On Depression

It was nine and a half years ago, just a few months before our wedding, when Tom and I decided we needed more premarital counseling than just the standard three sessions with the pastor. And, as much as I hated to admit it, we needed the counseling primarily because of me.

I have suffered all of my life from anxiety, fear and depression. And with this came anger, the anger over the fact that existing in my mind was so much more exhausting than it seemed to be for anybody else. Most people seemed to go through life so easily, whereas simple things like making a phone call would keep me up at night. I was always so afraid. So anxious. So unsure.

I was good at hiding it, but not with Tom. With Tom, I felt safe. I didn't have to wear a mask. But there were layers and layers of junk under that mask, and it wasn't always pretty. I would often lash out at him in anger, not because of something he did, but because of the turmoil inside of me. I felt better afterwards, letting all that anger out, but each time, he was deeply wounded. We would recover from it, and I would do better. But then it would happen again. It was a continuous cycle, one that I hated but did not know how to end.

I didn't want to go to counseling. Tom knew of a good counselor, but I was sure she would just tell me that I was wrong and needed to shape up. That I just needed to choose differently. Tom told her this over the phone, and she laughed and said "I'm not really that kind of counselor." I still wasn't sure, but I agreed to go.

So we went to our first appointment, in a tiny office with a comfortable couch and the sweetest woman. Her name was Joyce. She instantly made me feel safe. I went in thinking I would be defensive, but it didn't take long for me to relax and share with her about my cycle of anxiety and anger. I told her how I misdirected my anger onto Tom and how I couldn't seem to stop it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get better.

At this point, she could have looked at me and told me I was wrong. She could have given me a list of steps to follow in order to control myself. But she didn't. Instead, she looked at me with eyes full of compassion and spoke one of the most healing sentences I have ever heard in my life:

This is not who you are. 

She saw beyond the disease. She saw that it wasn't me. She saw that I was someone who deeply loved my fiance, someone who was faithful and caring and didn't want to hurt him.

These words freed me. I was not my depression. I was not my anxiety. I was not my fear.

***

A few appointments later, Joyce recommended medication. I was very against it. I had tried some in the past, and it didn't work. I was convinced that any mental illness could be cured through healthy eating, supplements and prayer. If I could just keep all sugar out of my diet, if I could just say the right prayer, if I could just find someone holy enough to expel my demons, I would be okay.

She was patient with me. But she didn't give up. And as she talked about it, the strangest thing happened. I had felt like taking medication would be giving in to the demons in my head, but while she talked, I could somehow feel those demons fighting to keep me from listening to her. It is hard to explain, but it was like I could feel all the evil in the room trying to keep me from freedom. And that freedom was in seeing a doctor for medication. Since I was using spiritual excuses, I needed that spiritual encounter to convince me that the way of healing for my mind was in taking this next step.

Tom came with me to the doctor's appointment. I was shaking in fear. But the doctor was kind with me and very smart. He could tell what I needed. The prescriptions before had not been strong enough, which is why they hadn't done a thing. So he started me on a high dose of a new medication. He told me it would be a tough adjustment at first, but to wait it out to see if it worked.

It took about a week for the cloud to go away. I didn't even know that cloud was there, hanging over my head, keeping me from being able to think or see clearly. The medication didn't change me, it didn't turn me into a different person. It simply gave me the ability to fight. When you are entrapped in the depression, your choices are not your own. The medication helped me choose freedom.

I have grown a lot in the last nine years. Tom has continued to provide a safe place for me to grow. He has helped and encouraged me to do new things. We know the triggers for my anxiety, and we are better able to manage them. And the medication continues to provide me with a mind free from a cloud of depression and sadness and fear. I have been able to teach high school and speak publicly and call people on the phone, all things I never thought I would be able to do without fear. It's not always perfect, but I'm making it.

***

There are a lot of poor responses to people who are suffering from depression. The most harmful words can be to "choose differently". Just choose joy. Just choose to be okay. These words lead to discouragement, defeat and harm. They lead to death. They are not helpful.

These words would not have kept Robin Williams from killing himself.

Instead, may we nurture life in those around us. May we see past the anger and the fear and the sadness. May we be the ones who look at the broken and speak words of hope, as Joyce did for me.

Or as Robin Williams' character did in this scene from Good Will Hunting: