Suicide: What’s the Point in All of This?

To start off, here’s a playlist of some songs I’ve found immensely cathartic when going through rough patches:

I’ve been putting off writing this post for a long time. To be honest, despite having been personally suicidal before, I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s a difficult topic and there are no easy answers. However, I’ve been prompted rather clearly to finally tackle this.  I’m not depressed and I haven’t thought about this topic for months, but in my evening prayer last night it popped into my mind out of the blue that I should really write this post. Then last night I dreamed that I attempted to commit suicide — a very strange thing to dream when you aren’t depressed. Then this morning in my morning reading, the article just happened to be about a person who attempted to commit suicide.

I think I get the message.

So whoever it is out there that needs to read this post, just know that God is looking out for you,  because I had  no  intention of writing this originally.

I guess I should start by saying that I understand this topic at a personal level. If you want to die, or have ever wanted to die, I completely understand. If you go to bed at night desperately hoping you’ll never wake up again, I understand. If you’ve come up with at least half a dozen different ways you could pull suicide off, and you go through your days with that in the front of your mind most of the time, I get it because I’ve been there too. It’s an awful place to be. It’s been a couple  years now since I was  in that head-space but I have vivid memories of it. If you’re stuck there right now, I wish I could reach through the screen, give you a hug, and promise you in-person that it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to pass. Because it will. It doesn’t feel like it, but it will.

Suicide is, in some ways, especially challenging to tackle in a Christian context because yes, the act itself is gravely sinful. But as far as I’m concerned, Christianity gives the only solid reason not to go ahead with such a course of action.

Now, first off, there are some serious misconceptions out there about what the Church actually believes and teaches about this topic. In the strictly technical sense, if you in full knowledge of how  gravely wrong the action is, and with clear thought and judgement make the decision to take your own life and you go ahead with that act, you have committed a mortal sin and have cut yourself off from God, and thus, heaven. However, most people that commit suicide are either unaware of just how serious the action is spiritually, and/or are not in possession of clear thought or judgement. This, of course,  does not give you permission to go ahead with it because you’re miserable. Far from it. But it means we shouldn’t give up hope for people that  have already done so.

Here’s what the Catechism has to say:

Everyone is responsible for his life before God who has given it to him. It is God who remains the sovereign Master of life. We are obliged to accept life gratefully and preserve it for his honor and the salvation of our souls. We are stewards, not owners, of the life God has entrusted to us. It is not ours to dispose of.

Suicide contradicts the natural inclination of the human being to preserve and perpetuate his life. It likewise offends love of neighbor because it unjustly breaks the ties of solidarity with family, nation, and other  human societies to which we continue to have obligations. Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.

~ CCC 2280-2281

Suicide is a serious matter. But it also goes on to say:

We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their  own lives.

~ CCC 2283

So no, the Catholic church does not believe that all people who commit suicide are automatically going to hell. But it is still not an option we’re permitted to consider.

Now, there are some things about point 2280 that are perhaps frustrating to a person battling mental illness. The bit about being “obliged to accept life gratefully” for instance. It’s tempting to look at that, roll your eyes and respond “easy for you to say!” Being told to accept life gratefully can seem like a cruel joke when you’re severely depressed, or, perhaps, utterly exhausted after over a year of rapid cycling through mixed and depressive episodes. I’m the first to admit that I wasn’t the least bit grateful to be alive during some of my low points. In fact, I resented it. And then at other times, I would beat myself up over such feelings, telling myself I was a worthless monster for being so ungrateful.

Neither state of mind is correct.

Firstly, gratitude is not an emotion. It’s not a warm, fuzzy, joyful feeling (although it can have such feelings attached to it). You can try to snap yourself into a head-space of gratitude by listing  all of the blessings and good things you’ve received throughout your life, and it’s a good thing to practice doing regularly. But it doesn’t always work. And that’s when you have to fall back on gratitude expressed by action. It’s possible to express your gratitude to someone even when you aren’t feeling especially grateful. You can do things out of gratitude for people even when you’re feeling frustrated with them. The act of staying alive and taking care of yourself when you’d really rather not can be an act of gratitude. “God, this is the last thing I feel like doing, but I’m doing it for you.” So don’t beat yourself up over not feeling grateful. Simply keep yourself alive and take care of yourself for God’s sake.

