Archive for the ‘mental illness and Christianity’ Category
In the jungle, the mighty jungle…
Posted on: August 22, 2016
It has come to my attention that I have neglected to write a post I should have written some months ago. Forgive me.
On March 25, I posted “Resurgence” when I was in the grip of a bipolar down. It had been going on since some time in the fall of last year. It actually started gradually easing off some weeks after I wrote the post, and the pendulum is still swinging toward the other extreme, which isn’t a good thing, but FEELS better. However, my life had exploded about a week before I wrote the post, was in absolute chaos for several months, and has continued to be punctuated by periods of frantic activity, so that frankly, I didn’t remember that I needed to write this.
What happened was this: I am caregiver and power-of-attorney for my husband’s cousin who lives here in town. Call her M. Her history with her son, A., is long and complicated. Enough to say he got out of a 19 year stretch in prison 3 years ago and hasn’t made much of a go at life on the outside. Events were such that it led to an incident with him on March 18th that sent M. to the hospital for self-harm from emotional distress, and convinced me (backed by the staff at the hospital, and the responding police officers) that a protection order against him was needed. As I was going into court on the 21st to petition for the emergency protection order, I received a call that M. had fallen and severely fractured her right femur 5” above the knee. (It was 4 days later I did the Resurgence post.) The next 6 weeks were a nightmare. It took 4 hearings related to the protection order before it was at last granted. A. agreed to a drug treatment plan, but never showed up for it, resulting in two more hearings. M. spent 10 days in the hospital and had a 12” plate and 14 screws put in to mend her leg, then was sent to a rehab facility 30 miles up the freeway because Group Health was spooked over the protection order. 2 hours after arriving there, M., who is diabetic, suffered a major sugar crash, but it took me over half an hour to convince the staff that it was that, NOT just that she was having trouble “adjusting” to being there! (She could have actually died had I not been there.) The duration of her 5 weeks there were little better. Once she got out in May, the poor home physical therapy she received resulted in her actually going BACKWARD, so that she went home almost ready to give up her wheelchair entirely, but within a month was barely able to stand. She had multiple doctor appointments. I, too, had multiple appointments to catch up on issues I hadn’t been able to deal with during her incarceration at the rehab place. My daughter had some health issues going on in her family, so I watched the girls, one or all, a few times. When we got to June, A. violated the protection order twice, and was picked up on drug charges in between. At the end of June, my brother from Texas was here for 3 days, and my son, wife and two granddaughters for 10, around the wedding of our younger son on the 28th. My dh retired on the 30th. Through July, there were one or two hearings each week for A.’s violations of the protection order.; I attended most of them as M.’s representative. Toward the last of July, M. spent nearly a week in the hospital with the most severe case of esophagitis the doctors had ever seen; the area of her esophagus from mid-throat to her stomach as like raw hamburger. (Because of her cognitive issues, I have to stay with her most of the time to be sure she is getting the proper care.) On August 8th, A. reached plea deals on the protection order violations. He should have remained in jail pending trial on the drug charges, but was mistakenly released, and is currently being sought to be returned to custody. About 2 weeks ago, I developed bursitis down from my right hip, and have had problems with my low back and left shoulder off-and-on to add to the fun. Just over a week ago, a dear niece living across the state who has been on/off homeless, with major issues with substance abuse, called and said she was coming over here and wants to get into a recovery program. The journey so far has been, um, circuitous, let’s say. Maybe she’ll get here tomorrow. Maybe not. After that, God knows.
A little bit busy, yes?
Back to Resurgence…. It was the first time I had ever gone so public while still in the middle of a bad stretch (and it was far from the worst it can be, at that.) My purpose in doing it was to be vulnerable and try to give the “normals” out there a glimpse into my world, and give the rest of us a voice. The post had very mixed success, to say the least.
On the up side, I got a lot of positive feedback that both of those goals were accomplished for some in the audience. On the down side, some people actually dismissed what I expressed as me just being “dramatic”, or as “exaggerating” the situation, even making sarcastic comments about my references to “the Monster.”
The end of my post got by far the most misinterpretation. It’s a natural enough response when someone we care about says they are hurting to want to reach out and say “I love you”, quote a Bible verse, give some word of encouragement. I said I wasn’t writing my post to solicit any of those; I already KNOW that’s how those who love me feel, but right then, I didn’t want to be inundated with a slew of emails to respond to. I stated that if folks chose to send the kind of verbal hugs I had just said I wasn’t asking for, I was likely not to respond. Right then, I was just too overwhelmed. (Remember, this was only 4 days after M.’s fall and surgery and starting the protection order process! I was spending 10 hours a day at the hospital, trying to keep on top of things at home, trying to gather documentation I’d need for the protection order hearing, AND dealing with the Monster – it was sometimes all I could do to just keep breathing.)
