Being a Christian with depression

I have written a little before about my reluctance to get help with my depression.  There were many reasons for this.  One was by admitting I needed help I had to admit there was actually something wrong.  If I didn't get help there was nothing wrong.  This was a big lie I was telling myself but society was telling me it too.  There is a stigma about depression and anxiety and all mental illnesses.  People hide it.  Families don't talk about it.  It makes people uncomfortable.  I think there are many reasons for this, but it mainly is from being misunderstood. People are afraid of things they don't understand.  So it doesn't get talked about.  The thing is admitting I have depression didn't change anything about me.  I am still me. Telling the world in my blog that I have struggled my whole life with suicidal thoughts didn't change me.  Now people just know.  Getting help just helped me to understand myself better.  We need to stop being afraid of what others think.  Hiding a problem doesn't make the problem not exist.  By not telling people I was hurting myself and others around me.

Another big issue is among Christians.  A lot of people think that a Christian shouldn't be depressed.  God is the ultimate healer after all.  I often thought that I just had to better in my faith and my depression would go away.  God is the ultimate healer and he can help you feel better at times.  Most Christians have no issues going to the doctor for physical illnesses yet are reluctant to get help for mental illnesses.  There is this stigma among Christians that we should all be happy and everything should be great.  This stigma needs to stop.  Just like you shouldn't tell someone to go to their pastor to treat cancer, your depression shouldn't be only treated by a pastor either.  Going to a pastor for counseling is great, and as a Christian it is a good option. However just like a pastor can't administer chemo therapy, he can not treat all of depression.  Depression is complex and needs to be treated in many ways.

My faith in God has been my ultimate comfort my whole life.  God has helped me through all of my major depressive episodes.  Yet I still have depression.  It didn't matter how big my faith was I still had depression.  I thought I just needed to be stronger in my faith trust God more.  Still I continued to struggle. The thing I didn't realize is the chemicals in my brain are not the same as most people.  Just like I wouldn't hesitate to go to the doctor for my scoliosis that I was born with.  I shouldn't hesitate to get help for my depression.  Just like I needed a brace to help my scoliosis I need meds to help my depression.  God helped me through my scoliosis.  He helped me get used to the brace.  He helped me find the right exercises as I got older to strengthen my core to help the chronic pain.  Yet I still have scoliosis it won't go away.  I can maintain it, but it will never go away, my spine will always be crooked.  Depression is the same.  I was born with it.  I can do many things to help it.  God is with me through it, and will help me but just like I needed the brace and still have to de exercises for scoliosis, I will always need counseling, and to take medication for depression.  It doesn't make my faith weaker.  It doesn't make me a bad Christian.  It is part of who I am.  God has given me the tools to help my depression and I need to use them.

It's not easy to admit you need help.  It's embarrassing to talk about.  I felt like if I admitted I needed help I was a failure at life.  I was a failure as a Christian.  I thought I just had to be stronger.  It was up to me to get better, and since I was getting worse I was a failure.  I felt that my faith should carry me and since it wasn't I started to doubt myself even more.  Over time I started to even doubt the existence of God.  As I got help I began to realize all those doubts were because of the depression.  God was still as real as he was when I sang campfire songs during my summers working at camp.  I was so afraid of disappointing God because of my depression I had failed to realize that God doesn't care about my depression.  He loves in spite of it, he loves me because of it. God always loves me right where I am.

Suicide

What I am about to share is another one of those things that I haven't shared with many people.  It's one of those topics that make people uncomfortable and honestly it makes me a little uncomfortable too. I started this blog because I realized my life experiences can help others.  I have always wanted people to like me.  I have always taken care of people around me.  I naturally nurture, and protect those that I love.  My biggest fear with sharing this topic is I don't want to hurt anyone.  This blog is to help people.  I believe that people need to hear my story. It may help you because you have had similar issues or you might meet someone that is going through the things I have been through.

I can't even really tell you the first time I started having suicidal thoughts, I think they probably evolved over time. When I was little and stressed out I would fantasize about running away.  I wanted to escape the stress and in my little mind running away could fix that, then slowly as I got older I realized I would be better off dead, more accurately it would be easier for everyone I cared about if I was dead.  I felt like I was a disappointment.  I wasn't good in school, I wasn't good at sports, and I could be annoying at times. I was the youngest of three girls and very immature.  I got on my sisters nerves like any normal little sister does at times.  Somewhere some how I eventually began to interpetate people being annoyed at me as they didn't like me.  I have always had a deep love for my family and friends and I was continuously hurting them.  The easy solution was for me to not be around them.  I at first thought about running away, and that eventually turned into suicidal thoughts.

