Unless you've been entrapped by this invisible prison, its hard to describe how helpless and powerless you can feel at times to stop what is happening. It always starts the same way...a niggling foreboding followed by several events that heighten my stress, then comes a couple of days of uncontrollable water works, panic attacks, outbursts and mood swings, then a period of absolute numbness....almost like my emotions have worn themselves to the point where I just check out completely - like I just cant FEEL any more.
And now, the slow clawing back to genuine smiling, laughter and joy again. And thus the cycle is complete and begins again.
I can hear the multitudes...."Just cheer up already" or even my fellow Christians "just give your mind and emotions over to God - 'we were created for a sound mind' or even worse 'just take capture of everything negative thought and you'll conquer this" OH how I wish it were that easy.
I certainly think there's been some marked improvement over the last year or so in my ability to look at my reactions more objectively and identify when things have gotten a bit irrational. And certainly I don't fall as far when I do start to go down than I used to. Struggling with an illness that no one can see or measure I've experienced such a high degree of judgement, and none more strongly than from Christians. My brothers and sisters in Christ can't accept that perhaps my illness is not intrinsically linked to my faithfulness or to the quality of my relationship with God. Is it possible to be a good Christian and suffer from anxiety and depression? I would argue that it is - just as its possible to be a good Christian and have cancer. People aren't judged because they have a physical illness and yet have a relationship with God. Why is mental illness any different?
Sometimes I think it would in some ways be easier to have a physical illness. People would be sympathetic, bringing me flowers, saying prayers for me and offering to help me when I'm ill. I'd get sick days off work, and it would be completely acceptable for me to need help from others. Plus, if I was physically ill, there's possibly treatment or even a cure depending on what I have. Everything would be so tangible.
But this is not tangible. There's nothing that can be cut out, or operated on, or zapped, or poked or prodded to make me feel better. I take medication everyday but despite this I still descend sometimes. No one can see it, and even worse I make sure they do. That wall has become a permanent fixture on my face, I've built it up brick by brick. I'm a master of disguise, I can hide it beautifully, I can wipe away the tears and plaster on a smile quick as a flash because I've been doing it my whole life. I know there will come a day when the wall will come tumbling down and I'll have to try and figure out how to manage without it.
But for today, I'll keep my mask close by, just in case I need it.
Until next time,
No comments:
Post a Comment