why depression sucks

I have made mention of the fact that despite having the bipolar diagnosis, I have been doing well in life. For the last six years or so, I’ve been very stable—experiencing very few bumps in the road. 

Ironically enough, though my blog is titled craziness uncensored, I have never actually sat down and wrote about why I call it that. And that got me to thinking that I have never actually written about what the bipolar disorder is. Let me clear that up.

Bipolar is a state where one’s mood can swing from mania to deep depression. It used to be referred to as manic depressive disorder (personally, I prefer this label because it defines the disease from the get-go.) So you fluctuate through this mood from mania to depression back and forth like a pendulum swinging from high to low to high to low.

As far as my experiences go with it, I’ve gone through the highest of highs (mania) and the lowest of lows (deep depression). The depression I’m writing about isn’t like a normal depression. It doesn’t really depend on what situation I’m in. It’s not about being upset, or discouraged or frustrated with life. 

To describe it so that it makes more sense, being deeply depressed is like carrying a ball and chain with me wherever I go. Whatever I do is made ten times more difficult. In fact, just getting out of bed every morning is a chore. Quite frankly, it sucks—like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. 

So can I be quite honest here? I used to love being manic. Mania felt so good, like I was on top of the world, invincible, and in the happiest of moods. But I’ve learned there’s a dark side to the mania. I know that when I’m manic, depression is just around the corner waiting to pounce—dragging me back into that all too familiar pit of despair.  

As I’ve written above, I have been very stable for the last six years. Very few extreme highs or lows. I credit that stability to being on the right “cocktail” of meds. 

But a couple of weeks ago, an unwelcome visitor arrived bringing with it all kinds of baggage. It punched me in the gut out of nowhere—depression. And when it set in, I began to worry. It had been so long since I’d felt this poorly. This bout of depression scared me. Just the thought of heading back down that road of deep despair made me want to weep.

So I went to see my psychiatrist and she upped one of my meds to “bump me out of my depression”. And boy, did it ever bump me up. For a couple of days, I felt great. Life was amazing. But all good things must come to an end, and the expected crash happened reminding me of why I hate my diagnosis. 

You see, these days I’m not looking for mania so much. No, now, I prefer stable. No high highs and no low lows—just middle of the road is all right by me. Simply put, I do not want to go back to pre-diagnosed days. It was hell. Honestly, I know no other way to describe it. 

In the end, I know I must trust the God who holds all of my days in his hand and wisely gives them one by one. I have to remember the promise that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness. And, quite frankly, I need to carry on the best I can waiting for the day when I will get back to the middle of the road.

what's the point?

I’ve never understood the purpose of suffering. The age old question; how can a good God allow such suffering to go on in this world. Those doubts have filled my mind and heart at times, too.

Especially when I feel sick. It’s those times that I feel truly abandoned. It’s like God has left town and is never coming back. And I find myself walking in this spiritual dessert, wondering where the heck he is. 

‘God are you up there? Then, why aren’t you making me better? I hate being sick, please take this pain away.’

In fact, today I shed a few tears thinking about some of the hard things that have come my way. It just doesn’t seem fair. 

There was one particular moment in my life when my faith was sorely tested; a moment when I was ready to be done with God for good. 

This particular excerpt from, Pools, explains why this experience was a huge turning point in my life. It describes what happened the day after I’d gone psychotic—a day when it felt as though my world was crumbling all around me and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. 

I remember the visitors who came to see me – my husband, my mom, my aunt.  I was really embarrassed at this point, because I was beginning to come back to reality.  Bits and pieces of what had happened Sunday night (the night I was hospitalized) began to take shape in my mind.  I definitely knew that I was in a bad place, because I had done a very bad thing.  

There were a handful of people in the Crisis Center with me.  I really don’t recall having too much contact with anyone, but I do remember two people in particular.  They were both older men who seemed to be as confused as I was.   

One of the guys pulled out a Bible and started talking to me about the “code”.  He opened the page to a reference about numbers.  At that point I could have continued to sink deeper and deeper into my psychotic state.  But for some reason, in that moment, I made a conscious decision to ignore him.  I think it was God’s Spirit pointing the way out of the state I was in.  

The other guy, a dear man, had an obvious connection with God.  He didn’t talk about any codes, he just sang hymns, and talked to me a little bit about his faith. 

 At this point, my faith was being sorely tested, because now I was beginning to realize that all of the delusions I was having about God, faith, religion, were just that, delusions.   

There was a part of me, maybe most of me, that was ready to give up on faith all together.  How could God allow this horrible thing to happen to me?  How could he use religion, my faith, against me?  So when I was leaving I asked this guy whose name I don’t even know, but whose face I will never forget, to sing “Rock of Ages,” for me. 

        Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

        let me hide myself in thee;

        let the water and the blood,

        from thy wounded side which flowed,

        be of sin the double cure;

        save from wrath and make me pure. 

There were tears streaming down my face as I left the Crisis Center that day.  The words from “Rock of Ages” followed me down that long corridor leading me to a future that was so uncertain, so scary because I had no idea what it held for me.  

From that point on I made the decision to keep putting my faith in God, to keep trusting him, believing that even through this, he was going to be my “rock.”   As I began to get better, I clung to the words from that hymn.  “Rock of Ages cleft for me.  Let me hide myself in Thee.” 

grace, peace, and mercy

Psalm 119:32 (NIV) I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free.

I have a confession to make; I am a guilt-ridden person. I even feel guilty about feeling guilty. How’s that for dysfunction?

Yesterday, we went to church and throughout the sermon my thoughts wandered, in a good way, of course. I thought about how often I’ve heard the words, grace, peace, and mercy during a church service. It made me wonder, why, after all these years, haven’t I taken those words to heart and believed with my entire being that God is for me.

Makes me think of a person who got to see the Lord in his throne room and immediately knew he was in trouble. The prophet Isaiah had an experience like no other and had every reason to cower before God’s throne;

^{Isaiah 6:1} In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple . . .    ⁵ “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.”

When Isaiah stood before the Lord, he knew it was the end. He was toast. But rather than fry him to a crisp, God addressed Isaiah’s sinful state with mercy.

 

Isaiah 6:⁶ Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. ⁷ With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.”

That’s all it took for God; Isaiah was forgiven. Immediately, God gives Isaiah a job to do— take a message to God’s people. Having experienced such grace, Isaiah jumps at the chance to do God’s work. 

 ⁸ Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” 

Isaiah had let go of the past, his sin was atoned for and he was ready to do God’s bidding. He was ready to move on knowing that God was for him.

The Bible says that God has cast my sin into the sea. He has removed it as far away from me as the east is from the west. God is for me, not against me. So why do I hold on to my guilt and shame when it’s so clear that God has moved on? Having guilt over my sins is a little like carrying a heavy suitcase during a race. All it does is slow me down. What I need to do, is pitch it to the side and run like crazy.

Hebrews 12:¹ Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us . . . 

Guilt is what hinders me from running in the path of God’s commands. It’s not making me a better person, it’s not atoning for my sins. All it’s doing is weighing me down preventing me from running the best race ever. 

I need to remember that; God is for me, not against me. You need to remember that; God is for you, not against you. God is for us. For us! May we all approach the throne of God with joy and confidence. Ready to run like Isaiah and ready to answer his call, “Here am I. Send me!”