Now, resentment is trickier. Feeling angry at God isn’t a good thing, but it happens. In my own experience, it usually arises from feeling oppressed in some way. Thoughts of “what’s the point in all of this?” or “what did I do to deserve this?” rise to the surface, and then satan gets in there and gleefully  stirs it all up till you’re boiling with frustration, resentment and self-pity. “Does God even care about me at all? If he really loves me, why is he putting me through this?” On and on the thoughts go, spiraling around  each other until we’re a tangled up mess. It’s a toxic place to be, and we can’t afford to sit around there stewing. There must be some way out.

The first thing you need to do is consider what you believe about God.

If you question whether God actually loves you, look at that picture and realize that God himself is there, dying on that cross, because he loves you personally and wants you personally to be with him in heaven. That’s the only reason he’s there. He didn’t go get crucified for kicks. He also thought about you personally before he created the universe and decided he wanted you personally to exist, with all the aspects of you that make you you, so that he could love you and you could love him in return, and he believed in advance that you would be worth dying in agony for. He also understands what you’re going through in a personal way because he experienced it himself while he was alive on earth (and also because, if you’re baptized and in a state of grace, he lives in you and experiences everything you experience).

Of course, that doesn’t answer the question of “if he really loves me, why is he putting me through this?”

Firstly, it’s important to realize that God isn’t “putting you through it” in the sense of someone applying a punishment. According to Peter Kreeft in his book Making Sense Out of Suffering, God allows people to experience pain because he either intends to bring a much greater good out of it that couldn’t otherwise come about, or because he intends to avoid a much greater evil than might have happened had he not allowed you to experience it. That may or may not be of much comfort, but it at least points to two possible reasons why God is allowing you to go through this.

There is also a major advantage to suffering that I have already addressed in a previous post. There, I discuss how your suffering can be put to very good use, both for yourself and for the people around you  by offering it up. I encourage you to check  it out, since it offers you a purpose for your pain.

There is also one other aspect to suffering that I think is important and too often overlooked.

“Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” ~ 2 Corinthians 4:16-17

This life is not the point of existence. It’s only a “womb” for the eternal life to come. What we do and experience here determines what we will be when we are “born” into eternity. I firmly believe that people who experience unbearable suffering in this life will experience a much greater level of glory in heaven than people who do not.

“I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.” ~ Romans 8:18

God knows better than anyone that this life is not the point. If we set all our hopes on being happy here, not only will we be constantly disappointed, but we will also be gravely mistaken. If God allows some people to suffer more than other people, or perhaps more frequently than other people (as is in the case of recurrent illness), it is actually a blessing in disguise. Those of us who spend a lot of time miserable become “detached” in a sense from the world because it doesn’t bring us joy. We can’t count on it to fulfill us. Of course, without God in the picture, that fact very easily drives a person to despair. But it can also drive a person to search for God because they are desperate to find some sort of meaning in life.

If we hang in there, even when we desperately want to die, God will make that sacrifice infinitely worth it. And by offering that pain up, we can make a huge difference in the lives of other people and help save souls. The prayers of the sick, especially intercessory ones, have special weight with God.

Another important thing to realize is that while God allows us to experience hardship, he also gladly helps us bear it if we let him.

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.” ~ 2 Corinthians 4:8-10

Sometimes God allows us to experience weakness in order to demonstrate his power to us. If we go to him for help, throw ourselves down and admit that unless he helps us we are going to perish, he comes to our aid. He protects us from destruction. Until we realize our own weakness and incapability, we often don’t recognize how much he does for us and through us with his power, not ours.

I can  attest to this from very personal, recent experience. This fall, in the midst of the university semester, I dealt with a severe hypomanic episode that morphed into a mixed episode and then dropped me into a depressive episode. It’s nothing I hadn’t experienced before, but there was a major difference between this time and the other times.

