I am damaged. I am full of flaws and imperfections. I have made many mistakes in my life, and others have been harmed by them. With all this baggage, how can anyone possibly see me as beautiful?
And yet God does. He sees me as perfect, as his child, as a bride fully fit for his Son, and as someone who is desirable in her own right. I used to think that he saw me as beautiful only because he saw me as clothed with his Son, but I've come to understand that it's much more than that. One way that this occurred was that I walked with him in spirit.
It happened in a time of prayer. I was not asking for, praising, or really anything at all other than just sitting quietly and waiting. As I did, I felt the Lord come to me and ask me to take His hand. I did--who wouldn't?--and we walked together. As we walked hand in hand, the Lord and I came to a lake. It was beautiful, with grass and rocks around it and a forested area behind it. There were mountains surrounding it--snow covered mountains that were reflected in the lake itself. As we walked, He asked me if I trusted him. I told him that I did, and then he said, "Take a breath and a step." I did, and somehow I found myself in the middle of the lake.
This experience was not at all expected, but somehow (perhaps because it was a meditation and because I knew He was with me) I was not afraid. The idea of wondering how deep the lake was and whether or not I would drown didn't occur to me. I just enjoyed the water, the pleasure of knowing his closeness, and the feeling of absolute freedom that it all gave. But then I looked down.
I was naked. I was somehow totally without clothes. He wasn't--he still was dressed (I never see him as clothed with anything but a radiance that is his Spirit), but I was entirely nude. My pleasure turned in an instant to shame. It horrified me that he would see the imperfection of my body, the marks and scars, both physical and mental, that time and abuse had left. Shame turned into annoyance when I heard him laughing and realized that he could hear my thoughts! What kind of a God was this? Wasn't he supposed to understand me and have compassion?
His voice came out of the laughter. It was liquid silver--so beautiful and full of joy. Sweetheart, don't you think that I know what you look like? I know you better than you know yourself!"
"But I'm hideous!"
"No, you're not! You aren't seeing yourself as I see you. Look again, and look with my eyes."
It took me a while, but I dared to look down at my body. I was amazed at what I saw. My old body was gone, and in its place was a beautiful body. Every change that I had gone through had disappeared, and I looked like a young girl of 16--but at the same time, I felt that this was the body of a woman mature in the ways of God.
As I came to accept what I was seeing, I felt the understanding come to me. This is not my physical body; it's my spiritual body. My spirit is full of the splendor and power of God, since He has saved me with his own blood. It is beautiful not only because he is beautiful, but also because He has given me a beauty that is all my own. This is not only a reflection of him; it is also my own light that shines for the world to see. In that light, others can see and realize the beauty of God because my spiritual self glows beyond my physical self.
I don't know if I've explained it very well, but this was how I learned to accept myself. It was the start of many wonderful realizations. I've come to see that God has created me a unique and beautiful being, and he has given me gifts that I alone can use. Some of those gifts are also given to others, but not in the same way that they're given to me. The same is true of you and of all God's children. With such God-given beauty, how can we not accept ourselves?
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Friday, November 15, 2013
The step that I couldn't take
In writing this new devotional, I have realized that it is a vehicle that would have helped me if it had been around. I had lots of help from lots of people. Some things that they tried worked; some things didn't. One thing that definitely did not work was the idea of telling yourselves truths from the Bible--or maybe just positive self-talk in the Name of Jesus. I still remember one particular counselor telling me to stand in front of the mirror, look at myself, and say that Jesus sees me as His beautiful bride. I simply couldn't do it. Anything that was positive couldn't be said by me to me. I did try, but it was so ridiculous as to make matters actually worse. I could not look at myself and tell myself that I was Jesus' beautiful bride when I was so deep in self-loathing. I couldn't make the leap.
With that in mind, I'm cautious about starting this section of my book: developing a positive self image. I realize that I must do it. I wish I could say that I can distinctly remember when I began viewing myself differently, but I really can't. All I know is that I do see myself as beautiful in Jesus' sight. I do see myself as His spotless bride. However, some things are still very hard to accept for me. For example, I don't think I can say that I am beautiful all on my own. I don't see it, and it's been drilled into me that it isn't true for many years. I am going to continue to work on it, though. I know that I have to accept myself before I can expect others to accept me.