Some people sent things anyway. “I know you probably won’t answer, but I still want you to know…” That was fine! In fact, I have TREMENDOUSLY appreciated those of you who have continued to write as normal, just keeping me up on what’s going on in YOUR life, even if I haven’t answered. I have appreciated those of you who have called just to say a quick hi, or chat about nothing special. I have appreciated those of you who have asked questions such as, “How are your grandkids?” or “What are your kids up to?” or “Has Rob retired yet?” (And those of you who’ve listened to me vent? YOU are priceless!!!)
To my chagrin, though, some folks read the paragraph as if I had said, “Don’t. Talk. To. Me.” And with all kindly intent, they shut me out of their life. I didn’t know that, of course, because, well, they shut me out of their life. I’ve only recently learned about it as circumstances have brought a few back in contact. Please forgive me that I didn’t make myself clear enough; I was writing in a rather desperate state. If you thought that’s what I meant, please end the silence, ok?
Other than my physical ills – which, face it, are a never-ending issue, though the scenery rotates – life is reasonably calm at the moment. M. is doing much better in all respects; out-patient physical therapy is helping her rapidly regain her mobility. A. will hopefully be back in custody soon and spend a few years in prison, out of trouble. My niece … well, we’ll see. Rob and I are adjusting to his retirement. We’re almost to the point of feeling like it’s not just a long vacation. We thoroughly enjoyed the visits with my brother and son and family in June. The kids are all doing well, although three of them are in need of employment. Two of my oldest daughter’s girls – the 4 and 2 yo.s – were diagnosed with celiac, and the dad most likely, awaiting biopsy reports, so we’ve plunged into the Gluten Free adventure. My grandprincesses continue to be enchantingly adorable. 3 yo Nona recently told her dad that she was “UNdisobeying.” 4 yo Fiona was running naked to “give [her] bellybutton some air.” 6 yo Beverly is reading – um, no, devouring – American Girl books, Calvin and Hobbes, and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. 4 yo Naomi is still my kitty girl who love kitties “because they are quiet and do not jump up on you.” 2 yo Rosie was heard in the car scolding the sunlight, “Weave! My! Wegs! A-WONE!!!” And God is still good, as always.
For now, in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the …. Monster sleeps. And I am grateful.
Stop holding on
Posted on: April 22, 2016
One of my favorite descriptions of what Jesus is like is found in Isaiah 42:3: “… a bruised reed He will not break, and a faintly burning wick He will not snuff out …”
Applicable to many Christians at times in their walks, even more do these express vividly the comforting reality of the life of we Christians with mental illness.
So often in acknowledging, and even daring to express, a sense of hopelessness, we feel that we are betraying our faith. Not infrequently, this sense is compounded by the well-intentioned words of exhortation that to our desperate ears sound only as a further accusation of guilt.
It is not by our choice that our wick is burning but faintly – sometimes so faintly that even we ourselves cannot see its glow. Though all the world misunderstand, Jesus doesn’t.
In the midst of the darkness, even when our mind cannot even remember what light looks like, engulfed as we are in a whirling void of darkness, what matters is not that our wick glows but faintly – what matters is that it glows at all, and that Jesus sees it, and cherishes it.
Countless times in my dark hours, I have been exhorted to “Hang in there” or to “Hold on”. Little do those offering those sentiments realize what a burden it actually places on those of us who are so soul-weary that we are beyond even that simple action. A song released by Casting Crowns offers a beautiful line of encouragement, “ … stop holding on and just be held.” Even when we cannot hold on to Him, He holds on to us.
There comes a point when it’s ok to let go and to simply let ourselves fall into the Father’s hands. Our emotions may continue to rage, but somewhere inside, faith knows that our salvation, our security, and our peace come not from our own ability to keep our flame high, but from His tender care of our faintly burning wick.
The last couple of years have seen my wick waver a lot. In the last 6 months or so, it has sometimes sunk low. In the last month, it has not even been visible, as I have been overwhelmed by a swirl of intense events with long-lasting consequences, struggling with a sense of utter despair, seeing the tunnel grow ever longer and darker, and with the feeling that any light at the end is only a train coming the other way.