My faith life has deepened a lot since the episodes that drove me to consider suicide several years ago. I pray daily, multiple times a day, and have an actual relationship with God. This didn’t take away my suffering. Pain and misery are pain and misery. They hurt. It interrupted my life. I had to miss some classes, fell behind on my assignments and battled lots of intense self-harm urges. And yes, a had I few moments of complaining to God that this wasn’t fair and why couldn’t he have given me some other cross because I didn’t want this one (which is ironic, because when I’m battling relapses of tendonitis I demand that he take that cross away and give me back my mental illness cross instead because I’m better at coping with that *eye roll*). But this time, it was much, much easier to accept my cross, to even embrace it happily at times because it gave me something to offer up for other people, to stay aware of the people around me, to not fall into self-loathing and despair. I was given the strength to do the things that I needed to do. I was able to give myself permission to be weak but at the same time to trust that things would still somehow be okay because I’d surrendered myself into God’s hands and he was taking care of me.

And guess what. Everything worked out fine.

By the way, it is okay to complain to God and tell him how miserable you are. King David, whom God considered to be a man after his own heart, was an expert at that. If you ever find yourself at a loss as to how to pour out your heart to God when you’re in misery, here are just a few examples:

Lord, do not punish me in your anger;
    in your wrath do not chastise me!
Your arrows have sunk deep in me;
    your hand has come down upon me.
There is no wholesomeness in my flesh because of your anger;
    there is no health in my bones because of my sin.
My iniquities overwhelm me,
    a burden too heavy for me.

~Psalm 38:1-5

Save me, God,
    for the waters have reached my neck.
I have sunk into the mire of the deep,
    where there is no foothold.
I have gone down to the watery depths;
    the flood overwhelms me.
I am weary with crying out;
    my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
    from looking for my God.

~Psalm 69: 1-3

Do not reprove me in your anger, Lord,
    nor punish me in your wrath.
Have pity on me, Lord, for I am weak;
    heal me, Lord, for my bones are shuddering.
My soul too is shuddering greatly—
    and you, Lord, how long…?
Turn back, Lord, rescue my soul;
    save me because of your mercy.
For in death there is no remembrance of you.
    Who praises you in Sheol?

I am wearied with sighing;
    all night long I drench my bed with tears;
    I soak my couch with weeping.
My eyes are dimmed with sorrow,
    worn out because of all my foes.

~Psalm 6: 1-7

Or one of my personal favourites, since the whole thing is short, sweet and to-the-point:

How long, Lord? Will you utterly forget me?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I carry sorrow in my soul,
    grief in my heart day after day?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look upon me, answer me, Lord, my God!
    Give light to my eyes lest I sleep in death,
Lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed,”
    lest my foes rejoice at my downfall.

But I trust in your mercy.
    Grant my heart joy in your salvation,
I will sing to the Lord,
    for he has dealt bountifully with me!

~Psalm 13

And for good measure, here are two other prayers:

At a Time of Temptation

Lord Jesus, you know what temptation is like. You know how strongly the wrong thing fascinates me, and how much the forbidden thing attracts me.

Lord Jesus, help me not to fall. Help me to remember my own self-respect, and to remember that I cannot do a thing like this.

Help me to think of those who love me, and to know that I dare not bring disappointment and heartbreak to them. Help me to remember the unseen crowd of witnesses who surround me, and to know that I cannot grieve those who have passed on, but who are forever near.

Help me to remember Your presence, and in Your presence find safety.

This I ask for Your love’s sake. AMEN

A Prayer of Sorrow

I have fallen, Lord, once more. I can’t go on. I’ll never succeed.

I am ashamed. I don’t dare look at you. And yet I struggled, Lord, for I knew you were right near me, bending over me, watching. But temptation blew like a hurricane, and instead of you I turned my head away. I stepped aside, while you stood silent and sorrowful. Lord, don’t look at me like that.

For I am ashamed and sorrowful. I am down, shattered, with no strength left. I dare make no more promises. I can only stand bowed before you.

Come, Child, look up. Isn’t it mainly your vanity that is wounded? If you loved me you would grieve but you would trust. Do you think that there is a limit to God’s love? Do you think that for a moment I stopped loving you? But you still rely on yourself. You must rely on me. Ask my pardon and get up quickly. You see, it’s not falling that is worse, but staying on the ground.

