Never Give Up!

Tightly hugging myself to try to stop the uncontrollable shivering and shaking, I stared across the desk in the windowless bare room.  The person on the other side of the desk was shooting rapid fire questions at me in a flat tone of voice as she noted my answers on the writing pad in front of her.  The majority of my thoughts centered on how she was trying to trick me during this interrogation.  Yet, in the back of my mind I knew where I was, and why.  But how?  How did I end up here? 

The where on that Friday evening almost five years ago was the intake area of a private, mental hospital.  The why was to get help, help because I knew I was in a situation I couldn’t fix myself.  I was manic, anxious, paranoid and battling psychosis.  The how is what I was struggling to grasp.  I was a wife, a mom, a Girl Scout leader, on staff at a church, I preached in a women’s prison (a prison featured on a cable TV show for some of the rough inmates) and volunteered in many community activities.  Part of me thought those things would exempt me from something like this.  I shouldn’t be here; people like me don’t belong in places like this.  Yet, I was here, and I was admitted to the inpatient locked ward.

As the oldest of eight children I was always very independent.  I was also adventure loving.  Unfortunately, I also had somehow gotten who I was, mixed up with what I did.  And since I based who I was on what I did, I did lots.  I went to missionary training school and worked in a church.  I was self-sufficient and confident in what I was doing.  Though during my teen years I noticed a pattern of what everyone around me called “adrenaline junkie” behaviors then times of deep depression.  I managed to mask the depression, though I wrote out my first will at age 19 because I truly believed I would die young.  I knew this wasn’t “normal” and as it got worse, I tried harder to hide it.  Eventually the inner turmoil was too hard to hide and I turned to substances to self-medicate.  That went on for many years until I realized that they were beginning to control me instead of me using them to control myself.  During this time I also ended up in the ER from an overdose.  My husband and I were having issues and I thought my children and everyone I knew would be better off without me.  But mostly I just wanted to sleep, sleep until it all went away.  No matter how long that type of sleep took.  There was a second incident as well, but it didn’t result in medical assistance.  I still didn’t realize there was a mental health issue, instead thinking that it was probably from the substance use.  I joined Celebrate Recovery to make those changes.  But without self-medicating the original issues resurfaced, even more so.  After some doctor visits I was diagnosed with bipolar 1 and started on the long road of finding the right medication mix and steps to stability.  These steps include talk therapy, dietary changes, sleep changes, mood tracking, exercise and education.

One of the most difficult parts is the stigma.  Much of it was self-induced stigma and having to realize that I am not a label or a diagnosis.  And stigma is not only what people think, but what they say.  Christians who wouldn’t think to tell someone with a broken arm not to use a cast, had no problems saying someone with a mental disorder should stop medications and rely on faith.  There is still a big disconnect with mental issues and the faith connection.  I later went abruptly off my medications and three years after the initial diagnosis is where this story began, in the intake room of the hospital.  There I was diagnosed with not only bipolar 1, rapid cycling, with psychosis but also a soft diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder.  My time in there was of much self-evaluation and beginning to realize that my worth wasn’t based on what I do, or don’t do.  Though I watched people being abandoned by those that they thought loved them.  I became fearful that my husband wouldn’t be able to accept the “new” me when I was released.  But instead he showered me with love and proved that he would be there for me during my recovery.

Knowing how self-reliant I tend to be, I now consider this to be my “thorn in the flesh” that keeps me dependent on the Lord.   When I start to take on too much or feel like “I got this” it reminds me that I am only where I am today because of Jesus Christ, my Savior, my Healer and my Redeemer.

Today I’m enjoying my third year of being in what is considered remission.  We had a new start and moved to a new state, new friends, new church, and new career.  Last year my teenage daughter started dealing with mental health issues of her own and during that time I realized how alone I felt as a parent dealing with this.  I wasn’t sure who to talk to or where to turn.  After reading Amy Simpson’s book, Troubled Minds: Mental Illness and the Church’s Mission, and realizing that with one in four people being diagnosed with a mental illness I was far from alone, so I went to our church to discuss the need for a support group for those affected by mental illness.  I was given the go ahead and now help facilitate a support group for anyone affected by mental illness, whether themselves, a friend or family member.

The verses that I most rely on are:

Deuteronomy 30:19 (NLT), "Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. Now I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live!”  This verse reminds me no matter what is happening, that I have a choice to make, and by choosing life, my descendants might live and I will receive blessings.

2 Timothy 1:7 (KJV), “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”  The anxiety and fear are not from God.  This reminds me when I’m fearful to call out to Christ to cover me in the spirit of power, love and a sound mind.

2 Timothy 4:7 (KJV), “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”  This reminds me to never give up, to finish the course of life that God has given me and to keep my faith, no matter what my feelings may be trying to tell me.  When I stand before my Creator I want Him to greet me with, “Congratulations, you finished the course I set before you.”

A huge part of me wants to hide this part of my past.  I’m in a career that I like and not sure how a disclosure might affect it.  I have friends that I don’t know how they will react.  I’m enjoying the stability of remission.  Why rock the boat?  Why expose this part of me?  Why risk it?  The bigger question though is why not?  God has blessed me and when the media only exposes the worst case scenarios of mental illness, people feel stigma and shame.  Shame is different than guilt and is not from God.  Writing this is my way to renounce the shame and help reduce the stigma.  You are not alone and a diagnosis is not WHO you are and it is not the end of your life.  Psalm 30:5 (KJV), “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

Please don’t hide alone, fearful and scared to reach out for help.  You are loved by your Creator, the Comforter, and there are people who understand and can help.