At this point, I see self awareness coming before positive self image. I'm thinking that this section will look something like this:
He has removed my sin as far as the East is from the West.
Think about a action that you are ashamed of. Name it on a piece of paper. If you have no paper, say it out loud.
Now allow yourself to go back to that time. See yourself performing that action. Now let yourself--the person that you're seeing--realize the impact that the action has on you today. Allow yourself to realize what you've done. Ask yourself to take responsibility for that action. When you take responsibility, give yourself a chance to confess the action to God. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
When you have accepted responsibility, then forgive yourself. If you don't feel that you can, then ask God (or Jesus) to join you. Maybe you'll see him; maybe you won't. Either way, ask him to help you forgive yourself. Remember that if you ask something valid, something true, he will give it to you. Accept that God will help you to forgive yourself. It is helpful to me to see my real self going to my former self--the self that committed the act--and actually speaking words of forgiveness.
Allow your former self to accept the forgiveness. If you find you can't, then try to do it without wanting to, as an act of obedience.
After you have accomplished this, you should either write it in your journal or find a marker so that you will remember. Put something meaningful that will help you focus and keep you grounded.
That is the basic idea. It works for pretty much anything.
With that in mind, I'm cautious about starting this section of my book: developing a positive self image. I realize that I must do it. I wish I could say that I can distinctly remember when I began viewing myself differently, but I really can't. All I know is that I do see myself as beautiful in Jesus' sight. I do see myself as His spotless bride. However, some things are still very hard to accept for me. For example, I don't think I can say that I am beautiful all on my own. I don't see it, and it's been drilled into me that it isn't true for many years. I am going to continue to work on it, though. I know that I have to accept myself before I can expect others to accept me.
At this point, I see self awareness coming before positive self image. I'm thinking that this section will look something like this:
He has removed my sin as far as the East is from the West.
Think about a action that you are ashamed of. Name it on a piece of paper. If you have no paper, say it out loud.
Now allow yourself to go back to that time. See yourself performing that action. Now let yourself--the person that you're seeing--realize the impact that the action has on you today. Allow yourself to realize what you've done. Ask yourself to take responsibility for that action. When you take responsibility, give yourself a chance to confess the action to God. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
When you have accepted responsibility, then forgive yourself. If you don't feel that you can, then ask God (or Jesus) to join you. Maybe you'll see him; maybe you won't. Either way, ask him to help you forgive yourself. Remember that if you ask something valid, something true, he will give it to you. Accept that God will help you to forgive yourself. It is helpful to me to see my real self going to my former self--the self that committed the act--and actually speaking words of forgiveness.
Allow your former self to accept the forgiveness. If you find you can't, then try to do it without wanting to, as an act of obedience.
After you have accomplished this, you should either write it in your journal or find a marker so that you will remember. Put something meaningful that will help you focus and keep you grounded.
That is the basic idea. It works for pretty much anything.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
New devotional in the works!! What do you think?
I'm hoping for some input. This is the beginning of my next project. But first, some background.
When I went through multiple losses, I went through PTSD. People go through PTSD for a variety of reasons. I have lasting effects from it. For example, when I had my recent accident, I had trouble concentrating--focusing. I still do from time to time. It is hard to listen to people for any length of time. Even today, I found myself "fuzzy" during a meeting.
When I was able to realize I needed help, I tried to find something that would give me focus. I couldn't do it. I'm not sure why--all I know is that there was nothing out there that was helpful. Everything was too long, and everything was too cerebral. Anything more than a line or two was overwhelming. What I needed during those first days was a sort of mantra. I found it in the words of Julian of Norwich.
As I've thought about this, I've decided that I want to write a devotional that would have helped me. I prayed about it as I was prayerfully considering my platform, and this is what I came up with:
When I went through multiple losses, I went through PTSD. People go through PTSD for a variety of reasons. I have lasting effects from it. For example, when I had my recent accident, I had trouble concentrating--focusing. I still do from time to time. It is hard to listen to people for any length of time. Even today, I found myself "fuzzy" during a meeting.
When I was able to realize I needed help, I tried to find something that would give me focus. I couldn't do it. I'm not sure why--all I know is that there was nothing out there that was helpful. Everything was too long, and everything was too cerebral. Anything more than a line or two was overwhelming. What I needed during those first days was a sort of mantra. I found it in the words of Julian of Norwich.
As I've thought about this, I've decided that I want to write a devotional that would have helped me. I prayed about it as I was prayerfully considering my platform, and this is what I came up with:
- It has to be in sections, not day by day.
- It has to go from very short thoughts to longer short ideas to normal.
- It should have a section for times when you wonder what you can do to help others.
- It should be short on reference and long on love, especially at the beginning.
With this in mind, I've decided on this format:
- The first section will consist of sentences with short instructions on how to use them. I remember that it was hard to breathe. That was the major thing. I couldn't focus enough even to take a full breath (if that sounds weird, remember, this is me). This section will help you breathe in the words and let them rest in your soul.
- The second section will be short paragraphs--still in the mindset of coming to your soul, but with a little more meat.
- The third section will be more like a traditional devotional. There will be the verses, the short story, the summary idea, and verses for further reference.
- The final section will be similar to the third, but it will be focused specifically on how others have taken their pain and lessons learned to help those who are hurting. The idea is based on my life verse: 2 Cor 3-4: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
All will be well, and
all will be well, and all will be very well
St Julian of Norwich
Breathe deeply, and
say this quietly to yourself. Stop. Let yourself feel the truth of what you’ve
said. Stop. Repeat, one phrase at a time. Understand that
even if you don’t believe it, something inside you is being fed. Accept that.
I can do all things
through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13
Breathe deeply, and
say the entire verse quietly to yourself.
Stop. Let the truth sink in. Repeat the entire verse again, breathing in
on “I can do all things” and out on “through Christ who strengthens me. Stop.
Breathe deeply and let the truth of the verse soothe your soul. Understand that you will understand the truth
of this, even though you may not believe it right now. Accept that your subconscious can grasp what
you can’t right now.
Never, never, ever
give up!
Winston Churchill
Take a deep breath.
Say this to yourself with strength. Even
if you feel stupid doing it, say this to yourself in a very strong voice. If you feel your heart shrinking inside, it’s
because it doesn’t believe (yet) that this is possible. It is.
Remind yourself that you are in control of your body, your mind, your
soul, and your spirit. If you choose not
to give up, then you will not.
I don’t normally put
in a second paragraph, but I want to remind you that I’m speaking of essential
things, here. Don’t give up on
living. Don’t give up on being whole. Don’t give up on walking forward. Please don’t mistake essentials for
non-essentials. It might be necessary to
give up on a non-essential in order not to give up on an essential. Just remember—at this stage, you are working
on trust and confidence and the ability to stand.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Steps to wholeness
I have very few memories of the first few days after losing my husband. I remember flashes, basically. There is a family friend that we forgot to inform of his death coming into the hospital room with donuts, saying, "Oh, he's dead? Oh no! Do you want some donuts?" There is a trip to the store, getting in line behind a short guy with curly hair in a camouflage hat and forcing myself not to go to him--it can't be Val. Val's gone. There is the comfort of staying in Esther's house, along with the sinking understanding that life has to go on--I have to go home.
I do know that it was too much. There had been too much death and I had been damaged, and so had all my family. The years that followed were full of selfish decisions, of selfless decisions, of heartbreaking decisions--all made by a woman who had been damaged and had not healed. I remember not being able to think. I began to rely too much on friends around me because I couldn't trust myself. I couldn't think things through.
I began to reach out for help almost immediately. But the help that I received didn't stay in my mind. The best that I could do was internalize small phrases--make them into a mantra. The one that I remember most is a quote from Julian of Norwich: All will be well, all will be well, and all will be very well. It rang in my head, at times reassuring and at times mocking, but I know beyond doubt that I believed the words that rang.
As I continued in the steps to trying to get well enough to function (I wouldn't call it a search for wholeness yet, although I did then), I needed a voice. Not my voice; I needed a voice to tell me that they cared. I needed to be able to speak my fears and my concerns to another person and have that person say to me something like, "I know. I understand." I should have been praying, but I couldn't pray. I simply couldn't focus that well. So instead I spoke to people I trusted, and even though they didn't understand what I needed, I loved them for listening.
Need is selfish. I knew I was beginning to step away from being wholly needy when I began to listen to others--not my own children, sadly, but those who were dead long ago. It was listening to the Akathist of Thanksgiving that gave me the hope to finally begin to write again.
As the years passed, I slowly began to see a difference. It first the realization that I could breathe without my heart hurting with every breath. It then came in seeing that life wasn't as serious as I saw it. Later, I began to see light in my darkness. But slowly, very slowly. I'm cautiously saying now that I feel that I'm healed, and this is 21 years down the line. But that's not to say that every step until lately has been fraught with fear and sadness. No, but it's only recently that I can say that I usually feel...well, good.
In the coming weeks, I am going to start putting a devotional--for want of a better word--together for those who are starting down the road I traveled. It will not be day-by-day. Instead, I plan to make it in sections. The first section will be very short phrases--mantras, really--things you can easily read and that will ring in your head. The second section will be very short thoughts regarding the journey. Other sections will become increasingly longer and more thoughtful, meant to be read as you are further on the road to recovery. I am not sure where this section will lead, but I know enough about the process to know that I will be ready when the time comes.
I'm hoping that my book brings healing. I'm hoping that all my writings help with healing. If you have any ideas about something you think would be good for a book for those recovering from PTSD-type trauma, please let me know in the comments or by commenting (either in the section or on FB or Google).
I do know that it was too much. There had been too much death and I had been damaged, and so had all my family. The years that followed were full of selfish decisions, of selfless decisions, of heartbreaking decisions--all made by a woman who had been damaged and had not healed. I remember not being able to think. I began to rely too much on friends around me because I couldn't trust myself. I couldn't think things through.
I began to reach out for help almost immediately. But the help that I received didn't stay in my mind. The best that I could do was internalize small phrases--make them into a mantra. The one that I remember most is a quote from Julian of Norwich: All will be well, all will be well, and all will be very well. It rang in my head, at times reassuring and at times mocking, but I know beyond doubt that I believed the words that rang.
As I continued in the steps to trying to get well enough to function (I wouldn't call it a search for wholeness yet, although I did then), I needed a voice. Not my voice; I needed a voice to tell me that they cared. I needed to be able to speak my fears and my concerns to another person and have that person say to me something like, "I know. I understand." I should have been praying, but I couldn't pray. I simply couldn't focus that well. So instead I spoke to people I trusted, and even though they didn't understand what I needed, I loved them for listening.
Need is selfish. I knew I was beginning to step away from being wholly needy when I began to listen to others--not my own children, sadly, but those who were dead long ago. It was listening to the Akathist of Thanksgiving that gave me the hope to finally begin to write again.
As the years passed, I slowly began to see a difference. It first the realization that I could breathe without my heart hurting with every breath. It then came in seeing that life wasn't as serious as I saw it. Later, I began to see light in my darkness. But slowly, very slowly. I'm cautiously saying now that I feel that I'm healed, and this is 21 years down the line. But that's not to say that every step until lately has been fraught with fear and sadness. No, but it's only recently that I can say that I usually feel...well, good.
In the coming weeks, I am going to start putting a devotional--for want of a better word--together for those who are starting down the road I traveled. It will not be day-by-day. Instead, I plan to make it in sections. The first section will be very short phrases--mantras, really--things you can easily read and that will ring in your head. The second section will be very short thoughts regarding the journey. Other sections will become increasingly longer and more thoughtful, meant to be read as you are further on the road to recovery. I am not sure where this section will lead, but I know enough about the process to know that I will be ready when the time comes.
I'm hoping that my book brings healing. I'm hoping that all my writings help with healing. If you have any ideas about something you think would be good for a book for those recovering from PTSD-type trauma, please let me know in the comments or by commenting (either in the section or on FB or Google).
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Our fears in God's hands
As far back as I can remember, my big fear was being left alone. I felt that I would be miserable, that my life would be spent in quiet desperation, and that I would never be happy. Well, I'm a widow and the last of my children left home this summer, and aside from his dog, I am alone. Miserable, in quiet desperation, unhappy? Quite the opposite. In fact, I've realized that the solitary life is the life that suits me best. I can come and go as I please, I answer to nobody but myself and God, and I can do what I feel needs to be done without concern about others. What I didn't realize is that a life alone is not a lonely life. I have access to my children through Facetime and the phone, I have work and friends, and actually I am busier now than I was when David was home. Not that I don't miss my kids--of course I do. But I wouldn't dream of moving to be with them or begging them to live near me. This season of my life is a season of work and God and writing, and all of those--even work at times-- call for solitude.
For many people, life is a series of living through fear. We fear something and go to great lengths to make sure that it doesn't happen, even though our running from that fear puts us in greater pain or distances us from God's will. Take people in domestic abuse, for example. They know that they are in danger; they realize that their lives are escalating out of control; yet their fear of leaving their partners and finding help so overwhelms them that they stay in the relationship. It's not uncommon to find that they only leave when the partner begins abusing the children. Some don't even leave them. They can't imagine life without the stability of the partner's job or money or status, and so they stay.
What people don't realize is that God is with us through that fear. He will be with us when we take the necessary steps. He will be with us through the hardship that might come after. He will be with us when our situation changes. If we put our trust in him, we can be sure that this will become good for us. I'm not saying that we will regain our former station; I'm saying that he can teach us to be content in whatever station we find ourselves.
What is your biggest fear? For me it was being alone. Nothing overcame that fear like being alone and finding that it isn't the end of my world. It's the beginning. I pray that you face your fear and ask the Lord how you can walk through it so that it no longer overwhelms you.
For many people, life is a series of living through fear. We fear something and go to great lengths to make sure that it doesn't happen, even though our running from that fear puts us in greater pain or distances us from God's will. Take people in domestic abuse, for example. They know that they are in danger; they realize that their lives are escalating out of control; yet their fear of leaving their partners and finding help so overwhelms them that they stay in the relationship. It's not uncommon to find that they only leave when the partner begins abusing the children. Some don't even leave them. They can't imagine life without the stability of the partner's job or money or status, and so they stay.
What people don't realize is that God is with us through that fear. He will be with us when we take the necessary steps. He will be with us through the hardship that might come after. He will be with us when our situation changes. If we put our trust in him, we can be sure that this will become good for us. I'm not saying that we will regain our former station; I'm saying that he can teach us to be content in whatever station we find ourselves.
What is your biggest fear? For me it was being alone. Nothing overcame that fear like being alone and finding that it isn't the end of my world. It's the beginning. I pray that you face your fear and ask the Lord how you can walk through it so that it no longer overwhelms you.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Why does God allow bad things to happen?
On Thursday, I met with my editor and got the most welcome news: my book is finished and ready for editing! I went to Red Robin to have a celebratory burger, and on the way home, I got into an accident. I began to wonder right away if it was my negligence (yep!), or if God was also trying to teach me something.
Aside from the obvious "If you are turning right, it's a good idea to look left before you go in the road," I was pretty sure that there was something more. I had several reasons for this. The first: there seemed to be absolutely no damage to the other person's car, second: my damage--a smashed driver's and passenger's door on the driver's side--didn't impede my exiting or being able to drive. The third: God had told me that I was not, in fact, finished. There was one thing more that I was supposed to do. As I drove home and got inside, it became really clear--I needed to do Peter: feed my sheep. To do it justice, I needed to remember PTSD. Imagine Peter. Every time he closed his eyes, I'm sure it was right in front of him: cursing and emphasizing that he didn't know Jesus, and then realizing that his Lord was looking right at him and hearing the cock crow.
We are quick to claim that God does not want bad things to happen to good people. There are some who say that if we are faithful enough, the bad things would stop and we would experience good health and prosperity. My question, then, is this: what did God have against the apostles? What did God have against his own son? Were they not faithful enough? Jesus knew that Peter would be crucified, and yet he gave him no pep talk on building up his faith to become immune to hurt.
My own feeling about suffering comes in large part from Therese of Liseaux. She said that she was the plaything of God, and if he wanted to use her as a little boy uses a ball and then leave her abandoned in a corner for a time, that would be fine with her. Suffering, like everything else, has a purpose and a plan. In my case, I would not give up a single bit of the suffering that occurred in my life. It's made me a stronger, better person. If you are suffering right now, have you considered thanking God for what you're going through? We are forever being told to be thankful--I think that includes being thankful for what we see as unfortunate things. Thankfulness means that we understand that even though we can't begin to understand, we are in his hands and acknowledge his control.
So friends, in all things give thanks.
Aside from the obvious "If you are turning right, it's a good idea to look left before you go in the road," I was pretty sure that there was something more. I had several reasons for this. The first: there seemed to be absolutely no damage to the other person's car, second: my damage--a smashed driver's and passenger's door on the driver's side--didn't impede my exiting or being able to drive. The third: God had told me that I was not, in fact, finished. There was one thing more that I was supposed to do. As I drove home and got inside, it became really clear--I needed to do Peter: feed my sheep. To do it justice, I needed to remember PTSD. Imagine Peter. Every time he closed his eyes, I'm sure it was right in front of him: cursing and emphasizing that he didn't know Jesus, and then realizing that his Lord was looking right at him and hearing the cock crow.
We are quick to claim that God does not want bad things to happen to good people. There are some who say that if we are faithful enough, the bad things would stop and we would experience good health and prosperity. My question, then, is this: what did God have against the apostles? What did God have against his own son? Were they not faithful enough? Jesus knew that Peter would be crucified, and yet he gave him no pep talk on building up his faith to become immune to hurt.
My own feeling about suffering comes in large part from Therese of Liseaux. She said that she was the plaything of God, and if he wanted to use her as a little boy uses a ball and then leave her abandoned in a corner for a time, that would be fine with her. Suffering, like everything else, has a purpose and a plan. In my case, I would not give up a single bit of the suffering that occurred in my life. It's made me a stronger, better person. If you are suffering right now, have you considered thanking God for what you're going through? We are forever being told to be thankful--I think that includes being thankful for what we see as unfortunate things. Thankfulness means that we understand that even though we can't begin to understand, we are in his hands and acknowledge his control.
So friends, in all things give thanks.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
The bright side of depression
Today, I was on Facebook (as usual) and noticed a sweet picture. Tears flowed. "Oh, how sweet!" I said to my Pug Frank. A little later, I noticed a video featuring the Doctor and Rose. I watched the video and tears flowed. "Frank, how precious!" (Don't judge me--I live alone :) ). On it went--I read a sweet post, tears flowed. I saw a darling picture--tears flowed. Finally it dawned on me--I forgot to renew my depression meds!
Many people suffer from depression--I consider them my brothers and sisters. To paraphrase the old saying--some of us were born with depression and some had depression thrust upon us. I am a mixture of both. Depression is part of the gene pool, so to speak. I have always dealt with it and have seen family firmly in its grasp. However, it blossomed and went out of control (sort of like cancer) after my multiple losses. I was so entombed that I felt I could barely breathe. I had to go to work every day, but I don't remember enjoying anything. Life was one step after another until I could finally go to bed. In the morning, the whole thing started over. I began in severe depression and soon became suicidal. I continued in that state for at least seven years, and I didn't receive treatment during any of that time. My children were the ones who caught the brunt of my disease. I remember asking my daughter--she couldn't have been more than 17--if she thought she could watch the baby if I were gone. She and I both knew exactly what I was talking about. I still cringe thinking about the hell that I put her and her brothers through.
As the years passed, I finally realized that I needed help. I finally asked for medicine, and I received the Prozac that changed my life. I still was depressed, but it was infinitely better. My life itself had many hard elements--being a widow, a mother of four, having a full-time job, and dealing with a son with special needs is not easy--but it was so much more manageable. I found that life began to be interesting again. I stopped being so self-absorbed and began looking outward. Life became something to look forward to rather than something to slog through.
Before I started on the Prozac, I began to write. My pieces were directly influenced by my mood. Many things that I wrote during the darkest period were, of course, horribly dark themselves. But here's the thing. Many of the pieces weren't so much dark as very emotional. I have been told over and over again that you can feel the character's pain, her joy, her anxiety, and so on. I am sure that this was because I was so fully enmeshed in the character myself. Reading the character, you were actually seeing me.
Since I've come back to health, I notice that the characters haven't changed (I think) so much as that the process has changed. It takes me much longer to reach the desired mood, and the mood itself isn't as deep as it used to be. Going back to the beginning of the post, during the time this has been taking place, I was completing a book. The book is a series of readings on characters drawn from the time of Christ. The readings flowed easily in the past few days--the emotion, the understanding of the feeling, and so on has been there, just as it used to be. Well, of course! I was off my meds, or at least the ones that seem to control the outpouring of negative emotion. So emotion came at my command, and it was overwhelming.