Don’t lose hope. The suicidal thoughts will pass. The depression will pass. Go to God  in prayer. Recognize that he will give you exactly what you need to get through what you are going through right now. He might not take your pain away. But he will help you bear it. He really does listen to us. When I was near the end of my rope after months and months and months of non-stop rapid cycling, I flat out begged him for just a month, just one month of stability, or I simply wasn’t going to make it. Apparently I was right in that claim because he answered my prayer. The next month was one of total and complete stability, something that completely floored my doctor. Then I sank back into another depressive episode. But after the month of stability I was refreshed and ready for it. God does listen to us. He doesn’t always give us what we want, but he gives us what’s best for us.

And as a closing note, prayer  doesn’t always have to be in words. Quite a few times in my most recent episodes, I simply went to my church, sat in front of Jesus in the blessed sacrament, and wordlessly offered him my pain. I just sat there, resting my head on the pew in front of me, hurting, but knowing that he was there suffering right alongside me, accepting that sacrifice, and encouraging me — along  with his mother, and all of the other saints. Some of my most painful moments were during those visits, but I always left with renewed strength to face the day. The Blessed Virgin helped a lot too. There is something immensely comforting about a motherly embrace, and she gladly offers that. Even if you’re a Protestant, that’s worth keeping in mind. Jesus gave us his mother when he was dying on the cross for a reason.

If you have any questions or just want to talk, feel free to leave a comment. I’m here and happy to listen and offer what advice I can.

Hang in there, and God bless.

Kasani

Original painting of the Divine Mercy, by Eugeniusz Kazimirowski

Don’t Feed the Monster

 

 

 

It’s been a couple months since I managed to get a post typed up. Mostly life has just been busy, but I’ve also been stuck on what to write about. Coming off my medications has been going much better than I expected — though not entirely without its ups and downs, as I am in a mild depressive episode now. But this down spell brought to mind something that’s bothered me about the online mental illness community  for a few years,  and lying in bed last night I decided it was time to finally  brought it up.

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The problem is a lack of personal responsibility.

Don’t get me wrong. The fact that people expect the mentally ill to be able to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, “snap out of it” and move on, can be a serious problem. It can lead to self-harm and suicide as people are driven to despair by their inability to meet up to unjust expectations. Because it’s in our heads rather than being a physical wound on our body, people often assume we have more control over our disorders than we actually do, and they blame us for things we simply can’t control. It isn’t fair, and the pain and outrage it sparks are legitimate.

But there’s another side to the situation that causes just as much damage, and the onus is on the mentally ill. As someone with a mental illness myself, I feel I have the right to speak out about this. Bear with me while I elaborate.

Mental illness is a monster. It lives inside of you, and when it rears its head it makes life a living hell. Nobody else can see it, and that just makes it harder, especially when we come up against people (often well-meaning people) who try to convince us it isn’t as bad as we think and we just need to try harder, think positive, do X Y Z, and we’ll be okay. We know that most of the time their suggestions simply won’t work and this leads to resentment, both at their ignorance and at our own helplessness. In fact, our helplessness is  such a sensitive topic that just reading about other mentally ill people coming up against stigma and criticism can spark outrage, resentment and a feeling of persecution.

All of this often leads to a strong temptation to embrace the monster.

We embrace the feelings of helplessness, negativity and resentment, and using the (only sometimes) legitimate excuse that “we can’t help ourselves,” we choose to wallow in it. This is not to say that we are to blame the emotions we feel in and of themselves. A person with a mood disorder has little-to-no control over what they feel and to what intensity — trust me, I know. But we do have control over what we do with those emotions. We do have control over what we use them for. The symptoms we experience are a disorder, not a decision. But the actions we take as a result of those symptoms are a decision, not a disorder.

We can’t help it if we feel an overwhelming sense of despair choking the life out of us. We might not even be able to help it that we can’t get out of bed in the morning. But we can help it when we choose to listen to dark, depressing music that makes us feel worse even though it strokes our self-pity. We can help it when we choose to surf Pinterest for the darkest, most disturbing quotes and pictures we can find that we identify with deep down, and pin them to show off our pain. We can help it when we indulge in reading things that we identify with, but that only feed our pain, despair, and fill our minds with thoughts of self-harm and suicide. These are our choices. Our disorders do not take away our personal responsibility for them.

