Coming Clean

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged about anything that wasn’t related to a book release. I haven’t looked at a Twitter, Facebook, or any social media feed in just as long. (You know it’s bad when you get a baby announcement from a friend you had no idea was even expecting.) I had my excuses: been working the day job a lot; health hasn’t been so great. But it actually comes down to one simple truth I’ve been trying to avoid–depression. There, I said it.

I’m no stranger to this. From the ages of 7-21 I struggled with severe depression and suicidal ideation. But in my senior year of college, God moved and gave me healing which miraculously changed my life. So you can imagine that, seven years later, when I started recognizing the symptoms in myself, I was both terrified and fully in denial. I never wanted to go back to that dark place again. God had healed me; end of that chapter. Besides, life was good. I had two careers I loved, close friends, and had been writing like a super ninja. There was no reason in the world I should feel “depressed.”

So I brushed off those weekends that were particularly bad as “being in a funk.” Everyone’s allowed to crash once in a while, right? I tried to ignore how that one weekend a month turned into most weekends, and then how when the weekdays came about I could no longer shake it off. Things I used to enjoy no longer held any interest for me. Even writing became like pulling teeth at times. “You’re just tired,” I’d tell myself. Weeks turned into months, and I watched helplessly as for the past year and a half, I slowly yet steadily backslid into a place I never thought to find myself again.

The depression is real.

But God wastes nothing. And so here I am, coming clean on an issue that so often hides and festers in the dark, secreted away from the light. It’s uncomfortable, admitting weakness. It feels like admitting defeat. If I am to blog about such a serious topic, it should be to encourage others, to call out from the other side of the tunnel and shout with joy, “There is light!” Instead, I’m standing here bearing a broken and battered soul saying, “There is light, but there is darkness still. It ebbs and flows like the tides.” Doesn’t sound all that encouraging to me.

But perhaps the difference this time is I know the darkness does not last forever. It has its phases, this is true, but I have seen and experienced the relief and joy in between, and I can have it again. If you’re currently in the dark, you can have those again. The first step is to shine a light on this burden, to admit the hurt is real so we can confront it, rather than running away or suffering in silence and solitude. For I know all too well that ignoring a problem does not make it disappear, nor can a person “snap out of it” on their own power. The journey is long, and hard, and often sucks.

But in the meantime, God wastes nothing.

Missing the Miracle

In January of 2007, I answered an inner calling to travel to Spokane, Washington.  I’m not a spontaneous person, but something tugged at me with a strength and allure I could not deny–hope.

One of my friends from college lived up there and told me about the Healing Rooms.  It was a place people came from all over to seek and find healing prayer.  I’ve had health problems my entire life.  Even with advances in technology, my diabetes was severe, and the very modern day conveniences that made controlling it easier often caused me great pain.  I had only been diagnosed with celiac three years before and was still in denial.  On top of that, I had been struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts for the past fourteen years.

So I bought a plane ticket, even though I hate to fly and dislike travel, not to mention it was freezing cold in a place that saw heavy snowfall.  (While there, I learned that snow is only pretty after the first fall.  Then it becomes brown slush.)  I was a senior in college, and was spending my cherished winter break chasing hope.

My friend took me to visit the Healing Rooms.  It was like a free clinic, in a way.  First come, first serve.  There were several rooms where volunteers gathered in numbers of two or three to meet with people and pray over them.  They praised a high success rate, and even local hospitals invited them to come down and pray with patients.  I didn’t go in that first day.  We looked around, picked up a few pamphlets and a book, and went home where we dove into the Bible, examining the verses and passages their faith was based on.  We even visited some local pastors to discuss the matter with them.

And you know what?  I found no flaw in their beliefs.

I went back to the Healing Rooms and asked for prayer that God would cure me of my diabetes and gluten allergy.  Before they prayed, one of the men stepped forward and said he sensed there was something else I needed healing from–my depression.  I had forgotten about it, believing that if my physical troubles were over, that would follow.  They laid hands on me and prayed for healing, calling upon the promises in the Bible and the promise of life in Christ.

And I believed.

Then came the tricky part: when would I experience my full healing?  For the next couple days, my diabetes got markedly better.  I started decreasing my medication without consequence.  But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.  Still, I held on to this hope that God would heal me of my afflictions.

Hope turned to disappointment, to anger.

Before you come to the conclusion that God doesn’t exist or miracles don’t happen, let me say that in my anger and hurt, I missed the miracle.  I am sad to say that it took me a whole year before I realized that God indeed had healed something very important–my depression.  Since that day, I have not had one day lost to despair, one suicidal thought.  God may not have healed me the way I wanted, but He did heal the thing that was preventing me from having a relationship with Him.

I still believe God will heal me of the other stuff someday, though whether it be in this life or in the next, that is up to Him.  I realized the wrongness in my prayers those years ago.  God is not a genie for us to call upon when we want something.  Answering my prayer the *way* I wanted would not have brought Him glory.  Even today, in this new year, not knowing how I will pay for my medical supplies without insurance, deeply desiring miraculous healing so life would be easier, I know that it would not teach me faith the way God wants to.

Stripped of everything I have ever depended on, I am left with only Him.  There is a profound peace to be had living in full dependence on God.  It is something I am only beginning to glimpse and understand, as fear still gnaws at me.  And while the road may be harder, if God were to grant me a healing modern medicine can’t explain, I would miss another, greater miracle–learning to live in and love God’s everyday provision.

~~~~~~~

Phoenix Feather is on sale now for $.99 on Amazon!

The feather and who it represents is both a catalyst for darkness and destruction, and the vessel of love and hope.  In a world full of joy and sorrow, love and misery, this agent is a light seeking a balance between two inevitable realities in a sinful world, and is ultimately the final hope for something better.

Crash and Burn

It’s Move Me Monday and we’re going to look at the power of music.

In general, music is fun and enjoyable, but every so often a song pierces your heart or resonates with your soul, as though the strings of your life hum at the same frequency.  When that song plays, the world melts away and it feels like your spirit sprouts wings and could burst out of your chest.

Without even trying, music finds a way to hallmark major points in our lives.  From thereafter, that song will forever bring forth memories of that moment, that place, keeping those memories alive and rekindling those feelings.

I first started battling depression in fourth grade.  I was a kid with a ton of health problems, and being sick all the time doesn’t lend itself to positive emotions.  How could I communicate what I was feeling?  There were no plain words to describe the deep, gut wrenching emotions I felt.

Music gave me that outlet.  The lyrics combined with the perfect chords released the floodgates of what was bottled up and let it all rush out.  It’s important to experience your emotions, even the bad ones, so they don’t stay compressed and festering.

There was one song that helped me survive those moments of intense pain and despair: “Crash and Burn” by Savage Garden.  I put my headphones on, hit repeat, turned up the volume, and drowned in that song.

Some people might think it’s not good to indulge those feelings, but ignoring them doesn’t make them go away.  I welcomed them, sat with them, and when the music shut off, I returned to life, able to breathe just a little easier.  (This song even promised me that: “There has always been heartache and pain, but when it’s over you’ll breathe again.”)

Whenever I listen to that song, I remember how it helped me survive.  It doesn’t bring up old feelings of despair or sadness; it just reminds me of where I was so I never forget.  My battle with depression is over (a story I think I’ll share on another Move Me Monday), but my love of this song will always be tied to the power it had, giving the deepest, darkest part of me a voice when I needed it most.

Is there a song that unlocked the gate to intense emotions you didn’t know how to express?  Is there a song that helped you survive your teen years?  I love hearing from you!

You can also find me on Mistress Suzie’s blog today with another flash fiction episode of the Adventures of Teagan.