Refining

When I was depressed, I didn't write.
The reason I did not write is because writing about how I was feeling made it worse. Any good therapist out there will make a recommendation to a depressed young woman to start journaling. (This is both useful for the patient and the therapist.) I like writing. I have always liked it. When I was in fourth grade, our teacher gave out some Halloween paper, and asked us to write a one page Halloween story. I went ahead and wrote 10 pages - so many that she told me I could not have any more special Halloween stationary. When I was 13, I wrote the most depressing, emo "book" that one has ever laid eyes on. After about 120 pages worth of writing I realized it was completely awful, and in a fit of teenage angst, decided to throw it out (which I truly do not regret - it was NOT good.) And then, when I renewed my committment to my faith, I started writing every single day, without fail, documenting my life, as well as my journey of faith.

Writing has always been something I loved, but when depression moved into my life, I couldn't stand to document it. As a teenager I never worried about others reading my diary - in fact I kind of enjoyed sharing it with captive sleepover friends. As a college student, I was mostly writing about my faith and my adoration for men who were "just not that into me." I never wrote things that were much of a secret; my writing had never been about secrets. But when depression set in, and then self injury, writing about it was overwhelmingly embarassing, and shameful. And since I could not write honestly anymore, without being overcome with frustration, anger, and guilt, I pretty much stopped. Writing made me feel worse.

Not being able to write forced me to look outside myself for an outlet. And as much as I love God, he was not my favorite person during that time, and I felt completely distant from my faith. I have incredible parents, but the distress I was experiencing exceeded their skill-set, and I was not able to share all my secrets with them. So I started seeing a therapist. In all, I have had four therapists since that first one in my sophomore year of college. Having someone who was prepared to listen to me talk about every awful feeling I was experiencing, and then holding me accountable to working towards change, was my lifeline.

Even now, I can't help but wish my faith had been strong enough to sustain me, but depression blocked the connection I had always felt to my faith. I still believed everything I had been raised with, but in some ways, that made my struggle much harder. I was once one of those people who believed you can pray depression out of someone's life. But when it was happening to me, I realized it just was not gonna be that simple.

I started taking an antidepressant in the summer before my junior year. I was ashamed, and felt silly, as though maybe this depression stuff wasn't really bad enough to warrant such a drastic measure. I kept it a secret for about 3 months, which, for anyone who knows me, is completely amazing since my life is pretty much an open book. Even once I told people, I still struggled with whether or not I really needed medication at all. I kept thinking I was "faking" and making a bigger deal about my mood than it really was.

When I was about 5 years old, I was playing with my friends on the swings in their backyard. The swingset had a slide, and when I went down it, I landed kind of funny. I was not hurt at all, but all my friends were so worried! My friend Matthew even offered me his Smarties so I would feel better. So I just went with it. I pretended I had hurt myself, because the attention felt pretty darn good.

As a young adult, I was truly afraid that I was repeating that scenario. I had already started studying mental health, and I knew enough to know, that there are people who do that - manipulate others, or fake illness to get attention. I was so afraid that I was becoming one of those people. Ironically it was my inability to write that signaled to me that my problems were real. The frustration I felt in not being able to connect to that part of myself highlighted how real my issue was.

I guess my point with all of this, is that if you are someone who is struggling, don't underestimate the impact it can have on your life, and the damage it can do. I was worried about what my parents would think, or what getting help would mean, or how people would see me and it took far too long for me to start the work that needed to be done to get back to a mood equilibrium. I kept a lot of secrets back then, and secrets have a way of tearing at your insides, and distancing you from the love and support of others.

When I started writing this blog, several people reached out to me, and wanted to know if they could have done more to help me. The truth is, I had no idea how to ask or truly receieve help. I was all mixed up, and even with numerous friends and supports in place, I felt alone.

If you are hurting, if you are questioning what the heck God is doing, or why He is taking you through such a desert, ask for help. Ask for help over and over, as though you were drowing and in need of a lifeguard, and when someone reached out their hand to you, grab hold.

Our Savior does not want us to drown, but He will allow us to be tested by fire. God allowed Shadrach, Meshach and Abendego to be thrown into the fire, and then he delivered them from it. (Dan 3:19-28)

1 Peter 1:3-7 (The Message)
What a God we have! And how fortunate we are to have him, this Father of our Master Jesus! Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we've been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for, including a future in heaven—and the future starts now! God is keeping careful watch over us and the future. The Day is coming when you'll have it all—life healed and whole.
I know how great this makes you feel, even though you have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime. Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine. When Jesus wraps this all up, it's your faith, not your gold, that God will have on display as evidence of his victory.

Depression, anxiety, self injury, hopelessness, none of these things are from God, but faith put through suffering comes out proved genuine. That's who I am now, I am someone who has been refined by fire, and my faith is proved genuine! Those trials were terrifying, and painful, but even when I was in the fire, I would try to connect to God. Maybe only for a moment, maybe without knowing if I would be really heard, but I kept praying. I never stopped believing. How blessed I am that this faith I grew up with was tested by fire, and God will have it on display as evidence of HIS victory! And now, I can write again. HIS victory indeed!
L

Rack, Shack & Benny