The Demon that is Mental Illness

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

Tonight I write to you about something that I deal with every day. Mental Illness. I have bipolar disorder with anxiety and depression. I was diagnosed after the first time I was hospitalized for wanting to kill myself back in 2006. When I talked to the psychiatrist and told him what my plan was, he said that had I went through with it, I surely would have died. Since then it's been up and down like a roller coaster. I've felt like a guinea pig with all the medications I've tried.

Although the picture above may look funny, most of those feelings are what I deal with. Today was one of "those" days. I was fighting the anxiety battle all day. My mind was running, I was nauseous, I was sweating, and all I wanted to do was go home and hide under the covers where I'd be safe. But I got up, got dressed, and went to work. I still felt that way most of the day. M vcby irritable, grouchy and mean-spirited boss didn't help matters any. I prayed, A LOT. I tried to focus on my work. I was productive and was able to clear my desk. 

Now I am home. I have eaten dinner. Played some Mah-Jong. I'm listening to some calming music. And still trying to focus. I am forcing myself to focus on just one thing at a time. 

The kind of bipolar disorder I have I don't get the manic highs. I feel "normal". I feel like I can accomplish anything. I have more energy. I have a positive outlook. I feel "alive". But those moods are rare. I haven't had an "up mood" in years. The depression has a strangle hold on me. It has stolen so much of my life. Life that I can't get back. And I know I'm missing out on life. I don't know how to "fix" it. Medications can only do so much. The rest is up to me and God. 

People think that since you are a Christian you are happy all the time. After all, we let God handle our problems every day. We're in very capable hands! But we are human. Yes, I believe in God. If it weren't for my faith I'd have no hope left in my life. I try to pray through the anxiety. I try not to lose hope when the depression drags me so far down that I can't see the light of day. And I will admit, for a short time today I wished I weren't alive. That's how my brain responds to overwhelming anxiety. My fight-or-flight reflex is death. The only one sure way out. But I know that I would do more harm than good. My daughter lost her father and grandfather in the space of a year. My husband would be broken hearted without me. My mom would probably have another nervous breakdown. But, to my brain, the instinct to escape is through death. The ultimate avoidance of problems and stress that will not go away.

Mental health is such a misunderstood disease. Yes, it's a disease. It's not something we wish to have. No, we can't just "snap out of it" (ohhh how I HATE hearing that!!) and if we just ___________ we wouldn't feel so bad. (HUGE sigh and eye roll here.) I'm not weak-willed. I'm not "nuts", "crazy" or "mental" (Ohh yet another term I DESPISE!) I have a disease that is probably inherited (I'm adopted so my whole health history is one great big surprise after another). I have learned through trial and error that it's not a real good idea for me to not be on meds. It get suicidal. My husband found that out the hard way. But bless his soul, after three years of a roller coaster ride, we are still together. And he understands me a whole lot better now than he did then. 

When I look back through the years, I see that my anxiety took root at a very early age. I was always a "nervous" child. As a teenager I was a little less "nervous". But I remember every morning getting up for school and having my stomach in knots. I knew whenever I had to do something out of my comfort zone it would make me nervous. When my mother remarried I was 11. She moved to upstate NY with her new husband and left me with my grandparents in Connecticut. I remember that at one point, the whole tug of war thing really took a toll on my psyche. I remember our neighbor telling my grandparents that I'd wind up having a nervous breakdown if that all kept up. I didn't want to leave my grandparents. I loved where I was. I had my best friend. The beach was just down the street. And I was getting old enough where I could walk into town on my own. I liked my school. I didn't want to move. I didn't even know the guy. But, I also remember overhearing my grandparents saying how they already raised one kid, they didn't need another. That I was just a burden. Don't get me wrong, my grandparents loved me. It's just that they were getting on in years and didn't need to raise another child.  

My last stint in an intensive outpatient program was only beneficial to me while I was there. I didn't have the emotional support at home to help me gain control. My first husband was psychologically abusive and emotionally distant. He had no interest in hearing about what I was learning and I really didn't have trust in him to confide things. The first time I was hospitalized, part of my therapy sessions was to have family there. The one time they tried to include my husband, they had to make him leave because it was just upsetting me. And it turns out he never told our kids where I was. He told them mommy left. I was never able to convince them where I had been even though I had the discharge papers, all the paperwork, etc. So it kind of made sense when I went through the second round why I didn't want to confide in him.