Now that I realize my problem, I'm determined to go back on my meds as soon as possible. I don't like the whoosh of emotion that comes with depression. I'm not manic--I used to think I was, but the few moments when I felt a "high" were actually the few moments when I wasn't depressed. Life today is a series of small highs, small lows, and infrequent rushes of exaltation or despair. I believe that's normal. I wouldn't want to go back to the daily rush of despair.
But is it a good trade? I was speaking about this with my daughter today, and I believe that it's a valid question. People live without their meds all the time because their meds make them feel like automatons (I think this is more true of people with bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, although I've heard it said by those with ADHD as well). Mine don't. However, it would be easier to write with the emotion I need if I were off my meds. My daughter suggested that maybe I could lower the dose or go on an extended retreat while I'm writing and then go back later. I choose not to do that, for the simple reason that the lows are so low that I feel that I'm walking through dark valleys--again. I choose not to live that way, even for my art. I have to work harder to accomplish the same thing? So be it. The alternative is not worth the reward.
Many people suffer from depression--I consider them my brothers and sisters. To paraphrase the old saying--some of us were born with depression and some had depression thrust upon us. I am a mixture of both. Depression is part of the gene pool, so to speak. I have always dealt with it and have seen family firmly in its grasp. However, it blossomed and went out of control (sort of like cancer) after my multiple losses. I was so entombed that I felt I could barely breathe. I had to go to work every day, but I don't remember enjoying anything. Life was one step after another until I could finally go to bed. In the morning, the whole thing started over. I began in severe depression and soon became suicidal. I continued in that state for at least seven years, and I didn't receive treatment during any of that time. My children were the ones who caught the brunt of my disease. I remember asking my daughter--she couldn't have been more than 17--if she thought she could watch the baby if I were gone. She and I both knew exactly what I was talking about. I still cringe thinking about the hell that I put her and her brothers through.
As the years passed, I finally realized that I needed help. I finally asked for medicine, and I received the Prozac that changed my life. I still was depressed, but it was infinitely better. My life itself had many hard elements--being a widow, a mother of four, having a full-time job, and dealing with a son with special needs is not easy--but it was so much more manageable. I found that life began to be interesting again. I stopped being so self-absorbed and began looking outward. Life became something to look forward to rather than something to slog through.
Before I started on the Prozac, I began to write. My pieces were directly influenced by my mood. Many things that I wrote during the darkest period were, of course, horribly dark themselves. But here's the thing. Many of the pieces weren't so much dark as very emotional. I have been told over and over again that you can feel the character's pain, her joy, her anxiety, and so on. I am sure that this was because I was so fully enmeshed in the character myself. Reading the character, you were actually seeing me.
Since I've come back to health, I notice that the characters haven't changed (I think) so much as that the process has changed. It takes me much longer to reach the desired mood, and the mood itself isn't as deep as it used to be. Going back to the beginning of the post, during the time this has been taking place, I was completing a book. The book is a series of readings on characters drawn from the time of Christ. The readings flowed easily in the past few days--the emotion, the understanding of the feeling, and so on has been there, just as it used to be. Well, of course! I was off my meds, or at least the ones that seem to control the outpouring of negative emotion. So emotion came at my command, and it was overwhelming.
Now that I realize my problem, I'm determined to go back on my meds as soon as possible. I don't like the whoosh of emotion that comes with depression. I'm not manic--I used to think I was, but the few moments when I felt a "high" were actually the few moments when I wasn't depressed. Life today is a series of small highs, small lows, and infrequent rushes of exaltation or despair. I believe that's normal. I wouldn't want to go back to the daily rush of despair.
But is it a good trade? I was speaking about this with my daughter today, and I believe that it's a valid question. People live without their meds all the time because their meds make them feel like automatons (I think this is more true of people with bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, although I've heard it said by those with ADHD as well). Mine don't. However, it would be easier to write with the emotion I need if I were off my meds. My daughter suggested that maybe I could lower the dose or go on an extended retreat while I'm writing and then go back later. I choose not to do that, for the simple reason that the lows are so low that I feel that I'm walking through dark valleys--again. I choose not to live that way, even for my art. I have to work harder to accomplish the same thing? So be it. The alternative is not worth the reward.
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