Three days!!

It has been three days today since I have had a suicidal thought. While that may not seem like long at all, to me it is monumental! It gives me hope. I'm still tired and have very dark circles under my eyes, but my head is relatively clear and my heart doesn't constantly hurt. I do not feel like I am always fighting with myself, trying to overcome the suffocating darkness of depression. And for two nights now, I have slept without the aid of sleeping pills and have slept the entire night through. Another huge deal for me!
What I have found interesting, however, is that as my depression has started to lift, my anxiety has not. My hands still shake almost constantly. My jaw is clenched and my head has a dull ache. I think part of that is because I am mentally stealing myself again another crash, another meltdown, another drop back into the darkness. If this anxiety does not let up, I will definitely bring it up to the psychiatrist on the 13th when I see her again. But I'm also clinging to a quote I read from Neil Anderson. He wrote: "Fear of anything other than God is mutually exclusive to faith in God." God has faithfully brought me through this journey to this point and whether there are more dark times ahead or not, I know that God will continue to walk beside me and carry me through.

Victory over the Darkness

A friend of mine recommended a book for me to read. It's called Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson. One of the problems I've been very aware of in my life is that my life does not reflect the peace and joy one would expect from someone who truly believes what the Bible says. I think this is due in large part to the fact that even though, or maybe because, I have spent all 33 years of my life in the church, reading my Bible and memorizing verses, I am actually confused about what exactly the Bible teaches. Many times, I will think "I'm saved by grace. Can't earn it. But if I mess up repeatedly, a lightning bolt will come down from heaven and zap me into oblivion." or "Jesus saved me, which means I shouldn't have anymore weaknesses. I am fully aware of the fact that I'm messed up, which means I must not really love God as much as I say I do. So I must be a fraud." And I become confused about who I really am, who God is, and what His view is of me.
At the end of the first chapter of Victory over the Darkness, Neil Anderson lists a plethora of verses dealing with who I am in Christ. I looked each and everyone of them up and have, in the last hour and a half, received more healing than I have in the 6 therapy sessions I have had to date. If you are struggling to remember who you are in Christ, here's the list:
http://www.ficm.org/index.php?command=textwhoamiinchrist
I would encourage you to take the time to read through them. If you click on the reference on the site above, it will take you straight to the verse. You don't even have to own a Bible to do this. It takes awhile, but it's definitely worth an hour of your time.

Never will I leave you

“Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you.”
“Lord! You promised! You PROMISED!! Why am I so alone?! Where ARE you? Why have you left me all alone?”
Silence.
“GOD!!!!” My chest hurts. My heart's breaking for the thousandth time. Tears stream down my face as sobs shake my body. “GOD!!!” I pick up my pillow to stifle my screams of desperation and rage. Can't have the neighbors calling the police. “GOD!!!!!” I scream again and again and again. My throat hurts. My chest hurts. My head hurts. My sinuses hurt. I have cried so many tears that I am dehydrated and parched. Yet still they flow with no end in sight. Tissues cover the floor and the silence continues to fall heavily upon my ears.
“No! Not again. No way. Huh uh. Not a chance. No. I have asked them to pray too many times. They are going to get sick and tired of me and then I will be completely alone. No. I refuse.” The tears continue to pour from my eyes and my chest continues to heave with the sobs. The darkness in my brain settles in thickly and I cannot think. I want this to end. I can't do this anymore. I can't fight this anymore. I will end it. Jason will be better off. The kids can get a new mom, a better mom, one who's not so sick all the time, one who has patience and energy and can love them as they deserve to be loved. Yes. That would be better for all involved. I am just a worthless whore anyway, a fraud who claims to have faith but can't get past the pain. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.
I think of ways to end the suffering, weighing the pros and cons, when suddenly a little blond child steals through the fog in my brain and I see the image of my princess. “Mommy” I remember her saying. “Mommy, don't tell Daddy if it will hurt his feelings, but I love you more than I love Daddy.” And as the memory fills my brain, I can almost feel her soft little arms around my neck and feel the moistness of her kiss on my lips. “Oh, God!” I whisper. “I can't leave her. I can't do that to her!” Dejected and humiliated, I pick up my phone and once again, to the four who have shown me complete and unconditional love, I send out yet another text. “Please guys. I can't fight anymore. I need your prayers.” I drop the phone, defeated. Soon, my phone starts to ding.
“I love you.”
“I rebuke these suicidal thoughts in the name of Jesus!”
“Praying”
And the fog in my brain begins to dissipate. Once again, I have the determination to live, to fight this beast of depression, to win this war. And once again, God has used His children to show me that, indeed, He has never left me. He has used my dear friends to remind me that unconditional love does in fact truly exist and that come hell or high water, they will stand by me through this, that the love they have for me does not change when I am down and weak. And this time, as the tears begin to flow anew, they are tears of gratitude for the incredible gift of such dear, dear friends.