And yet my wick still glows somehow. Circumstances have not improved much, and I still look with dread on the days to come, and yet, in the midst of these howling winds, He has cupped His hand around my soul, and coaxed that smoldering ember into a tiny, dancing flame.
If you, too, are fighting the darkness, it’s alright to cease. What does it matter if the darkness thinks it has won? You haven’t fallen into darkness, you’re resting in the hands of your Father – whether you feel Him or not. Stop tiring yourself out trying to hold on.
Just let yourself be held. Maybe He’ll calm the storm around you. Maybe He won’t. Maybe He’ll give your emotions a glimpse of hope. Maybe He won’t. Our spirits are not captive to our circumstances, our emotions, or our minds. Though all externals that we see and understand be in chaos, yet our innermost selves, though they be hidden from our eyes, are at peace.
We are held by the One Who never gets weary of holding us.
Stop holding on.
Just be held.
The Monster Resurges
Posted on: March 18, 2016
There’s a commercial for some depression medicine that shows the victim being followed around and overshadowed by a large black cloud. I don’t care for most drug commercials (most commercials, period, I guess), but this one I actually like because in the “after” portrayal, where the drug is working great and the person is out living life again, the cloud is still there. It’s smaller in size, and follows along meekly and unobtrusively, but it’s there.
That’s the plain truth about mental illness. You may be able to treat it and make it manageable, but it will never go away. It will always be lurking, waiting in the wings for a cue to make another grand entrance and steal the show.
I’ve put off writing this for some time now. I probably should have written some of it last Fall. I kept hoping things would right themselves, but they haven’t, so I think it will be better write and get it over with.
Simply put, the bipolar Monster has resurged.
It could be that my head med is simply losing effectiveness; the body metabolizes all psychotropics differently over time, causing them to become less effective. However, my new med manager believes that it isn’t really the med’s fault, but that chronic stress of the last two years has sent my cortisol levels sky-high so that it is now stuck in a cycle it can’t get out of – and that the high levels of cortisol are overwhelming my head med’s ability to work as it should.
There are a multitude of factors involved in the stress. Residual effects from the year of dealing with my mom during her death from cancer. Relational difficulties in my marriage. Caregiving issues involving my cousin, and dealing with her son. My already touchy musculoskeletal issues because of my screwy spine were badly affected by a fall in September of 2013, but exercise and physical therapy for it pretty much went out the window during the year of caring for Mama; last year the injuries were compounded by other mishaps; and now the whole thing has been topped off by degenerating cervical and lumbar discs, which may (probably) mean I will never again be able to achieve the kind of physical fitness I was able to enjoy for one brief year prior to my 2013 injury. Since exercise plays a key part in helping with a number of my other health issues, losing the ability to do so as much affects them all. In addition, I have been having severe sleep issues for months now, leaving me physically exhausted.
In general, all this has meant increasing problems keeping things together. Some weeks, I am an emotional basket case, depressed and overwhelmed and scared. When it’s like that, it takes enormous amounts of energy to carry on reasonably normally with other people, leaving me emotionally exhausted. Then the switch flips, and I’m more even emotionally, and it’s not quite such an effort. But between the physical and emotional stresses, I find myself struggling with finding the motivation to do that which I know I need to or should. Often, it just takes too much energy to care.
As the Monster grows, my brain once again is like a dozen racetracks with a dozen greyhounds on each, and all chasing a dozen rabbits running loose. It is difficult to follow any one train of thought for long. I have been trying and trying to write blog posts – I have a dozen started – but I get partway through and realize that I can’t figure out where I am going with it. I have spent hour after hour re-writing and re-writing, but so far, I have gained little ground. The frustration is enormous.
Not only is my brain racing, it has no “off” switch. Ever have a night where you just can’t get to sleep because your brain is absorbed with some problem? My brain can’t shut up. Ever. My meds to help me sleep are having little effect. No matter how tired my body is, my brain is always in high gear, running this way and that. What sleep I do get is broken multiple times a night – beginning again the battle to get my brain to shut up so I can return to some semblance of sleep. When I DO sleep, I mostly dream. I have always had vivid dreams, in color, and often I remember the gist of, or much of, the contents upon waking up. Now, even when asleep, I am often dreaming that I am awake. Not uncommonly, some of my dreams are disturbing, even somewhat traumatic. When I get up in the morning, I seldom have any sense of having really slept at all – certainly not any refreshing sleep, at any rate. Chronic sleep deprivation does a real number on ya.