Another thing we are personally responsible for is when we vent all of our pain and hopelessness online for other people to see in our writing or art. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes sharing one’s pain is therapeutic both for the writer/artist and the reader/viewer. But there are many cases when such sharing is simply toxic. It becomes toxic when there is no faintest trace of hope anywhere in what is being created. It glorifies misery.

But I am miserable! I have no hope!

That may very well be true, but what are you achieving by sharing that so bluntly with the world? I am not suggesting that we should never share the full depth of our pain with people. Sometimes we have to. But who are you going to share it with? With somebody else who is a hair’s breadth away from committing suicide? With a young person who is struggling to find ways to cope with their pain and had never even considered the idea of self-harm until they read about what you do to cope? When we vent our frustrations online we have no way of knowing who will see it. I fully support being brutally honest and sharing just how bad you feel with somebody. But pick that somebody carefully. Not everybody can handle it.

This is not to say that I don’t think people should share their experiences in the public sphere. I support sharing the experiences of pain when done constructively, because it can be healing for other people to know that they are not alone in their suffering. But the key word in that is “constructively.” The idea is to let people know they are not alone — not to crush their hopes and encourage them to kill themselves.

Those of us experienced with the suffering that comes from mental illness have a responsibility towards the inexperienced, the new sufferers, those still innocent of just how bad things can get. We shouldn’t sugarcoat the suffering — that would be lying. But there is a big difference between conveying your experiences in a way that you intend to be helpful or simply spewing your inner darkness into the world uncensored and heedless of the damage it may do to others. I feel somewhat passionately about this because my own struggles with self-harm and suicidal ideation began with reading other people venting about the same problems. Would I have had those problems if I hadn’t been exposed to them in such a harmful way? It’s hard to say. But at the very least, the hopeless negativity of others did nothing to help me in my battle.

In the same breath, I’m the one who chose to read those things,  view those pictures, and listen to that sort of music. I bear responsibility for that. As do we all, when we make the choice to indulge in such things. It’s easy to fall into, but ultimately, it only feeds our monsters.
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To make a long story short: we might be stuck with our monsters, but we don’t have to feed them. Venting our negativity can sometimes be nothing but an excuse to wallow in it. Keep that in mind. Of course, sometimes venting is necessary to keep from exploding (or imploding, take your pick), in which case, choose your audience with care. Sometimes the safest audience is your journal or private sketchbook. Other times, it’s your best friend, parent, therapist, psychiatrist, or fellow mentally ill person who you know for sure isn’t on the brink of doing something awful to themselves at that point in time. And when you’re in a bad headspace, avoid indulging in things that may feel good in the moment but ultimately make it worse. Choosing to wallow in the darkness and feed your monster is no different than getting behind the wheel of a vehicle when you’re drunk.

Just don’t do it. It’s both as simple, and as difficult, as that.

I’ll be praying for you. Take care and God bless.

Kasani

 

Get Well II by Icon For Hire

Do you want me to write you another sad song
Would you like that?
Do you want me tell you we’ll never belong
Would you like that?
Cuz the truth is we’re no different than the others
Wearing our sob stories like colors
The truth is we like it, we like it here
We’re better off than we let on I fear
Does it make you sick, the way that we live?
We say we’re over it but we
Can’t undo the scars
All up and down our hearts
Can’t forget how it felt when it all fell apart
And we talk a big game like we wanna get well
In our prison made of pain
Only fooling ourselves
I want to scream my sick soul alive
I want to look you dead in the eyes
Did you think you were the only one? The only one? The only one?
We’re all holding on trying to make sense of
The insanity that we once loved
We’ve cut up our lives trying put down the knife
Trying to pick up the fight
Does it make you sick, the way that we live?
We say we’re over it but we
Can’t undo the scars
All up and down our hearts
Can’t forget how it felt when it all fell apart
And we talk a big game like we wanna get well
In our prison made of pain
Only fooling ourselves
Cuz the truth is we’re no different than the others
The truth is we like it, we like it here
We’re better off than we let on I fear
Can’t undo the scars
All up and down our hearts
Can’t forget how it felt when it all fell apart
And we talk a big game like we wanna get well
In our prison made of pain
Only fooling ourselves
Can’t undo the scars
All up and down our hearts
Can’t forget how it felt when it all fell apart
And we talk a big game like we wanna get well
In our prison made of pain
Only fooling ourselves

Your Pain Touches Hearts

Brace yourselves. Here comes another post about suffering…

The majority of my posts so far have been on suffering (The Advantage of Suffering and The Sorrowful Mysteries, for instance) because it’s something that goes hand in hand with mental illness.

So here goes…

Why do we suffer?

It’s a question worth asking, and it really has no hard and fast answers. C.S. Lewis wrote a brilliant book on the subject that’s well worth checking out entitled The Problem of Pain. I’m not going to try and rehash what he already addressed. Instead, I’d like to put forward just one of the many answers to the above question for consideration.

Because suffering is part of the human condition, it’s one of the few things that any person, anywhere, from any culture, can bond with a fellow human over. Suffering brings people together like nothing else can — at least when the suffering is shared. Suffering allows you to understand and empathize with others who are going through the same, or similar, experiences. Yes, suffering can and does destroy some people. But on the flip side, it can and does move other people to heroic action. The very act of fighting to stay strong as you endure your own trials can bring hope and encouragement to others who desperately need it, without you even realizing it.

A little vignette from my life is illustrative of this.

During the winter of 2012-2013, I went through a very rough patch. I was hit with multiple episodes of severe depression, interspersed with some mixed episodes, and virtually no stability between any of them. While this was going on, I was also having some physical health problems that would have left me feeling miserable all on their own. Adding them to severe depression was really just some icing on an already large cake. But as anyone with depression knows, life doesn’t stop and wait for you to start feeling better. It keeps going. It becomes a matter of sink or swim. There really are no other options.

pexels-photo-860662For me, one of the parts of life that keeps going regardless of how I feel is music ministry. Our church isn’t large.  Back then, it was just me and a fellow lady parishioner who led the congregation in song. We both sang, but she was the cantor and I was the pianist. Her job would turn into an absolute nightmare if I failed to show up — it’s a tall order to lead an entire congregation without any instrumental accompaniment when you have no musical training. The result usually isn’t terribly pretty, though perhaps its mildly better than a dry mass (a mass with no music). Suffice to say, I couldn’t simply bow out, even though curling up in a corner and dying felt preferable to leaving the house. So I pulled together some hymns that weren’t too hard, and that I felt drawn to in my misery, and trooped off to church.

I could barely focus on the notes on the page. I didn’t even try to hear myself singing. I just mindlessly forced the memorized words out with as much force as my blind  discomfort  allowed, not caring if my voice cracked or went off key — which it very likely did. I was in a state of utter resignation. The whole thing didn’t seem worth the effort. I was tired  of life. Everything was way too hard, and I confess I felt bitter about it deep down. What was the point of having to go through all of it? I was more than a little frustrated with my Creator, though I hadn’t outright admitted that to myself yet.

The mass finally ended. The last hymn was done. I decided that crawling under the piano and dying probably wouldn’t be looked upon as socially acceptable, so instead I started gathering up my sheet music. As I did so, a woman approached my fellow singer. I almost failed to notice, considering how caught up I was in my pity-party. But when I turned my attention on them, I momentarily forgot myself. The woman was wiping tears from her eyes as she thanked us for our effort.

There was no way she could know just how poorly I was doing — I’d never talked about it with anyone in my parish, and not even my fellow singer had clued in. But the music we made had touched this woman at a very personal level.

My fellow parishioners aren’t what you’d call an overemotional bunch. If they tear up during a mass, they cover it up and keep it to themselves. They also don’t usually hang around to chat with the music ministry. To have someone walk up to the front of the church and address us is uncommon. To have someone do so while in tears — well, it’s unheard of. I was so shocked I actually forgot how awful I felt. And for a severely depressed person, that is extremely impressive.

