Meet the Author's Author

Meet the Author's Author
Live for Jesus! That's what matters! That you see the light in me and come along! :)

Friday, July 31, 2015

To Become Like a Child...

Trigger warning: If you're in a bad place, don't read this. If you think you can handle it...try. It may encourage you. I hope. :P

Depression-exhaustion. It's one of the things I loathe most about a bout of suicidal depression.
(If you need a definition of that, feel free to message me:

First there's a tiny grey cloud, a mood change...flashbacks...sometimes panic attacks...random crying spells...intense sadness over the lost things/people...
Those can be triggered by, or exacerbated, by arguments, events (i.e., a person who dislikes/caused a lot of trouble for me married recently, and it triggered this bout because he was brought back into my life, albeit unintentionally, by mutual friends; aggravated by an argument this past weekend).

Then it literally feels like my mind is being torn in two. There's the one part which seems to be out of control, and the other which is logical and takes the rationale. It knows I'm out of control and it's scary. That's the part that keeps holding on, pulling me through a working day, forcing my reconcentration when I'm staring blankly at work. It's frightening. I'm trying desperately to hold down my "normal" lifestyle at work, when I'm in floods of tears in front of some managers - uncontrollably. A tiny little thing triggered it, and it wouldn't stop.
The pain turns physical; I'm drinking wine and taking painkillers to ease back on the mental pain.
Then my mind goes blank. I go quiet.
A bit more head pain.
I start to think, communicate again.
Still on painkillers.
Start realising I need to climb out and use the trip-switches - find something to be thankful for in the days when it's dark and grey, when I hate myself for being like this, for being so weak and unable to stop what's happening, for realising how much it bars me from a normal future - make other people happy, buying flowers, passing out smiles, trying to twist an amusing sentence - sharing faith or Scripture - prayer.
And keeping climbing.
Keeping "hoping" - that beautiful, painful shining future thing, ever reaching for, still not quite touching.
Maybe this time I'll be one step further away.

The depression spells aren't as frequent as they were last year, losing the guy I love/d and OYAN within four months of each other. I have never been that close to losing my mind and it was terrifying.
However, these spells now are both deeper and lasting longer - this current bout has been going for almost a month.
Which worried me, until a dear friend recently shared that in her battle with depression, hers had worsened as well, but she'd found it to be a natural, though painful, step towards healing.

It's hard to explain suicidal depression to someone who hasn't experienced it. Because they're going to think you're crackers. I sometimes think I'm crackers.
Don't ask my friends. *small grin* They'll happily tell you I'm nuts. But you know what I mean.
All the thoughts. All the "cleverness". The thoughts of a mad woman? But where does it end, and where does it begin?

Recently, I shared the following statement:
I hate being open and honest. *cheerfully* Indeedy, it's hard to believe. I am aware that anything I say can be, and has been, taken and used against me in the past.
I hate being weak. I try to masquerade to myself as much as anyone.
I would dearly love to pretend a life of complete victory over struggling with self-harming, over depression, but I can't.
_At the same time_, I believe that our lives and struggles are given to us for a reason. To be known. For God to be seen through our weakness as He gives us strength.

I still hate sharing about my struggles, though I know some people think I love it for the attention. (Sickos. No apology.)
Because here is the thing I mutually like and loathe about this battle. (Yes, I said 'like'.)
My faith.

I hate it because of the way it appears. For struggling Christians, the testimony of Christ coming through the blackness can be encouraging; for non-Christians, Christ is seen as the by-product of a diseased mind (we'll ignore the fact I've been saved since a child :P) and a crutch to lean on to get through the darkness.
I'm not objecting to Christ being my crutch - He is both that and my sword. I just hate that I'm not victorious and He is not shown in ability of skill, word, intellect, that I cannot prove Him beyond a shadow of a doubt and cause Him to shine in glory.
Me me me. The way I want Christ to be seen. The way I want to serve and to show Him off. Because that's what it is.

Suicidal depression, or any kind of depression, is one of the greatest battlegrounds of faith, where you can experience the power of God amid the greatest loneliness.
The small things can be fought to be found, or lost in the blackness.
And one's faith becomes that of a child.
His strength is made perfect in weakness. And for some reason, excruciatingly humiliating to me, this is the way He is choosing to be seen in my life.

A child toddles towards his father, reaching out for the hand extended to steady him...jumps off the side of the swimming pool, expecting his father to catch him...sits down at the table and expects there to be food provided for him.
In the great battles and intellectual picking apart of the Bible today, we find a lot of "did God really say?" and hardly any of "not my will, but Thine."
There is so much defining of battle grounds and picking apart of terms, creations of our own gods and not - Lord, I will trust You. I don't understand, but I will trust You.

When it comes to those last days and we, who have picked the Bible apart and accepted what we like, come to face those who have also picked the Bible apart and come to the conclusion that there is nothing solid - where will we stand?
"Did God really say?"
"On Christ, the solid Rock I stand?"

"My faith has found a resting place, not in device or creed.
I trust the Ever Living One - His wounds for me shall plead.

I need no other argument - I need no other plea.
It is enough that Jesus died, and that He died for me."

In humiliated gratitude, clutching my head in my hands when the pain gets too much to bear, sometimes the only thing I can retain is "Jesus loves me. Jesus loves me."
And yes.

That is enough.

In Christ,