, laughing and having a good time, and suddenly, I would withdraw emotionally. Very shortly, I would make an excuse and lock myself in the bathroom, overcome by terror and a deep repulsion about who I was. I hated myself so much, I would smell a terrible stench that seemed to come off of my skin.

My friends would patiently wait outside the bathroom, knocking on the door and calling for me to let them in. Eventually, I would tremblingly be persuaded to unlock the door, and they would come in, gently wrap me in their arms as I shook with grief about how repulsive and shameful I was. As I cried, I would choke out a "confession" of whatever shameful thing I was thinking of, sure that as soon as they heard this new horror, I would be rejected and left alone with how disgusting I was.

Instead, I would be met with tight hugs, assurances of forgiveness, and often, gentle comments about how what I did was not wrong, and I was not guilty of my imagined crimes.

Months passed, and I wasn't seeming to get better. I realized that I needed more help than my friends could give. At church one day, a sermon on the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda spoke to me in a very personal way. As the preacher read the passage, he came to the part where Jesus asks, "Do you want to be well?" I felt as if Jesus was speaking those words to me, personally. I whispered yes (and cried, of course). When I arrived home, I promptly made an appointment with a counselor, and began the very difficult work of addressing my past.

It is lamentable that there is such a taboo on discussing emotional problems in the church. I have often met with callous misunderstanding and had verses about joy and peace hurled at me like weapons. I have often berated myself with angry recitations of God's promises about peace and joy, and my apparent faithless failure to feel them.

What I have learned is that anxiety, self-harm and depression are symptoms. Sometimes they are symptoms that something is medically wrong with our bodies. Just as we would not deny an asthmatic or diabetic their medicine, and just as Paul encouraged Timothy to take wine (medicine) for his stomach, we should not "tie up heavy burdens" of guilt and shame onto people's back.

In other cases, depression and anxiety are symptoms of deep emotional and spiritual pain that needs to be healed.

One of the things I struggled (and struggle) with was believing that I should be able to "just pray" and be delivered from my "bad" and "un-Christian" emotions.

You know something interesting? There are many recorded healing miracles of Jesus in the Bible. But there were many other people in the world at the time who He did not miraculously heal. One Bible-recorded person who was left un-healed was the apostle Paul.

I've realized that my desire for a short-cut (miracle) may not be what God will do.

And some days, I'm okay with that. There are other days, painful days, where I cry out for freedom from my soul-wounds and the aching, overwhelming emotions that spring from them.

I am learning that His grace is sufficient for me, because His strength is made perfect in weakness. I am learning that my weakness and "failures" in no way change the depth and passion of God's love for me - something my performance-oriented self deeply needed learn. God's love is not earned by my ability to always be joyful, or to be a perfect example, or to be able to accomplish everything anyone needs. His love towards me is not changed by my emotions or how badly I am hurt or not. His love for me is constant, no matter how depressed or anxious I am.

I love that about Him.

I love too that He is patient and persistent.

After I had initially been in counseling for about two years, I (and my counselor) felt that I had accomplished a lot of healing, and ended our sessions. My depression did not plague me, and while I sometimes felt anxious when circumstances were hard, I had effective coping strategies that did not involve self-harm. Most importantly, I had learned that I had worth. I was not repulsive, I was attractive, and wanted.

On a mission trip to South Dakota, God performed a healing miracle on my spiritual heart. Because of my previous relationship, I "learned" that I was not to be trusted with hearing from the Lord. As a result, I completely cut off my emotional connection with the Lord, terrified of making a mistake. During prayer with one of the leaders (on the interminable drive there), God restored my emotional connection with Him.

He's so sneaky.

I enjoyed three months of depression-and-anxiety free living, complete with a precious emotional connection with Papa-God.

Little did I know, He was giving me tools and preparing me for a severe work of healing.

Gently, He brought to mind a memory that I had long, long buried and forgotten, because it was too traumatic and painful to deal with. However, even with someone as tender and kind as Jesus, this kind of intense trauma is cripplingly painful.

I have once again found myself plagued with depression and anxiety. I've experienced terror and paranoia in these past few months that I did not dream possible. Speaking of dreams, my nights have become haunted with the horror of my past and my inability to stop what happened.

But this time is different. I understand that my depression and anxiety are symptoms of the trauma I experienced - I have every reason to feel depressed and anxious. I am not ashamed of these emotions. They do not reflect a meager trust in God, a failure or sin on my part. They are part of my healing process, and unless God chooses to do a healing miracle once again, they are something to be endured.

