Another morning comes.
I wake up, and something isn’t right.
“Not again” I think to myself.
The despair settled once again sometime during the night. That hopeless, restless feeling. The one that makes me snap at my teammates and ignore the people on the street calling out to me. The one that fills me with irrational hate and anxiety. The dark thing that sits on me heavily, sucks out all of my oxygen, settles in my mind like an immovable cretin. It leaves me completely and utterly hopeless. I am unable to dream. I’m at it’s mercy. The thing that tells me I am not enough, I should give up, I should just die, I should go somewhere and rot because nobody will care what happens to me. That my pain is just a case of the grumps; my internal suffering is just me not “choosing my own happiness”. That to share my struggle with others would just be to burden them.
“No one will believe you” it says.
“No one will take you seriously.”
“You may as well keep quiet or they will all hate you, and so will God. He already does.”
Because it sounds escapable, right? Wouldn’t it make sense to just pull myself up by my chaco straps and be a happy freaking 23 year old living such a beautiful life? Why is it so hard to just not be sad?
There’s a name for it. They call it “depression”. Depression is a nasty thing. It sneaks up and stays awhile, leaving me unsure if I’ve ever actually felt like a normally functioning human. Getting out of bed is an effort, holding a conversation zaps me of any minuscule amount of energy I might have had, and sometimes it’s all I can do to push through the days as they come. Sometimes I can’t push through and I lie in bed, defeated.
It’s something I’ve struggled with for awhile. For years, really. And sometimes I go awhile and I feel good. I feel as light as a feather. These moments are few and far between. But I am also terrified because I don’t know when the depression will return. No matter how consistently I dwell in the Prozac cloud that protects me from it’s grips, it still manages to find me.
I cry out to God. Every time. I beg Him to deliver me. To heal me, to finally heal me from this mental oppression. I question why He allows me to live in this suffering. In these vicious cycles of pain and feeling isolated and misunderstood.
I’m going to be honest, I am still trying to figure out the meaning of it all. Because God hasn’t fully healed me from this. I say “healed” because it is a sickness. Depression is an illness just like the flu or malaria. It effects every aspect of your life, but there is such a stigma because there is not always tangible evidence to prove the sickness. It’s not like a fever. It’s an invisible flesh-eating bacteria that feeds off of all of your happy thoughts and hopes and dreams.
I use lots of words for it, like “stuck” or “drowning” or “paralyzed”.
It sucks. Plain and simple.
But do you know what God says about your depression?
He tells us to rejoice in our sufferings. So if you are a believer, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt, deep into your core, that God is good. Perfect and good.
He doesn’t allow sufferings in this life to occur without His permission.
So if He is perfectly good, and He gave permission for this suffering to take place in my life… I can rejoice.
Depression isn’t an exception. Depression is counted amongst the many sufferings of man on earth. This scripture refers exactly to our internal pain and suffering and to our mental illness.
Easier said than done, right? How to rejoice when your body physically rejects the concept?
This isn’t meant to belittle your pain – my pain. The suffering is real. And it’s simply not always something that can just be prayed away. So many times, I have experienced the stigma of modern Christianity. By well-meaning, loving people who want to do everything they can to help. Because we all want to be fixers. There is a stigma that says if you need medicine, if you have depression or anxiety or mania, if you experience suicidal thoughts – you don’t have enough faith. They ask, “what could be causing this?”
But it’s not circumstantial. It’s just always there. I’ve tried all sorts of things. Medicine, exercise, fasting, even deliverance from demonic influences. Guys, if I’m being honest, the truth is that we are all simply broken. Those efforts are all valid and can play an important role in healing (highly recommend Biblical counseling!!!), but what are we supposed to believe if none of them work?? It defeats the purpose of the Gospel to claim that we can do enough Christian works to save ourselves from our own fallenness. Christ resides in us and is redeeming our lives from the pit each day. But we are still broken. God promises never to leave us in our brokenness. And quite simply, that is enough for me.
I get a picture in my mind as I am struggling. It is of a tiny white dove. The dove is resting in two large, strong hands. The dove is struggling to fly away but is not able. Then, it simply stops trying to fly on its own. It nestles down into the two strong hands and is held tightly and safely against the Father’s chest. The dove is me.
I can trust that He is my refuge. That even when I despair, I am safe in the Father’s love. And I don’t have to cultivate this supernatural personal motivation to fly. I can just sit against His chest. In His hands. He doesn’t need me to try to fix myself. He doesn’t need me to force joy or healing or independence. He doesn’t need me to put my head down and push through. He just wants to be with me. He chooses me in all of my brokenness. He is a hiding place for me. I am wrapped up, safe, and hidden in His love.
I know that although I feel as if I am completely dark inside, He does not see me that way. He sees me glorified through Christ’s death and resurrection. He knew I would experience all of these things, and He still chose me. He still saved me. He tells us in Psalms 34:5 that those who look to Him are radiant – their faces will never be ashamed.
I can trust that He is good. And that He empathizes. And that He weeps for my heartbreak. And He will never, ever leave me alone. Even when I don’t understand. Even when I run to other things seeking comfort. He is still there, chasing after me. Even when I am angry with Him, unbelievably angry. In disbelief and in denial of His love for me. He’s still there. Steadfast and enduring forever. Never letting me get too far away. And I can rest in the Promise that one day, sorrow and sighing will flee away. We will have perfect bodies that will not know despair. Only love.
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Thanks for reading! I’m officially in Month 9 of the World Race, aka PERU!!!!! I get to spend Easter at Macchu Picchu! It’s closing to tourists within the next two years and this is most likely going to be a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. I’d love your help in getting there! The cost is going to be approximately 100 USD. My Venmo account name is @Morgan_McGee or just shoot me a Facebook message! Thanks so much for all the continued support!