As I got a little older I began to understand that I wasn't really a disappointment to my family and friends. Sometimes I would just get on thier nerves and they didn't hate me forever.  They didn't really hate me at all.  When I was in eighth grade things got rough again. I was bullied.  I wasn't doing well in school.  I began to think very seriously about killing myself.  I didn't tell a soul.  Suicide was talked about in school, and the one thing I heard was to get help.  Get help if you are having those thoughts, get help if someone told you they were having those thoughts.  So much of what I did as a kid was attention seeking.  I was afraid someone would just brush it off.  I was afraid of being judged.  I was afraid of hurting those I love.  I realized that people did want me around and if I wanted to be dead that would hurt them.  So I kept my mouth shut.  I didn't tell a soul.  

The thoughts never went away.  Sometimes they would be worse than other times, but always in the back of my head was that lingering thought that the world be better place without me in it.  Even when things were good, if I let someone down I would immediately go there.  When things were good I could easily think the thought and then go on like nothing was going on.  I hid it from everyone.  I was afraid that if I admitted I was suicidal that I would be looked at differently.  That people would tip toe around me, that I would loose friends.  I was afraid that I would hurt everyone I loved because people don't understand suicide.  So I was protecting them from me. During some of the bad times I went to counseling.  It helped, but eventually I would work through some things that were stressing me and I got good at hiding my thoughts again. 

About three years ago things got really rough.  Usually through my life I could pinpoint what was making things harder.  In eighth grade it was being bullied.  A bad spell in college was when my parents were going through their divorce.  This time was different.  I was happily married, my dad who had been sick was doing really well, I had a good job and worked with people I liked.  Yet for some reason most of the time I wanted to kill myself.  I decided that I needed help.  I went to my doctor and talked things over with her.  She set me up with counseling and I started taking some antidepressants.  

In my counseling sessions for I started to learn that my depression and suicidal thoughts were okay.  That was huge for me.  It was okay.  I didn't have to fake it.  I didn't have to hide it. I had spent my life shielding myself and everyone around me from what I thought was something that I shouldn't feel.  It didn't matter what others thought or what I thought my feelings were valid, they were real, and most importantly it's okay to feel them.  Then I began to understand something else.  If I disappoint someone they still like me, and they understand.  They understand that I had a long day at work and want to cancel plans the same as I would understand if they canceled on me.  I stopped worrying about pleasing others.  The final piece to the puzzle was realizing that I had gotten used to wishing I was dead so much that it was my go to coping mechanism for stress.  I started to realize that I needed to pinpoint what was bugging me.  If I had suicidal thoughts, it was usually because I was stressed out about something else.  So I needed to change my way of thinking. An examples for this is  On my way to work I would think I wanted to kill myself.  In truth I just didn't want to go to work and hated driving on the S-curve. By realizing what was actually stressing me out helped. 

Eventually things started to get better, but just like those thoughts gradually came over time, it also has taken time to heal. I am not completely better.  I never will be.  By pretending I was fine for so many years was a lie.  I have clinical depression and anxiety. I always have and always will.  I will continue to have good spells and bad spells and it's perfectly okay that I do.  It is a part of who I am.  I opened up and wrote this because it's important to understand that their is nothing wrong with mental illnesses. I hid it because I thought there was.  By hiding it I wasn't healing and faking what was real.  I am writing about this to help people who have depression to get help, and to help people who do not have depression to understand what it's like and how to help.

Fathers Day

In October two weeks after my Dad passed away we celebrated his Birthday for the first time without him.  The following month it was time to celebrate Thanksgiving without Dad, then Christmas.  For the last eight months there hasn't been a day that I don't think of him.  Today is especially hard because today is Fathers Day.

The day of the year that you celebrate your dad.  When I was growing up, we didn't really make to big of a deal about Father's Day.  My sisters and I would give him some kind of homemade gift, and then we would go to church.  Dad always had this special grin he would give when he felt loved.  I would always see that smile on Father's Day.  When I started working at camp, the best I could do was call him on Fathers Day.  He would always be happy to talk to me and tell me random stories he knew I would enjoy.  When he moved to Florida he would tell me about dolphins and sea turtles.  He was always happy to here from me.  And it was good to talk to him.  I called him many other times throughout the year, but on Fathers Day I could hear that special grin.

When Dad moved back up to Michigan after being diagnosed with cancer, we were able to more things with dad some years we did a cookout, other years we took him out to eat. Some years for one reason or another all of us girls couldn't see dad at the same time.  I would go his place and give him a gift, and he always had to show me what my sisters had brought before me.  He was just so happy.  He told me often he loved me, and there was never a doubt in my mind that he did, but in Fathers Day I could see his love.  I could see his love in his smile.  I could see his love as he told me about his visits with my nieces and nephews.  He was so proud of all of us.  I miss him.  I know that he is proud and still feels loved  by his girls up in Heaven.  Happy Fathers Day Dad!  

Pictured Rocks

From the ages of 14-27 I spent every summer at camp except two.   One of those Summers I went to Africa.  I most likely will share some stories about Africa at some point, but not today.  This is a story about an adventure I had the Summer I stayed home.

That Summer I decided to be "responsible" and take a couple of classes at the local community college to make up for some classes that I had failed.  I also worked a job doing maintenance at college.   It was not a fun Summer. I fumbled through my classes.  I got up every morning and worked my job.  The silver lining was at the end of the summer my friend and I were planning a two week backpacking trip to Pictured Rocks.

The day we left we got a late start.  We had several things to do before leaving town.  I don't really remember what they were, but they were important.  We finally left by late afternoon.  By the time we crossed the Mackinaw Bridge it was starting to get dark.  We found a quiet little campground to spend the night.  In the middle of the night we learned why the campground was so quiet, a train came through the middle about every hour!  Tired and cranky from lack of sleep we got up and headed to the visitors center to check in and reserve our campsites.

Finally we were on our way!  We parked at the trailhead. My friend gracefully put her backpack on. I put my pack on but wasn't quite ready for the weight of a two week pack.  My knees buckled, I tried to catch myself and managed to fall to my knees before falling face forward and landing on my chin.  I hurt everywhere.  My knees hurt, my head was pounding.  I felt the blood.  I tried to get up but it was difficult as I had a 40lb backpack on my back.   For some reason there  was something in my mouth, as I managed to sit up all I could think was "Get thing out of mouth". Meanwhile my friend was appropriately flipping out and trying to help - grabbing her first aid kit. As I began to spit,my  friend says "Why are you spitting blood?"  I finally managed to spit out the object, only to realize it was a part of my tooth.  When I had fallen I managed to bite my tongue hard enough to pierce it with one of my top teeth, chipping it on a bottom tooth.

We went into the bathroom and began cleaning the gravel out of my chin.  I really have to give my friend all the credit here, she did amazing.  She was brave, she was gentle and she cleaned the hole in my chin.  We realized we were far away from any kind of med center or hospital.  We could go home,  we maybe should have, but remember how awful my Summer had been?  This was my one trip, my one bit of happiness before another year of school. We decided to give it one night.

After making a little detour to a gas station to stock up on gauze and Neosporin, we headed into the wilderness.  It was beautiful there were waterfalls, cliffs overlooking the lake, and nature wonderful nature.  That first day we changed my gauze often, and gave me Tylenol every four hours on the dot.  We finally arrived at our campsite in the early evening.  As we walked up to the community fire ring one inebriated woman bluntly stated "You fell forward didn't you?"  So we told the epic tale.  That night when my friend was asleep I realized I was in a lot of pain.  I decided in the morning we would go home.  I fell asleep with the peace that at least I tried.

The next morning I woke up.  I had slept well and my chin didn't really hurt to bad.  It felt like a skinned knee.   There was a still a large "hole" as my friend called it but, I decided I could go on.  So we did.  Our two week hike was filled with great memories.  We met many interesting people, the gauze on my chin always being a great icebreaker. We saw amazing views, and we relaxed. I learned a lot on that trip.  I learned the importance of  keeping a lighter backpack.  I learned more about God by viewing his creation.  I learned how to pray better.  I learned that hotdog are by far my most favorite food.  I learned that with determination and persistence you can do anything.  Most importantly I learned how to be patient and rely on someone else to take care of me, and that I had a friend for life.

The following Spring my friend got married, and I worked at camp again.  I have never again gone on that big of a trip again, but my friend and I have been able to enjoy many smaller weekend trips.  She is my number one hiking pal!  We have taken her kids and my nephews and nieces on trips. We will never forget our trip to Pictured Rocks though and this Summer we plan to go back for a week. I can't wait!