This last go-around when I started at the mental health clinic, the month before I had tried to take a handful of pills (sinus pills, but the ones that make you sleepy) but my husband stopped me. So, when they did my intake they had suggested that perhaps I should be an inpatient until I could become stable again. But I had just started a new job and my husband was out of work. We needed the money. And I didn't have insurance. I didn't need to rack up more bills. So, at my first therapy session, my therapist made me sign a "safety agreement". (It is an outline of things you can do if you feel suicidal. You make a list of people you trust whom you can talk to. You think about things that make you feel good and you enjoy doing. The number for Crisis in put on there as well as contact information for the therapist. It is quite a detailed plan.) I hung that on my fridge when I got home so that I would see it every day. I think it was at that point my husband really understood what I was dealing with. I wasn't just some crazy b***h. I had a real problem that had to be managed.  

My husband comes with me to some of my psych appointments. Sometimes he sees things going on with me that either I haven't paid attention to or have just not wanted to say anything. He dispenses and manages all my meds, so sometimes he will come with me to see my psych nurse practitioner. I may not really know if a medication is working, but he can see the difference in me when a medication is working and when it isn't. 

Right now I take 40mg of Prozac in the morning. Since my mind races at night and it's hard for me to fall asleep I take 2-50mg Vistarel caps (kind of like Benedryl), and a 50mg Amitriptyline. Amitriptyline is an old antidepressant. It makes you sleepy, sometimes. (Or, if you're like me, you need the dose you'd give an elephant to help you sleep.) I did notice an improvement in my mood after starting the Amitriptyline. The dosage on my Prozac was just raised, so it may be a while before I feel any effects. Since I have no insurance, my psych nurse has to find inexpensive medications to treat me with. Also, they won't prescribe controlled substances such as Xanax, Klonipin or Ativan. 

Oh how I've prayed to be "healed". I went to healing services. I've prayed. I've been anointed and prayed over. I've had hands laid on me in healing. Sometimes I've wondered if maybe my faith isn't strong enough to believe that God can heal me. Whatever it is, I wish it would go away. 

I used to have a dog that would be able to sense when I'd get really low. She'd sniff me when I'd come home from work and just be able to tell. And it was at those times she never left my side. I'd literally step on her because she'd be right under my feet. I couldn't even go to the bathroom alone because she'd follow me! She was the best comfort I could've ever asked for. I wish I still had her. 

I unfortunately passed this horrible disease on to 2 of my children. My son Brian spent probably 2 or 3 years of his life in his room. He dropped out of school and developed a social anxiety. But he used his time constructively. He went online and did his GED with no help from anyone. No formal studying. No classes. Just him and YouTube and whatever resources he could find. And he passed his exam with flying colors!! He is now 24 years old, engaged to a wonderful lady, is step-dad to 2 and has a newborn son. He's working on going into the Army National Guard. And he works his skinny little butt off to support his family. Oh, and if that isn't enough, once he got his life together, he worked on shedding all the weight he put on during those years. He is now 6'4" and 175lbs. (At one point he was over 300lbs!) I am so proud of him and all he's accomplished.

My daughter, however, has not faired so well. After her dad passed last year, she went into a deep depression. She stopped going to school this past February. She tried going a day here and day there, but hasn't been able to make a real effort. She would sleep all day and stay up all night. It's only been since she's been with her new boyfriend and faithfully taking her meds that we've seen a change in her. Her boyfriend is in college to become a therapist like his parents. He works as a counselor with troubled kids. And he's working with my daughter little by little. His father also brought up the fact that she probably has PTSD because of the time spent with her father when he was dying. She gets horrible flash backs, break downs, and nightmares. She says she can't remember any of the good things. Try as we might, there was nothing we could do. She didn't "want" to be fixed. She wanted to be a hermit and wallow in her depression and grief. And sometimes we need to do that. Sometimes we need to withdraw from the world for a little while until we get passed all the bad things. And maybe God needed her to go through that to have a better appreciation for living life. I do know that she's slowing climbing out of that pit. Day by day. Little by little.

I feel like I am rambling. Nothing in any particular order. But this is something I wanted to put out there. I want people to know that just because you're a Christian doesn't mean you're happy go lucky all the time. Life isn't perfect. We are human. It is just that we are blessed with perfect love from a perfect Savior. One who once walked this earth as a human and experienced much of what we go through on a daily basis. And He gave His life on that cross so that we could have life. So that we could appreciate this gift of life that He has given us.