So, rather than playing around any further with my BP meds, the plan is to focus on other issues through other practitioners. I will see a naturopath to do some detective work and figure out what might be helpful, for the cortisol issue in highest priority, but with any other area he finds out-of-whack as well. (My case being rather extraordinarily complicated medically, it will be no simple knot to untangle!) I will be getting traction at my chiropractor’s office, as well as massage. I will be starting with a new counselor on the 23rd – the wife of the counselor Rob started seeing in January; the eventual goal is joint counseling. Hopefully it won’t take too many months to start getting things turned around – and then we can tell if I need to do anything with my head meds or not.
And in case you’re thinking none of this sounds very spiritual, be assured that no, I have not left God out of the equation, and yes, I HAVE had people pray over me and I know there are many praying on-going. But mental illness is not a spiritual problem, and unless God makes a miraculous intervention – which is possible, but not historically terribly frequent – spiritual activities such as prayer and throwing Bible verses at it don’t solve it or even make it feel better. My faith is a fact, but when the Monster has the upper hand, my faith has no meaning to my feelings. The spirit is willing, but the brain is broken. That’s the best I can explain it.
All of this is not to ask for sympathy, comments, “I’m so sorry”, “I’m praying for you” or even any particular expressed reaction at all. I don’t mean to sound ungracious, but I take all those as read from those who know me, and I DO appreciate it – but it takes energy to respond, and right now I don’t always have any to spare. (If you are a local, you don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile.) I just want to explain what’s going on and give you another glimpse into the Wonderful World of Bipolar. So if I’m less than gracious, or I’m grouchy or a bit short-tempered, or get too worked up over little things, or don’t seem to be enthusiastic about something you want me to be enthused about, or seem tired or down and gloomy, please just let it be and don’t take it personally! And if I don’t write for months, or if what I write kind of wanders around, bear with me.
It is well with my soul, but as for the rest of me, for now, the Monster has the upper hand again.
Letting Not Normal Be Normal
Posted on: November 8, 2015
First, a word to all who read this blog. I started this blog mostly as a way to get all the words that kept tumbling ‘round and ‘round inside my head OUT of my head. I knew my mom would read my posts and probably share the blog with her friends, if only because her “baby” wrote it – moms are like that. I expected that some of my friends would read it because, well, they’re my friends, but I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect as to whether anyone ELSE would consider it worthwhile to read. It is validating, exhilarating, frightening and humbling to find that there are those who do. For each of you, I am grateful. If you like any post, the greatest compliment you can pay me is to share it with others, whether by FB, email, or print. (However you share it, please include the link to the blog site and my name as author.) A word of thanks also to all of you who have sent or said words of encouragement. I treasure them. If you particularly like some point, or especially if you particularly disagree with some point, or question a conclusion, please do comment. I would love for this to be more interactive and less of a monologue. Now on to the post….
A few months ago there was a letter to the editor in our local paper complaining about people in parking lots who take handicapped parking places. The writer wasn’t complaining about cars without a handicap license plate or without a placard hanging from the rearview mirror. No, she was complaining about those who HAVE those legal permissions but who “obviously” are healthy enough that they don’t NEED to use those parking places.
This isn’t a new accusation to those guilty of that “crime.” Although they are occasionally accosted directly in parking lots, more often they find themselves the recipients of dirty looks or nasty notes left on their windshield – or are the target of letters to the editor. The frustration is that heart conditions such as congestive heart failure, lung conditions such as cystic fibrosis, muscle conditions such as fibromyalgia, joint conditions such as arthritis, along with many other conditions, can result in a severe limitation on stamina qualifying a person to use handicapped parking, but none affect the physical appearance. Sometimes people end up not using the space they are legally entitled to use, no matter what it costs them physically, because they get tired of people accusing them. It’s just easier to pretend to be what people assume you are.
Recently, I have talked with both the middle school and high school youth groups at church about my journey with The Monster, from the depression that started in high school to my diagnosis with bipolar in 2010, what life has been like since and what the future likely holds. I did a FB post about having to up my bipolar meds and asking friends to please clue me in if they notice anything amiss. In all the cases, I received statements of commendation for speaking so candidly, for being “open” and “vulnerable”. I appreciate the intention of being supportive and encouraging. I do, truly.
Yet the fact that my speaking of these things is deemed to merit such note is … sad. It should not have to TAKE courage to speak up about being mentally ill. Taking head meds should require no more self-consciousness than does taking insulin. But the fact is that we mentally ill often feel that pressure to appear “normal” because we LOOK normal. We can be afraid to “confess” our not-normalness and be moved from the “us” category to the “them”.