Failure is a Satan Word

I had an interesting day yesterday, with quite a bit of mental strain and stress. I spent $200 on a mattress (a good deal that I think will pay off in the long run, but $200 is not a quantity of money I just spend.) In addition, the fact that my beautifully planned out budget for the month was a miserable failure increased the anxiety I felt about the mattress.

I also went to Walmart and bought some necessities, breaking the budget even MORE, and, in the process, completely spacing out, and walking away from the cashier with my cart to grab an item I had forgotten (sandpaper), and taking several minutes to figure out why my cart was empty.

I'm out of it, y'all.

This morning, I woke up feeling down, tired and depressed. I got up a touch later than usual, and went about my routine, getting tea, feeding the cats, sitting down to read my Bible ... But it all felt off and unreal. If you've ever experienced depression (which I have, and am currently experiencing), you know what I mean. "Life" is more like going through the motions as you try to work around your curled up, miserable soul.

I began prayer time reading Proverbs, and then read some Matthew, not really feeling "connected" to Jesus. Then I began to pray. Usually I sing to Him, but the song felt like sawdust and salt and stuck in my mouth. So I just started talking. I told Him how yucky I felt, and depressed, and the worst part is not knowing why. Just ... down. And as I continued to talk to Him, and ask questions I began to realize and voice: "I feel like a failure."

Failure is a Satan word. I used to own that word, and believe it about myself, and repeat it to myself, over and over. I know now, that "failure" is not me. I wrote in my journal:

"Failure is not a word that describes a child of God. With His words, He brought into being all that is or was (John 1) With His words, He has declared me beloved, (Jeremiah 31:3) [daughter] (1 John 3:1, Galations 3:26), friend (John 15:15), forgiven (Psalm 103:12), righteous (Philippians 3:9), holy (1 Corinthians 6:11),  worthy (2 Thessalonians 1:5), citizen of heaven (John 14:3), complete (Philippians 1:6), beautiful (Song of Solomon 4:7), and good (Genesis 1:31). Failure is a Satan word, and it has no part in me."

I was feeling like a failure because I had "failed" to anticipate and provide for all our financial needs with my budget. How silly!!!!! I am not God! I do not want to BE God, and I am so grateful HE is God, and not ME! I began to praise Him for providing for our needs, I asked for forgiveness for making my budget without asking for Him, and trusting in Him (Thou shalt have no other gods before Me ... This is includes budgets) to provide. The Bible says over and over, God will provide for my needs. God will provide for my needs. Nothing is too difficult for God. If my earthly Papa knows how to give good gifts (and he does), how much more my all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving Papa knows how to give GOOD gifts!

As I continued to praise God for providing, and for His forgiveness (and forgiving myself, and since I was on a roll, I forgave some people in my past who had hurt me - feel the chains fall off, people! Oh, God is good!) my spirits lifted. I could sing, and laugh and I remembered who I am! I am God's beloved, and precious treasure, and I am so super cool and awesome that God delights in me, and takes joy in me, and He loves me SO MUCH, that He sent His only son to die on a cross so that I would not die, but have everlasting life! Oh! God is good! All the time! All the time, GOD! IS! GOOD!

I share this, as intensely personal as it is, because I want to remind you, failure is a Satan word. It has no part in your life. The next time he comes to whisper that word in your ear, be like Edna Mode from the Incredibles movie:

I'm Not Alone

I've been doing better this week! I've wanted to post about this sooner, but - well, you know me, "Busy, busy!" (I'm working on that.)

After I posted my blog last time, something really, really amazing happened:

People called me!

One of my friends called me immediately, and talked with me about my struggles, encouraged me with his friendship, and assured me he would be there for me - I wouldn't be alone.

After that, my favorite sister-in-law (I only have one) texted, and invited me to come along on some errands with her, and my favorite nephew (again, I only have the one), then we went out for tea. (Bubble tea! Whoo hoo!)

I was so encouraged.

It helped me a lot, and now that I'm feeling a bit better, I can have some more perspective on what was happening to me emotionally.

Last year was pretty awful. I was very isolated. I had my children, yes, but my peers had moved away, (Caleb, Peter, Lisa) were enmeshed in their own difficulties (Bry, Amy), etc.

And the thing is, we're not meant to be alone.

I know my blog alarmed some people - especially the people who haven't experienced living with those kinds of emotions. But I'm proud of it.

I'm proud that I shared what I was feeling, because there were two good consequences from it:

1) I expressed how I felt by doing something creative and constructive instead of hurting myself,
2) I found out I was not alone.