Every once in a while I, too, will wallow in the pit of despair, of depression, and look at all the things in my life that I hate. But it takes those things to make me appreciate what I do have. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, a car to drive, a family that loves me, 2 beautiful grandsons, a husband that loves me and spoils me, and yesterday I learned that I was accepted into a college degree program through a Christian university to become a Christian counselor. For now it will be just online. When I finish my studies, I want to work with abused women. I want them to realize that there IS a way out. That there IS someone who cares. That God will see them through this and carry them on to a better life. By working through lifes' trauma's it will make you a stronger, wiser person. And to take life one day at a time. No more than that. Matthew 6:34 says "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

It is because of Him that I made it through my day today. I made it through the day despite the anxiety. Despite the stress. Despite the problems. He held me up and helped me finish my day. He got us home safely. And now I'm sitting in the recliner with my dog right next to me. My husband is sitting on the sofa next to me watching a movie. My daughter is out with her boyfriend and one of her BFF's. All is quiet. Just the way I like it.
 
It is through Him that I don't give up. It is through Him that I have hope. It is through Him that I have the ultimate therapist. He is the ultimate Physician. No one will better understand you than Jesus. How many nights have I cried myself to sleep praying to Him to make this all go away. To give me my life back. But I know that He has a grand plan for me. I am going through this valley for a reason. 

Today's Christian Woman magazine had some well-written articles on the topic of mental health this month. (I will post the link to that and several other mental health sites at the end.) And it probably better conveys what I am trying to say. But, as a fellow blogger and Christian wife told me "write about what God puts on your heart". So I am. It's also a cardinal rule among writers "write what you know". And this I know. Intimately. Better than I'd like to.

At some point we may move down to where the college is. I long for a fresh start where no one knows me. As much as I hate change and I really hate moving, I feel that the Lord is pushing me in this direction. They say be careful what you wish for... well, be careful in what you pray for. God IS listening.

"For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”  Isaiah 41:13

Blessings.
Linda

Here are those links I promised:
Today's Christian Woman "Finding God in the Depths" by Kristina Cowan 
Today's Christian Woman  "For Better and For..." by Cindy Baum
Today's Christian Woman  "Mental Illness is no Laughing Matter" by Amy Simpson
Christianity Today/her.meneutics "Christians Can't Ignore the Uncomfortable Reality of Mental Illness" by Amy Simpson
The Guardian "Talking About Mental Health 'So Much of this is Behind Closed Doors' " 
by Amanda Holpuch

If you or someone you love suffers from mental illness, there is hope and help. You are not alone in this.
National Suicide Hotline
National Alliance on Mental Illness 
FaithNet NAMI 
Crisis Service/Crisis Call Center

Silent Saturday

As I read about the story of the death and resurrection of Christ, I am constantly learning something new. In this excerpt from Faith Gateway Devotionals Daily, we look at Saturday. Yesterday Jesus died. Tomorrow we will celebrate His resurrection. His ascent into Heaven. But what about Saturday? What happened on Saturday? So, here is "Silent Saturday":

In Between Despair and Joy

by John Ortberg from Who Is This Man?

So far as we know, there has only been one day in the last two thousand years when literally not one person in the world believed Jesus was alive.

On Saturday morning after Jesus’ crucifixion, the disciples wake after not having slept for two days. The city that was screaming for blood the day before is quiet. Crowds have disbanded. Jesus is dead.

What do they do on Saturday?

It’s strange that the two days on either side of Saturday are so heavily discussed. Some of the brightest minds in the world have devoted themselves primarily to those two days; they have been across the centuries maybe the two most studied days in history. The Bible is full of what happened the day before, the day Jesus was killed. And the next day, Sunday, is the day believers say gave birth to the most death-defying, grave-defeating, fear-destroying, hope-inspiring, transcendent joy in the history of the world. Pentecostals still shout about it. Charismatics still dance because of it. Baptists still say Amen! over it. Presbyterians still study it. Episcopalians still toast it with sherry. Some people think of Sunday in mellower terms, as a metaphor for hope. And others think of it as a dangerous enemy of logic, reason, and mortality.

Let’s just leave Sunday alone for now.

This isn’t Sunday. This isn’t Friday. This is Saturday. The day after this but the day before that. The day after a prayer gets prayed but there is no answer on the way. The day after a soul gets crushed way down but there’s no promise of ever getting up off the mat.