I have a laundry list of physical problems – hypothyroid, fibromyalgia, migraines, to name just the ones readers are most likely to be familiar with. I have had 13 major surgeries, I lost count of the MRIs, CTs, X-rays and ER visits years ago. I have had a number of rare conditions pop up. If there’s a highly unlikely way to react to a drug … I’ll do it. (Do NOT tell me odds, please – my body takes it as a challenge!) I have to take a whole pile of pills a day to stay functional. I speak of these conditions without hesitation because they are my physical reality. I speak freely of my mental illness because it is just as much my physical reality.
In our society, though, this speaking of mental illness that casually is still uncommon enough that it gets noticed. Sadly, our churches are often no better than society when it comes to being places where mental illness can be disclosed and discussed with the same freedom and compassion that physical illnesses are. In some ways, churches can be even worse, because not only may mental illnesses be misunderstood, they are often misunderstood in a manner that blames the victim: to wit, if we just prayed properly, or trusted God better, or turned our troubles over to God more completely – if somehow we just did something “right”, if somehow we were better Christians, we wouldn’t be sick. It’s the ultimate betrayal of compassion.
The fact is that while mental illness PRESENTS behaviorally, it is in origin an actual physical problem. The brain is broken, wired wonky, chemically imbalanced so that certain areas of the brain are overactive while other areas are underactive. Some neurons are firing grapeshot, others blanks, while others are jammed. There are lapses in the synapses. Mental illness can no more be willed away than can diabetes. It can no more “faithed” away than ALS. One can no more reason a way out of it than one could reason a way out of anaphylactic shock. We mentally ill are generally the last to recognize what is going on with us – if we are even able to at all ; even if we are able to recognize it, we are still trapped by it. An epileptic doesn’t stop taking her medication when her seizures are under control because she is able to reason that without the medication’s influence, the seizures will return. We mentally ill may stop taking our meds once the symptoms are under control because our disease prevents us from grasping the fact that it is ONLY the medication that is keeping the disease at bay, not that WE are “better.” We are at the mercy of a disease for which there may be treatment, but for which there no cure. This is our frightening reality.
So how does a congregation foster an environment of openness where those with mental illness need not fear speaking freely about it? First, we can start with the way we deal generally with negative emotions – sadness, “the blues”, non-clinical depression, anxiety. If we are a safe place for expressing these, we will be – or can easily become – a safe place for being open about mental illness as well. We can listen without criticism and validate feelings – that is, let people feel what they feel and be honest about it. For example, say someone comes to church in a very blue phase, is asked, “Hey, how’s it going?”, and gives an honest answer. A cheery, “Oh, come on, things can’t be THAT bad!” or “Smile, Jesus loves you!” or “Just think about all the blessings God has given you!” or a recitation of the things the responder does to cheer themselves up, all these, while certainly intended for good, actually send the message “You are not allowed to be anything but happy at church” – the antithesis of openness. Responses such as, “I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling so sad”, or “That must be hard on you”, or “Then I’m extra glad you came today” sends a message that it’s ok to “come as you are.” We can go beyond assuring someone “I’m praying for you” to asking them if there is something specific we can pray about, making a very personal effort to connect. (And it certainly helps build that connection if we remember the next time we see the person to ask about that prayer item!)
Going farther, the pastor at my current church speaks frankly of his father who committed suicide twenty years ago. Pastor Brian also has had various congregation members share with the congregation their own stories of struggling with depression; as I mentioned, our youth pastor has done likewise. (I am only one of those who spoke.) THAT is fostering openness. At one church, we had a mentally ill homeless man who came regularly who sat in the front row and spent most of his time rocking rapidly into a deep bow back and forth. Sometimes he talked to himself. There were occasional complaints about him being “distracting”, and there’s no denying his activity was outside the sanctuary standard norm, but the majority of the congregation welcomed him anyway. Someone would always sit by him to calm him if his agitation reached extremes. Members would greet him by name after the service. THAT is fostering openness. One member there had a mental breakdown and spent 6 weeks hospitalized in the psych ward. When she came back, people didn’t avoid her in embarrassment, but simply welcomed her back as from any other hospitalization, with loving concern and care. THAT is fostering openness. Any time we educate ourselves so that we are prepared better for how to respond to or deal with people with mental illness, any time we acknowledge our lack of knowledge but express our desire to better understand, we are working to create an environment of openness.
When we acknowledge the reality of mental illness as matter-of-factly as we do that of physical illness we move one step closer to letting not normal be normal.
We can all be of One Mind – even if some of us are “out” of ours.
the susie solution 