An illness or a curse from heaven

Today I'm taking a break from my tales of the looney bin to post some musings, some thoughts regarding depression and people's views of it. Today is a rough day for me. My depression is thick and suicidal thoughts bounce around in my head. I'm dizzy and it takes effort to make my body move. But I'm moving because I am determined to conquer this disease so that I, in turn, can help others rise above.
I have been struck by something on this journey. Depression holds a certain stigma among some Christians, but definitely not by all. Many, many of my brothers and sisters in Christ have pleasantly surprised me by coming alongside me, supporting me and building me up as I struggle with my depression. But I have been asked if my sorrow is a godly sorrow. And I have been counseled to turn from my sin. I am far from perfect and I know that some of the triggers of this depression come from struggling to surrender my will to God, but let me tell you something. When I am face down on the floor, sobbing my heart to God, telling Him He can have anything and everything He wants and begging Him to deliver me from this depression only to have my brain filled with thoughts of self-harm and self-hatred, when I have scoured the Bible for promises and held them near and dear in my heart and still have faced another day with absolutely no energy or will to live, you CANNOT tell me that it is because of the sin I harbor in my heart. If I could, I would give up everything I have, everything I own, everything I hold dear and sit on a street corner the rest of my life in exchange for a clear head and a renewed love for life! I don't know exactly why I am where I am today. I know that some of it is circumstantial and some of it is biological. But I urge you, please, before you condemn someone for something you do not understand, take the time to love them. Take the time to think before you speak and if nothing else, pray for them, because that will get them so much further than any judgment or condemnation ever could.

An unexpected break

The guard led me to a holding cell of sorts, a room with a bench seat and a chair. The barred window looked out over a pool, which I found odd. Who swims in a looney bin? Someone must, although I never did find out the answer to that question. The guard asked me if I wanted something to eat or drink and I told him I was terribly thirsty and would love some water. He said he would get it for me and left. I laid down on the bench seat, closed my eyes and was soon more relaxed than I had been in a long time. My world had stopped. I didn't have my phone. I didn't have a clock by which to mark the passing minutes and hours. I didn't have the children clamoring for my attention, dinner to be made, friends in crisis or a husband to care for. It was quiet. Time stood still. After awhile, the guard came in and brought me a pillow and some blankets. Still no water. I was REALLY thirsty and he said he would bring me something to drink. I waited a bit, but when he didn't come back, I put my head down on the pillow and drifted off. In and out. I could hear the guards, then another patient they brought in, who apparently was way less happy than I was to be there and was making sure the guards knew exactly how she felt, in very colorful language, about the whole process.
As I waited for hours there in that little room, I marveled that I was not bored, that other than being incredibly thirsty, I did not mind the wait at all. I was so tired, and the break from the real world came as an unexpected relief.

Security

Jason has to leave to pick up the kids from school and Sonja has come to sit with me. Finally, the security guard comes out front and calls me. Security guards scare me, but this one surprises me and smiles. He's nice! He tells me I can come back. I hand my purse to Sonja. He tells me I have to take off my pearls. My pearls. As I hand them to Sonja, my mind flashes back to that Sunday. I see her giving them to me, telling me they were her mom's, that she inherited 3 strings of them when her mom died and that she wanted me to have one. A lump grows in my throat as I realize once again how blessed I am to have a sister like her. As I hand her those pearls, I ask her to please take care of them. They mean the world to me. Then the guard says I have to take out my scrunchi. I try not to be humiliated by my pony tail hair. After all, I'm heading into the looney bin. Really?! How much more humiliating can it get?! But still. I'm embarrassed. I hug Sonja goodbye and walk through the doorway.
My heart is beating rapidly as we walk down the hallway, but again, I am struck by how nice the guards are. Very friendly. Very respectful. And then he reaches for the rubber gloves. My heart starts to race! "Oh, HELL, no!" my mind screams. "I walked in here completely voluntarily and definitely did NOT sign up for this! LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!"
"Turn around, please, back to me"
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
"Arms out like an airplane."
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!!!!
As he pats down the outside of my clothing, through my pain and fog, I sense a giggle well up and I know this will be a story. The snapping of the rubber gloves. The panic filling my mind. The benign and uneventful pat down. The overwhelming relief that a stay in the nut house does not, in fact, include legal rape. Whoo!