I went home feeling the least bad about things that I’d felt in weeks. The entire experience had been made worth it. Why? I suddenly remembered I wasn’t the only person in the world burdened with suffering. There were other people in my own community suffering too — and somehow managing to survive it. And I had just unintentionally reached out and touched one of those people by simply showing up and trying my best to hold it together as I fulfilled my commitment. And the fact that she was courageous enough to approach us and express how she felt touched me. I have no idea what she was going through, and she had no idea what I was going through, but by our mutual suffering we helped each other.

There’s something beautiful about that, no?

Take care and God bless,

Kasani

 

Just Cry by Mandisa
Why you gotta act so strong
Go ahead and take off your brave face
Why you tellin’ me that nothing’s wrong
It’s obvious you’re not in a good place
Who’s tellin’ you to keep it all inside
And never let those feelings
Get past the corner of your eye
You don’t need to run
You don’t need to speak
Baby take some time
Let those prayers roll down your cheek
It may be tomorrow
You’ll be past the sorrow
But tonight it’s alright
Just cry
I know you know your Sunday songs
A dozen verses by memory
Yeah they’re good but life is hard
And days get long
You gotta know God can handle your honesty
So feel the things you’re feeling
Name your fears and doubts
Don’t stuff your shame and sadness,
Loneliness and anger
Let it out, let it out
You don’t need to run
You don’t need to speak
Baby take some time
Let those prayers roll down your cheek
It may be tomorrow
You’ll be past the sorrow
But tonight it’s alright
Just cry
Just cry
It doesn’t mean you don’t trust Him
It doesn’t mean you don’t believe
It doesn’t mean you don’t know
He’s redeeming everything
You don’t need to run
You don’t need to speak
Baby take some time
Let those prayers roll down your cheek
It may be tomorrow
You’ll be past the sorrow
But tonight it’s alright
But tonight it’s alright
Just cry
Why you gotta act so strong
Go ahead and take off your brave face

The Sorrowful Mysteries – Part 4: The Crowning with Thorns

In Part 3 of this series we looked at how Jesus’ scourging bore some similar characteristics to mental illness. This post will examine how his crowning with thorns fits into our discussion.

If you missed Part 1, I recommend you check it out to get an understanding of why I’m writing these posts in the first place.

This Mystery is a bit easier to address than the previous one was because it centers around a topic that most mentally ill individuals are uncomfortably familiar with: humiliation. The label “mentally ill” is embarrassing enough all on its own, but when people witness you being tripped up by the symptoms of your illness, it takes things to a whole different level. Different mental illnesses bring different symptoms, but I can’t think of any that aren’t humiliating to some degree or another when they rear their head.

The list of humiliations is as diverse as the number of illnesses that exist: Panic attacks in public, having to compulsively return to your front door and check that its locked ten times before you can bring yourself to leave for a lunch date with friends, making a complete fool of yourself because you can’t seem to stop spewing out the first words that come to your mind at a speed which is difficult for your listeners to follow, bursting into tears against your will in front of other people, struggling to make sense of what people are saying to you when you’re completely unable to focus on the conversation, finding yourself completely unable to live up to the expectations required of normal people in everyday life, flying into a rage over a minor trigger and spending days afterwards kicking yourself and trying to put back together the pieces of a damaged relationship…the list goes on, and on.

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Then there’s the shame brought on by the criticism of people who either don’t know any better, or are just utterly insensitive. e.g. “Your life is great. You’ve got nothing to be depressed about. Get over it already.” There are looks of disapproval and gossip behind your back. Or, rather than scorn, you’re faced with unease, nervous whispers, unwillingness to make eye contact with you, and a desire to get away from your presence at the first opportune moment. Or you have people hovering over you, smothering you with concern, watching you like a hawk, trying their best to be helpful, and unintentionally rubbing salt in an open wound: I’m fine right now.  I am able to make rational choices without assistance. I’m not a child. I don’t need 24 hour supervision.

How does Christ’s crowning with thorns relate to all of this? Well, a look at the Gospel passage says a lot. It shows him going through some pretty cruel, humiliating things.