It’s a strange day, this in-between day. In between despair and joy. In between confusion and clarity. In between bad news and good news. In between darkness and light.

Even in the Bible - outside of one detail about guards being posted to watch the tomb - we’re told nothing about Saturday. Saturday is the day with no name, the day when nothing happened.

Now only a handful of followers remain. Friday was a nightmare day; Friday was the kind of day that is pure terror, the kind when you run on adrenaline. On Saturday when Jesus’ followers wake up, the terror is past, at least for the moment; the adrenaline is gone. 

Those who believe in Jesus gather, quietly maybe. They remember. It’s what people do. Things He said. What He taught. Things He did. People He touched or healed. They remember what it felt like when this Jesus wanted them. They remember their hopes and dreams. They were going to change the world.

Now it’s Saturday.

Maybe they talk about what went wrong. What in God’s name happened? None of them wants to say this, but in their hearts, they’re trying to come to grips with this unfathomable thought: Jesus failed. Jesus ended up a failure. Noble attempt, but He couldn’t get enough followers.

He couldn’t convince the chief priests. He couldn’t win over Rome to make peace. He couldn’t get enough ordinary people to understand His message. He couldn’t even train His disciples to be courageous at the moment of great crisis.

Everybody knows Saturday.

Saturday is the day your dream died. You wake up and you’re still alive. You have to go on, but you don’t know how. Worse, you don’t know why.

This odd day raises a question: Why is there a Saturday? It doesn’t seem to further the story line at all. We might expect that if Jesus was going to be crucified then resurrected, God would just get on with it. It seems strange for God to spread two events over three days.

In its own way, perhaps Saturday should mark the world as much as Friday and Sunday.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday lie at the heart of the ancient calendar. They attributed great significance to the notion that this event was a three-day story.

The apostle Paul wrote, “For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day [Paul adds again] according to the Scriptures.” The Old Testament Scriptures are filled with what might be called “third-day stories.” When Abraham is afraid he’s going to have to sacrifice Isaac, he sees the sacrifice that will save his son’s life on the third day. Joseph’s brothers get put in prison, and they’re released on the third day. Israelite spies are told by Rahab to hide from their enemies, and then they’ll be safe on the third day. When Esther hears that her people are going to be slaughtered, she goes away to fast and pray. On the third day, the king receives her favorably.

It’s such a recurring pattern that the prophet Hosea says, “Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces... After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will restore us, that we may live in His presence.” All three-day stories share a structure. On the first day there is trouble, and on the third day there is deliverance. On the second day, there is nothing - just the continuation of trouble.

The problem with third-day stories is, you don’t know it’s a third-day story until the third day.

When it’s Friday, when it’s Saturday, as far as you know, deliverance is never going to come. It may just be a one-day story, and that one day of trouble may last the rest of your life.

* * *

I said before that Saturday is the day when nothing happens. That’s not quite right. Silence happens on Saturday. After trouble hits you, after the agony of Friday, you call out to God. “Hear me! Listen to me! Respond to me! Do something! Say something! Rescue!”

Nothing.

On Saturday, in addition to the pain of Friday, there is the pain of silence and absence of God. 

What do you do on Saturday?
You can choose despair. Paul writes about this: “How can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead?” In other words, apparently some people said, “There is never going to be a Sunday. It’s Friday. Get used to it. Do disappointment management, because that’s as good as it’s going to get.” Some people - silently, secretly - live here. You can choose denial - simplistic explanations, impatience, easy answers, artificial pleasantness. Hydroplane over authentic humanity, forced optimism, clichéd formulas, false triumphalism.

Paul wrote to Timothy that some “say that the resurrection has already taken place, and they destroy the faith of some.” In other words, apparently some said, “It’s already Sunday. The resurrection has already happened for all of us, so if you’re having any problems, if you’re still sick, if your prayers aren’t being answered, you just don’t have enough faith. Get with the program.” Or there is this third option:

You can wait. Work with God even when He feels far away. Rest. Ask. Whine. Complain. Trust.

Oddly, the most common psalm is the psalm of complaint. The Saturday psalm. God, why aren’t you listening?

* * *
An ancient homily spoke of this strange day: What happened today on earth? There is a great silence - a great silence and stillness. A great silence because the king sleeps. God has died in the flesh, and hell trembles with fear. He has gone to search for our first parent as for a lost sheep.

