A dear friend of mine shared an article on FaceBook today about living with depression. Usually, I just keep scrolling when I see things like this. It isn't because I don't care. It isn't because I don't believe that things are as bad as they are made out to be. It isn't because I want to stick my head in the sand and just pretend like it isn't a problem.
Quite the opposite.
I know it is a problem. I know that incidence of depression has increased dramatically in Americans in the last 50 years. I know that it is estimated that 5% of the GLOBAL population suffer from depression, earning it a designation of "epidemic" from the World Health Organization. Guys. 5%. The current estimate for our global population is 7.5 Billion. Billion. With a "b". Using my calculator (because... you know, math) I can tell you that by those estimates that means that there are currently 375,000,000 people in the world suffering from depression. That's more than the entire population of the United States. Take a minute to let that sink in.
Now, I don't want to throw out a bunch a facts and figures about the symptoms of depression, its causes, or the treatments. Because honestly, it's too much. And please do not use this as medical or psychiatric advice. If you, or someone you know, is suffering from depression or thoughts of self-harm, seek professional medical help immediately. You can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24 hours a day at 1-800-273-8255 or click HERE to chat with them online.
Today I DID read the article. And it struck such a serious chord with me, that I felt that I had to get the words out. It reminded me so much of my own journey with depression, and I feel like God has been calling on me lately to open up and share about it. Hopefully it helps, or just speaks to someone else.
Because the first and foremost thing about depression is that you feel that you are alone. 100% alone.
And you're not. There are SO many of us that it boggles the mind that we could ever feel that way, but we do.
When I was 15, I got pregnant. I lost that baby at 10 weeks. My medical records say that it was a miscarriage. It was a death. I still mourn the loss of that child. I still grieve and think about what that precious life would be doing today. And at the time, I was 100% not able to handle this life-changing event. A few weeks after I lost the baby, I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression.
I can't tell you how many times I was asked "What is wrong?" only to answer "I don't know." I wasn't being difficult. I wasn't being obnoxious. I didn't know. If I looked back at my day, there wasn't anything that stood out as being WRONG, and yet, here I was, an emotional wreck.
Or what was even worse. The lack of emotion. Having to watch my friends and family during
conversation so I could imitate their facial expressions and listen to cues, because I certainly wasn't able to process the punch line in the joke they just told.
Depression made making a decision impossible. Even when I knew what I should do. I lost 20 pounds in just a few months due to the fact that I would KNOW I was hungry and should eat, but I was too overwhelmed by the need to decide what to eat that I just wouldn't. I would stand in front of the refrigerator and look at the food, hear my stomach growl, and still not be able to move my hand to pick something up.
Depression was laying in bed for days, with body aches that can't be soothed, a sense of overwhelming loneliness and worthlessness. Why bother getting out of bed? Or take a shower? Why try to take care of myself when no one else cared about me? Why should I try to beat this horrible, unbeatable problem? Why should I reach out to someone when I am utterly, miserably alone? Why should I try to stimulate my mind and cheer up my emotions when it is my mind and my emotions that have turned on me?
Depression was anger. Seething, boiling rage that had no place to go, and no one to be directed at. I turned it inward. I turned it on the people who loved me. I unleashed it on God. I remember driving to the parking lot of my church one night, getting out of the car and just screaming obscenities and rage at the cross on the building. The verse in Job where his wife tells him to curse God and die? That was the perfect plan for me.
Depression was deciding to take the entire bottle of pain pills the doctor had prescribed me, and hating the person who found me passed out on my kitchen floor and made me vomit them up. It was attempting suicide two more times after that before I had graduated from high school. It was lying to the doctor, telling them that it was a cry for help and asking for something to make me feel better. I didn't want help, I wanted it to stop. I wanted relief. I was given anti-depressants.
So I did what everyone said I should do. I took the pills. They stopped me from crying. But they also stopped me from feeling anything. At least that kind of numbness was tolerable. I became a puppet. I felt like I was inside this shell of a body and I was just having to go through the motions of human life. I had graduated from high school, moved into my first apartment, got my first real job, got married and had a baby - all the while I really was just watching these things happen from behind the curtain of my mind.
Depression robbed me of truly enjoying the first few years of my son's life. I lived in a constant state of panic that something would happen to me. I made my husband or my mother call me every hour to make sure I was still OK. I was terrified that I would die and the baby would be left alone. My biggest fear? The one that gripped my heart in a still-memorable panic? That I would die, and he would be hungry, and crying for me, and he wouldn't understand why I didn't come. At least this finally put a stop to the thoughts of killing myself - what kind of mother would I be if I left my son now? He is truly that catalyst that caused me to begin to come out of it. I had to start taking care of myself, so that I could take care of him. I had to eat, because I was teaching him how to feed himself. I had to go out around other people, and begin investing in friendships again, because I refused to stifle him socially. I sang, I danced, I played games - all for him, because I was determined that he would have a happy childhood. I learned to love making lists, so that I didn't have to rely on my still-petrified mind to come up with things spontaneously for us to do, and so that my now-forgetful brain wouldn't keep us from having diapers, or books, or snacks when we were out.
Eventually, those habits took hold and helped me to control the emotions that were so chaotic. I enjoyed our outings. I loved our friends. I had a purpose and plan for my life again. I didn't feel alone anymore. I went back to college, I got a new job and a new house. Even though I went through a divorce, I still felt positive and upbeat. I made new friends, tried new experiences, stayed positive and happy so that my kids could see that everything was going to be OK.
It wasn't until about 3 years ago that God caught up with me. I had kept my kids in church, in fact we went to the same church where I had cried and raged all those years ago. I volunteered, taught Sunday School, sang on the praise team. But my faith was all for show. I had been raised in a Christian family, and I felt like I was living a lie. Surely I shouldn't be having a problem with my spiritual life. I knew all about God. I could answer all the questions. Respond with all of the cliche phrases. But I started asking myself "Why?". Why would a loving God let me go through all of that? Why would He allow me to have my life turned upside down? How could this possibly be His plan for me? Did He even have a plan for me? Didn't seem like it, because I had been having to do all of this on my own for years now! And then, I read a verse that has stuck with me ever since.
Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
That's when I was able to understand. Depression wasn't His plan for my life. He knew, in His omniscience, that I would go through this. But He never desired it for me. I started trying to rekindle that lost relationship, and am still in the process of learning to trust the Lord again. After nearly two decades of "knowing" that I was the only one who could handle my life, it is admittedly hard to relinquish that control. But honestly, I had to get over myself. At what point did I decide that I was more capable of running my life than the One who created it? I wasn't exactly doing a stellar job, either. I mean, teen pregnancy, college dropout, and a divorce making me a single mother didn't exactly sound like the primrose path I had envisioned for myself or portrayed to those around me. Maybe I needed to admit my own inability to do this, and get out of the way so that God could take control. Things are definitely better. I was able to successfully transition off of my antidepressants after 16 years (with the care and supervision of my doctor). My kids and I are happier. I live in a lovely, happy home. I am married to a strong, caring man who loves me and my children wholeheartedly. I have a great job, where I get to experience firsthand the way the people of God can show His love in their daily lives to those around them. Don't get me wrong, things are still difficult. Life is just hard, guys. I still have days where I slip up, and yank that steering wheel right out of His hands, exclaiming "Oh just let me do it!". There are days when I cry more than I have in years and think "I'm just not strong enough, I can't do this." And then I hear His sweet voice saying “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) and I think to myself "well, Lord, you are very perfect because I am very weak."
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