A Season of Mustard Seeds

It's mental health awareness month and seeing as I most recently left my job to take care of my mental health, I feel like I have somewhat of a responsibility to speak on my suffering and my healing during this time. 

I've had chronic depression for 12 years, with the combination depression/anxiety for 9 of those 12 years. While I've had seasons of health, my idea of a healthy season can look a lot like someone else's mildly sad season. Over the last 2 years, I've been learning to accept that I will always have underlying depression because that's how my brain works. Even in my happy, thriving, no depressive symptoms, inward or outward, seasons it's always with me - so I've been working on making it a welcome friend instead of the guest who told you they were coming for the weekend but actually came to move in. I've been steadily working on this change with the help and support of my community. 

Unfortunately, my time as a chaplain resident halted progress and actually caused some regression, and, by the end of my time as a resident, I had a very scary lived reality. The details of my circumstance in this particular program that led up to and contributed to the onset of my episode are still hard to talk about so I don't, and I won't do that here. What I'm willing to share for the sake of this awareness is that during this season of life I experienced symptoms I've never experienced before which brought different fear and uncertainty than I've had to cope with in the past. In most episodes I am a high functioning depressive, so these new symptoms and ultimate need to leave my job were deeply concerning. 

Between January and early March I had four times where I literally couldn't leave my bed. Three of those times were proceeded and/or accompanied by intense panic attacks where I sobbed uncontrollably, often losing track of time and acute awareness of my surroundings. I was persistently late to arrive places - work, family time, dates, time with friends... I couldn't stay on time. I couldn't sleep. For about 5 or 6 weeks I had at least one night a week where I would moan all night. And when I wasn't moaning, I was having nightmares. I shook and whimpered. I woke up feeling helpless and pathetic. I had days where I was miserable doing my job, if I could even function in my job that day, (a job I absolutely love and classify as a "dream job" by the way). On those days, I felt crummy, apathetic, insufficient, and nervous. So much so that it sometimes incapacitated me which made me even more miserable. Some people started to notice and that drew me into myself even further. I existed in a persistent state of numbness and fog. 

Late February I made the excruciating decision to put in my notice and leave my residency early. I was planning a wedding and buying a house with my fiancé at the time. We had to chose between my well being - my survival - or income. A choice no one wants to make at any point in their marriage let alone to start it off. But, I had to leave. I was dying. 

We come to our wedding day in mid April. My last day of residency was the Friday before; I had nothing on my back to worry about. I could focus on marrying my wonderful partner. During the homily of the ceremony, our pastor talked about committing to each other not only in times of joy but also in times of hardship and suffering. I remember him mentioning people being able to watch us on Facebook and social media. I knew what we'd shown - two people completely in love and excited to be married. We definitely were that, but when the pastor said, "being there for each other in times of hardship and suffering," I started crying. I wasn't moved by pretty romantic love. I was moved by the depth, the compassion, the steadfastness of my husband who chose to marry me. 

I am in a horrible depressive episode. He knows that someday it could be even worse than this. He helped encourage me to quit my job. He held me through many nights of moaning and whimpering. He sat with me as I was purposeless and unable to leave bed. He listened to me and took pictures of me expressing my fear and sadness. He would then make those pictures his background on his phone because "everyone sees the laughing and smiling you, but this is who you are to me too." He has stayed with me, given me opportunities for healing, and nudged me towards those opportunities when I was hesitant or stubborn to move. I cried because he chose to marry me in the midst of illness no less happy, excited, or ready to be by my side. 

He is the first romantic partner to stay in the midst of terrible mental illness, and not only to stay but to stay with compassion, integrity, and steadfastness as he does. He can see and love the richness of life my illness brings to both of us.  I haven't had a romantic partner be this close before and I always expected they would leave once they saw the terror of this illness; it's all I've known. This time I found something grittier and, I think, more rich in the long run. 

I've slowly begun to share my journey to recovery from this episode on social media and it happens to unintentionally coincide with mental health awareness month. They're pretty pictures of serene moments - flowers, reading, tea, blankets - the healing also comes with a lot of pain and volatile emotions. My depression got so bad that I couldn't feel anything. I stopped feeling. I stayed constantly in fight or flight mode. Often having to choose both fight and flight just to finish the unit of residency and my finals. Now that I'm working on healing, I feel things again. So, a fuller picture of my healing would include tear stained faces, oodles of junk food, a wandering mind, pillows and lethargy, and unfinished projects in our new house. Healing from severe, traumatic, and destructive episodes is messy. It's isolating. Even when the story is shared, it's isolating. 

When people respond to a public story like this, sometimes solidarity story sharing brings comfort and other times it feels like I haven't been heard or seen. Sometimes clichés are the worst and I want to punch whoever says one to me, and other times I do just need to hear, "I know it will be okay." 

Unless you're close to me and know more details, I suppose a safe response is for you to believe with me and for me, when I cannot believe myself, that healing will come. 

Believe with me that someday I will know what my marriage looks like without my friend depression needing so much damn attention from me. That he can go back to his room and enjoy his stay in my house, but keep himself entertained. 

Believe with me that God is faithful to me in my times of solitude and my times with my husband. 

Believe with me that one day people with mental health won't be so fucking scared of sharing their vulnerability with the world and that, in our courage, we will discover a world that responds with compassion and knowledge of our disease. That we will be known in the richness of life we bring to this world, not just by our partners, but by our community at large as well. 

Believe with me because I have found myself surviving in a season of mustard seeds and I could use all the seeds I can get.

Photo credit: Renee Biscarret Photography and Brian Phillips