The Apostles’ Creed says Jesus descended into hell.

Somehow no suffering you go through is suffering Jesus will not endure in order to save you.

From a human standpoint, we think of the miraculous day as Sunday, the day the man Jesus is risen from the dead. I wonder if, from Heaven’s standpoint, the great miracle isn’t on Saturday. When Jesus is born, the skies are filled with the heavenly hosts praising God because that baby is Emmanuel, God with us. Somehow God in a manger, somehow God in a stable, somehow God on earth. Now on Saturday the angels look down and see what? God in a tomb.

The miracle of Sunday is that a dead man lives. The miracle of Saturday is that the eternal Son of God lies dead.

So Jesus Christ defeats our great enemy death not by proclaiming His invincibility over it but by submitting Himself to it. If you can find this Jesus in a grave, if you can find Him in death, if you can find Him in hell, where can you not find Him? Where will He not turn up?

 * * *

Your Turn

Are you in a season where God seems to be silent? Does it feel like you're suffering and He slammed the door in your face? That He doesn't hear you? That it's Saturday and maybe He'll never respond? Have you wondered where on earth Jesus is and when in the world will Sunday come... or if it will come? Join the conversation on our blog! We would love to hear from you about Silent Saturday. ~ Devotionals Daily

* Excerpted with permission from Who Is This Man? by John Ortberg (Zondervan). 

Good Morning Girls Ephesians 5:15-21 "Plan Be"

Week 1, Thursday 1/23/14
Read: Ephesians 5:15-21
SOAP: Ephesians 5:15-16 

Ephesians 5:15-21
Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart,  giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,  submitting to one another out of reverence for Christ.

S: Ephesians 5:15-16  Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.



O: Have you ever heard the saying "Idle hands are the devils playthings"? Or "Idle time is the devils playground"? These are old sayings meaning that if you don't have things to do to fill your time you could get yourself into trouble. I'm sure many of us are guilty of that at one time or another. How many times have you said "It seemed like a good idea at the time!"? You have to be careful how you spend your free time. Are you doing good or are you just looking for trouble? Is what you're doing acceptable in the eyes of God? 

Our church is finding ways to keep us busy this winter. We just had a game day where everyone brought their favorite game and snacks. Soon they will be doing Zumba. Then we'll have another game day. We may even have a movie day. These are all wonderful pursuits. They give us a chance for fellowship and enjoyment without falling into the devils trap of boredom and "well, it seemed like a good idea at the time". 

Even if you don't have church activities to pursue, find other ways to spend your time meaningfully. Volunteer somewhere. Spend more time in the Word. Have a family day. Disconnect from the outside world for a while. Mentor a child. There are so many ways to spend free time without getting into trouble, so to speak. 

The idle times in winter are also a breeding ground for Satan. January is known for its' high rate of suicide. It's because the holidays are over. It's cold. There's not much sun. It snows. The skies seem perpetually gray. (Well, it is if you live in the northern tier of the United States like I do.) Spring seems so far away. Winter and the cold seem interminable. We just had 10" of snow and now we're looking at a few more "minor" accumulations over the coming week. It has also gotten bitterly cold. It's hard to focus your mind on the positive during these times. But you HAVE to or else Satan will sneak right in without you even realizing it. 

A: I need to find more constructive ways to spend my time. Catching up on my bible studies and blog seems to have filled that "spare" time.  If it weren't so cold out I'd probably even try to venture outside with my dog and my camera. I'm glad I have my church because it gives me something to do. Wednesday nights we have a small group bible study (and when I say small group, I mean SMALL GROUP!! There's maybe 6 of us!) Sunday after services we have snack time. We all gather downstairs to chat and eat. (Seems like everything we do in our church involves food! lol)

I need to chase Satan away as he invades my thoughts with negativity. I am Bipolar with depression/anxiety/Seasonal Affective Disorder. So winters are especially hard for me. And trust me, Satan has been hard at work on my brain. I need to fight him off as hard as I can! Any endeavor into something positive keeps old Mr. Satan away. :)

P: Lord, I pray to You as this winter drags on to help me resist Satan's attack. I need to hear Your voice above all that Satan is whispering in my ear. Give me the strength to not give up and give in to this depression. I pray that others who are afflicted with any form of mental illness find peace and strength within Your loving arms. Keep us safe and out of harms way until we can once again see the sun rise on warmer days. Amen.