I think that is the scariest thing for me; feeling like I'm totally, completely alone with no one to help me, and having to be strong all by myself.

But having people respond to me - show me that they care about me, that was so affirming!

It was also encouraging, because it confirmed that even if I AM busy and stressed out again this year, and even if the financial situation doesn't improve, there is something different, and it's a big thing:

I am not alone.

And that gives me courage.

A Bit Of Honesty

The past three days, it has been really hard not to cut myself.

And that really scares me.

I don't want to cut myself, and I hate that the desire is even still a part of me. I want so badly to be "normal," and instead I find myself fighting back tears, fighting back anxiety attacks, and trying to ignore the tingly sensations from my wrists.

Yeah, that's a thing. I have an actual physical sensation in my wrists that will only go away if I scratch at them until they bleed.

I haven't, yet.

I haven't scratched/cut in 14 months. And I've only done it once in the past 26.

I really don't want to break that streak. I want it to continue on until I die of old age. I never want to cut myself again.

And yet here I am, in that place again, fighting desperately against anxiety, ignoring the twitch in my fingers and itch in my wrists, and feeling so trapped, like there's no way out.

I feel so buried.

I remember reading the story of Sinbad the Sailor, and on one of his seven journeys (and, I'm sorry, but I would have stopped journeying after the FIRST major disaster, riches or not!) he was buried alive with his dead wife.

I remember reading about how he was forced to follow her dead body into the tomb, how he had one drink of water and one loaf of bread with him. How the air was dusty and smelled of cobwebs, old linen and death. How they rolled the stone across the tomb, and it was dark. How he sat there on the cold stone slab beside the body of his dead wife, and just waited.

No hope of escape. Just waiting to die, and hoping it would come sooner rather than later.

I feel like Sinbad right now, watching the stone get rolled across the tomb, and all the light disappearing, and the air getting hot and close, filled with the dust of corpses.

No wonder I'm not coping, feeling like that. o_O;

I'm not sure what to do. I'm not sure how to cope. The healthy part of me says, "This will pass. What you thought was going to happen, isn't, but things could still be okay!"

The rest of me is screaming, "I can't do this anymore!!!!!" I can't face another nine months of hopelessness, trapped in a burdensome, never-ending cycle of working, working, working and never having enough money, of always being completely stressed out and exhausted, of being completely isolated because of busyness.

We didn't even "really" get to celebrate Christmas last year!!!!!!!!!!!!! And Christmas is special. I know the cliche "It's about love, and family, and togetherness, and Jesus," but when you're so exhausted you feel constantly sick, and you feel totally frustrated at every turn because you can't give like you want too, and you don't have time for even the FREE Christmas traditions ...

It's really hard.

Right now, as I look at my life, all I can see for the next year is more isolation, more loneliness, more exhaustion, more feeling sick all the time, and no fun. EVER.

I only realized a couple weeks ago that last school year, I didn't do anything that was just ME. I didn't game. I didn't geek out about anything. I didn't hang out with friends. I didn't have any parties. I didn't do anything that was just ME.

Okay, maybe a couple things. Caleb came over for a short Christmas time with us. Aaaaaaaand ... that is all I remember doing.

*whimper*

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.

I know all the pat answers: "You're just not trusting God enough," "Give it to the Lord," "He'll give you strength," "You don't know what the future brings, " "Things will be different, don't worry," "Just don't worry about it," "God will provide," and I know these things - I don't really need somebody to tell me these, because I'm already shouting them at myself inside my head.

But what do I do with the feels?

What do I do with the dread I feel at facing another long, empty and lonely school year?
What do I do with how trapped I feel into working at anything, just to make ends meet?
What do I do with the anxiety that is clutching at my throat, and making my heart skip a beat?
What do I do with the tingling in my wrists that I have to remember, every moment, don't give in to?

What do I do with the feels?

"Hear my cry, O God! Listen to my prayer!

From the ends of the earth, I call to You, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

For You have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe.

I long to dwell in Your tent forever, and take refuge in the shelter of Your wings.

For You, God have heard my vows, You have given me the heritage of those who fear Your name.

May [I] be [in] God's presence forever, appoint Your love and faithfulness to protect [me].

Then I will ever sing in praise of Your name, and fulfill my vows day by day."

"As the deer pants for streams of water,
    so my soul pants for you, my God.

 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
    When can I go and meet with God?

My tears have been my food
    day and night,
while people say to me all day long,
    “Where is your God?”

These things I remember
    as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go to the house of God
    under the protection of the Mighty One
with shouts of joy and praise
    among the festive throng.

Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God.

My soul is downcast within me;
    therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
    the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep
    in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
    have swept over me.

 By day the Lord directs his love,
    at night his song is with me—
    a prayer to the God of my life.

I say to God my Rock,
    “Why have you forgotten me?
Why must I go about mourning,
    oppressed by the enemy?”
 My bones suffer mortal agony
    as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
    “Where is your God?”

Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God."

Discouragement

I always find it ironic that we are supposed to NEVER be discouraged.

Or if we are, discouraged, we're supposed to be working through it, and getting better.

We're certainly never supposed to give in to discouragement.

On the other hand, I know what giving in discouragement can lead to.

I really like Winston Churchill's quote, "If you're going through Hell, keep going."

Because that's what feeling discouraged is like.

It's like Frodo and Sam in the middle of the black land, having escaped from Ungoliant, escaped from the Tower, lost Gollum, left the orc troupe behind, and still climbing, climbing and climbing up Mount Doom to destroy the ring.

Nothing left except the focus of "destroy the ring." No emotions. No looking forward in hope. Just "destroy the ring," and sometimes you just have to stop, and breathe and eat some lembas ...

But lying there in your elf-cloak, you know that you're still gonna have to roll over, get up, and keep crawling up that stinking mountain, and throw the ring in the fire.

You get too tired to even care.

But you can't quit.

You can rest, but you can't quit.

I think that's an important point that is being missed.

It's okay to be discouraged. Getting the ring to Mount Doom seems hopeless, feels hopeless, and there's no hope of anything after it, except death (which at this point, sounds like a good rest).

But the thing is, you can't give up getting the ring to Mount Doom. EVERYBODY WILL DIE IF YOU GIVE UP GETTING THE RING TO MOUNT DOOM.

... There's a lesson here somewhere, I'm sure.

I'm really discouraged lately. I want to give up. It seems like everything I try is useless and futile. It doesn't  matter if something I do DOES work out, but that's just how depression works.

It's like Ecclesiastes, VANITY, VANITY, VANITY.

I'm really discouraged because I'm watching my friends go off left and right, and right and left, and frankly, I'm just waiting for the penultimate one to bite the dust.

Just waiting for it.

Waiting for the text, or the phone call, or the visit that reveals I'm no longer part of their life. <_>

I'm so tired of those.

I try to be glad for Shani, because SHE won't leave me at least, but somehow ... Shani is not balancing out the people on the leaving side.

I could list them all, but that is just TOO DEPRESSING.

And my students. *sigh* WHY AM I A TEACHER? I feel like nothing I'm doing is reaching my kids. Which is silly, because there's about four students who think I am just THE ULTIMATE IN AWESOME. But it's all the other kids. They're intent on being ignorant and proud and staying ignorant and proud.

Which would be fine, except I care about what happens to them. I don't particularly want to see them experience the consequences for their choices.

Also, when you're working yourself as hard as I work, and there is no monetary reward (I am not making money, people. I subsist. I might as well be a non-profit organization), you want to see what you're doing make a difference.

All I feel like I'm doing is being an irritation in their lives.

I feel superfluous everywhere. I don't feel like I'm needed or wanted at the school. I don't feel like my friends need or want me. When I asked them to be in contact more, eventually everyone said, "Stop texting so much," for various REASONABLE reasons ...

But what it said to me was "You are not wanted."

For someone who has struggled with that their whole lives, that is a very powerful, debilitating message.

I feel like I'm even superfluous in Shannon's life. The only thing I really do in her life is pay bills. She has all these new activities and new stuff at school, and new friends. She tries to include me, of course, but ...

I don't really feel like I fit in.

Urg.

WRITING WAS SUPPOSED TO HELP ME FEEL BETTER.

Instead, I just feel more depressed.

I'm angry, too. Angry at my friends. Because, HELLO, I need you, but obviously THAT doesn't matter!

I'm angry that the energy and love I pour out on my kids is pointless, not appreciated, and useless. (Not entirely, I got a nice thank you the other day, but that doesn't really affect you when you're depressed.)

I'm angry that I have friends who are giving up and giving up, left and right, and I'm left ALONE, carrying on.

I'm angry at being the only one left.

Get up, Frodo. This is Sam talking. Get up. We'll make it up the mountain, we'll destroy that ring, and I don't know what will happen next, but get up, Frodo!

In closing, Shani made me happy just now with a text.

See? Don't give up, Frodo. This is Sam talking. We'll make it.

One step at a time.