Trouble in this World

The weeks surrounding my 40th birthday are memories I will cherish forever. I received the most wonderful, thoughtful gifts and sentiments from my family and friends, a surprise trip to Florida that became a surprise trip to the Keys, and massive and overwhelming amounts of love. In fact, I’ve never felt so loved.

When things started to return to normal, I remained enamored with a magic new age that held so much promise and basked in the afterglow of all the love. Last week, I crashed. Although, I’ve never used cocaine, I’ve heard you experience a super elated feeling and when the drug wears off, that feeling is replaced by intense despondency.

Well, I was high on love and adoration, and when things went back to normal, I let my guard down, the anniversary of my dad’s death crept up on me, and before I could grab a lifeline, depression had me in its unrelenting grip. Granted, I’ve dealt with bipolar-ish disorder for most of my life, I self-diagnosed it in grad school, and then a doctor confirmed a few years ago. I say, bipolar-ish because I have depressive episodes and manic episodes but they are not usually long enough to meet the diagnostic criteria.

One time I actually had to be medicated out of it. Technically that was too close to my dad’s death to be a major depressive episode. Since it doesn’t happen that often, I mostly just deal with it.

I explained, again, to my darling husband that depression is different than sadness or the blues. He has witnessed these episodes many times over 22 years and encourages and hugs and walks on eggshells around me reminding me to pray and count my blessings. For me, it’s as if someone throws a wet, black, blanket over my head, which I can’t lift no matter how hard I try. So, I quit struggling and just give in to the darkness. I pray so much. I am overwhelmingly grateful for my blessings. No amount of prayer and blessing counting changes it.

Last week brought a really discouraging realization. I honestly felt that as I drew nearer to God, as I made myself smaller so that He could be bigger, as I focused on using the gifts He gave me for His purpose and His good, I never questioned that I would suffer, but I didn’t think it would be from depression.

I was blindsided. Why is this happening again? Am I not following You? Am I not doing Your will? Have I not fasted and prayed and sacrificed as You wanted? I didn’t feel as if God had left me, but I did feel confused. In the past I viewed my depression as caused by emptiness, and I thought that once I was filled with God’s love, filled with the Holy Spirit, I wouldn’t suffer from it anymore. I was wrong. I thought my depression was situational. I was wrong about that too.

It just happens. Sometimes bad things happen, and we can’t understand why. God wasn’t punishing me or using this to show me that I was on the wrong path, I fully believe that now.  In John 16:33, Jesus reminds us, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Fortunately, I don’t have to have to figure out or overcome this world because Jesus all ready did. Fortunately, I am surrounded by amazing people–many of them mental health professionals, go figure that. Fortunately, I recognize the symptoms and the onset even though I am powerless to control them. Fortunately, this time, it lasted only days rather than months. Fortunately, I was rewarded with a day of manic cleaning energy to make up for the days that I wandered around in a stupor managing only to work and nothing else.

I am not a mental health professional just someone who has dealt with this for many years. If you suffer or have suffered from depression: You aren’t alone. You aren’t crazy. You aren’t being punished. If people tell you to cheer up and get over it, they might be trying to help, but they aren’t the right people to help. Find a doctor, counselor, friend, pastor or someone with knowledge about depression. Don’t suffer alone.

Sidetrack Sally, Suffering and Sacrificing

Since I was raised a good little Catholic girl, I always gave something up for Lent. Usually candy, soda, chips…I was always a healthy eater–insert eye-roll and confession that I lived a whole year on cheese puffs and Tang. Although I moved away from the Catholic church, I love Jesus and have always identified with His praying, fasting, and meditating and wanted to offer something in return.

Now, to quote my friend Jen: Let me back up a minute. Whether it was the church, my family, or simply my own perception, I came to this conclusion as a child: Suffering is good, and the more you suffer the better of a person you are. Since Jesus suffered tremendously, my wee little girl mind believed that by suffering, I could earn favor with Jesus. 

So my takeaways from a childhood of Catholicism: Suffering and guilt. When I was about Lily’s age (6), I used to kneel for hours in church on November 1, All Soul’s Day, praying for souls in purgatory and unbaptized babies in Limbo. Always an intuitive empath–though I didn’t know that until my 30’s when an honest-to-goodness definition for my particular neurosis emerged bringing validation and relief–this weighed on me tremendously. In my little kid mind, unless you left the confessional, did penance, and then dropped dead, you were probably going to go to purgatory for a couple hundred years until some good little girl prayed you out.

And what about people who had no family? What about the orphans? I hoped that God would make exceptions and use my excess prayers for them. When I think about this as an adult, as a mother, it makes me sad. I want to give my little girl self a hug and reassure her. My darling son is an empath too. He would agonize over souls in purgatory.

Back to Lent, see why my kids call me “Sidetrack Sally?” So, I share my feelings and interpretations about Lent with my own children not as a way to make them feel guilty or as if they need to suffer, but as a way of acknowledging Jesus’ suffering on our behalf. No pressure. Chloe is taking 18 credit hours and running 5 miles a day. I didn’t mention this to her: She’s all ready suffering enough. Peyton gave up computer games. Lily went back and forth and ultimately chose soda, but last night she climbed like a spider monkey onto the counter to finish Brad’s Coke, so we might need to revisit that.

I chose alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic. And for those of you who know me, I don’t drink excessively anymore. Yes, I know I had a drink in my hand in every Florida picture. Have you been to Key Largo without your kids? Cut me some slack. The point is: I really enjoy an adult beverage. I love a good glass of wine or a craft beer. One of our friends brews his own beer. It’s AMAZING. I’m looking forward to enjoying one in 30-some days. So, I thought this would be a good sacrifice as well as a liver cleanse.

If you’re still here, you probably need a beer. This post was rough and disjointed. Maybe I am an alcoholic. Maybe this is what withdrawal looks like. Go ahead. Have a drink. Call my girlfriend; we made a pact never to let the other drink alone. She’ll have a beer with you. She promised.