Being bullied

There is a part of my past that most people who know me don't know.  It's hard for me to talk about. I don't really want people to see me as the kid who was bullied.  I just wanted to be accepted then and deep down I think people wouldn't accept me now if they knew. I know that that's not true, but I still have that fear in me.  I guess I should really start from the beginning.

In elementary school I didn't have many friends.  I had one best friend who is still my best friend, but we didn't really play together much.  We spent time at each others houses and went to camp together but we really didn't play to much together at recess. She ended up switching schools in third or fourth grade, and then there really was no one.  I can remember going through spurts of playing with a friend for a period of time, but eventually I would go back to swinging.  I loved swinging. In the winter I would push all the snow away so I wouldn't hit the ground.  I had one swing that was my favorite and I would swing every recess.  Looking back I think it was probably fulfilling my sensory needs from being over stimulated from my ADHD, but if you were to ask me then then I would have probably told you I just like to swing.   When I would swing I would make up stories.  I talked to myself when I made up stories so I probably talked to myself when I sang.  I at least moved my lips.  I still make up stories when I go on hikes and I have to remind myself to keep my mouth closed.  Anyway my point with all that is I was strange.  

In fifth grade I started wearing my brace.  In sixth grade there were two big changes in my life.  The first one was we moved to the junior high building, that had no playground and swings.  The second was that my older sister who was my protector went to high school and rode a different bus.  Sixth grade is also the year where the other girls in my class started to get interested in boys and makeup.  I was immature for my age and still preferred to play with dolls and swing.  In middle school for recess  we had sports teams and would take turns playing the other teams.  If your team wasn't playing you sat and watched the others.  I was and still am horrible at sports and it wasn't fun to me at all.  I honestly can't tell you how I acted, but I am a moody person, and if I don't get breaks from things I don't enjoy ....trainings at work, to many meetings....I turn into an angry bear.  I am sure that I was moody most of the time. Another thing about me is I tend to over react.  I am better at hiding it now, but sometimes at work my coworkers will start laughing at my hand motions and facial expressions when something bugs me.  So here I was this over emotional hormonal teenager that needed sensory outlets an had none.  

I am not sure when the bullying started but I do know it gradually got worse.  I know I got picked on from time to time on the bus in elementary school but my sister would put a stop to it.  As I went through junior high ( middle school) it slowly got worse. By the time eighth grade rolled around it was so bad that I walked home from a bus stop that wasn't mine ( about 3 miles) just so I wouldn't have to endure the hour long bus ride with the bullies.  I can remember it was the worse on the bus, but then slowly it started to migrate to everywhere.  The bullies were mostly boys and I think it just was fun for them to get a reaction out of me ( Like I said before I do overreact, and it can be funny.). Back then however, I was not at point that I could laugh at myself. 

To say the whole class was involved would be an overstatement, but not one class mate stopped it, or helped me through it.  I was alone.  At least I felt alone.  One teacher cared. Just one out of six.  I am forever grateful for that one teacher, but it wasn't enough.  Not then.  I needed more.  Eventually things got so bad that my parents pulled me out of my school halfway through second semester and put me in a new one.  I got picked on there a little bit too, but the biggest difference was I had a small group of friends.  I can still remember boys at the new school teasing me about the way I looked or walked or whatever.  Then my new friends who had not known me for very long, just said " come on let's go away from them, those guys are jerks".  That's it that's all.  I no longer felt like a victim.  I had friends.  They didn't stand up for me, they just told me to ignore them.  That's all I needed.

The summer between my eighth and ninth grade year I started doing a volunteer program at camp.  It made me a different person.  I was encouraged to be myself, and was loved for  uniquely who I am.  

At camp I learned how laugh at myself, how to trust in God, how to lead, how to be a cheerful servant.  Most of all I was loved.  I was loved for who I was.   Camp was my happy place.  Camp was  my safe place.  Every kid needs a place like that.  It doesn't have to be camp.  It can be youth group or 

soccer or drama club or anything.  Every kid needs a place where they can be free.

It was also that summer that I truly forgave those kids who bullied me, and started a long process of healing.  Sometimes it still haunts me though. I still get overly anxious about starting new jobs.  I worry if I will be liked by people. I am self conscious about the way certain clothes will look.  I am writing this mostly for two reasons.  The first is because it's part of helping me heal. The second is much more important.  It's to encourage everyone to be that one teacher who was there, or the kid who told me to ignore the bullies, or be the camp counselor who praises the weird quirky outcasted broken kid to be just who they are.  Be that someone who makes a difference.