1. Being rejected by the people he loved.

Have you ever had friends, ones you thought would be there for you, abandon you, as if your illness was a plague that they were afraid of catching? Or as if you’re somehow a completely different person now that they know you have an “ominous” label slapped on you? Perhaps they turned on you and became like enemies out of fear, misunderstanding or prejudice. Does your own family blame you for your illness as if it’s somehow your fault? Jesus gets it. He spent three years among his people, teaching them, curing their illnesses, offering them hope… And then suddenly he winds up in serious trouble, through no fault of his own, and what happens? Do they remember his kindness toward them? No. They gather in a mob and shout for his crucifixion at the top of their lungs, even after he’s been turned into a bloody mess from a brutal scourging. And where are his closest friends during all of this? Are they there for him, trying to support him and help him through it? No. They run away in fear, abandoning him, after everything he’d done for them and taught them, afraid that something bad will happen to them if they associate themselves with their teacher and friend.

2. Being stripped naked, dressed up and mocked.

Have you ever felt utterly exposed and vulnerable in front of people you know are judging you for something you have no control over? Have you had people assign false motives to your behavior, making unfair accusations based on ignorant assumptions? Have you ever been rendered completely helpless by your symptoms, only to have people tell you that you’re just being weak, that it’s all in your head (no kidding), or blowing you off because they think you’re making it all up? Jesus gets it. In a half-dead state, covered with deep, bleeding wounds, he was dragged before an entire cohort of jeering soldiers. They tore off his clothes— can you imagine how much that would have hurt in his battered state? —leaving him naked and helpless in front of numerous unfriendly eyes. Then they threw a purple cloak over his shoulders, pressed a crown of thorns onto his head and thrust a reed into his hand as a fake scepter, and they mockingly paid him homage, making fun of him for claiming to be who he actually was.

3. Being beaten over the head with a reed and spit on.

Have you ever been kicked when you were down? Have you had people criticize you and harass you when you’re in too poor of a condition to defend yourself? Have you been publicly embarrassed by other people talking about your disorder in front of you in a condescending or derisive way? Maybe you’ve even been physically assaulted or taken advantage of because of your disorder. Things like this cut deep, especially when you’re already embarrassed and hurting to begin with. Jesus gets that too. He’s been beaten, rejected, stripped, crowned with thorns and mocked. And now the soldiers take the reed from his hand and beat him over the head with it, driving the thorns into his scalp, opening new wounds. Then, rubbing his weakness in his face, they spit on him, despising him for who he claims to be, not considering for a moment that perhaps he’s telling the truth. Then they strip off the cloak and the crown, put his own clothes back on him— and you can bet they didn’t do that gently —and drag him out to be crucified.

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Jesus understands helpless humiliation intimately. He can sympathize with whatever you’ve gone through or are going through on that front.

In the next post we take a look at the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery, the Carrying of the Cross.

Take care and God bless,

Kasani

 

 

 

Self-Harm – Part 3: What’s to be Done?

“No trial has come to you but what is human. God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial he will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it.” ~ Corinthians 1 10:13

In the past two posts we’ve discussed self-harm and what can lead to it, and we’ve taken a look at what the bible holds in the way of advice. Now I want to discuss some practical, hands-on ideas for how to deal with this. The above quote by St. Paul can be hard to believe at times, but it’s true. There is always a way out that doesn’t involve sinning. That’s what we’re going to discuss here.

First off, I have no magical cures for self-harm. I don’t believe there are any quick fixes for this. Addictions don’t go away over night. And if your urges are brought on by a mental illness, like mine, it can make overcoming them even more challenging. But getting urges doesn’t mean you have to give-in to them. I can testify to that. And the more you resist them, the easier it gets. Not that it ever gets easy, per se. It’s always a battle. But the more you fight it, the stronger you get.

There are a few tools I’ve developed over the years to help cope. If you’ve been struggling to give up self harm you’ve probably got some coping mechanisms of your own, but they might not be healthy ones. I’ll address that a little further along in the post. For now, lets discuss some healthy ones.

One of the most effective tools I’ve made use of is one I discovered back before I was diagnosed: doodling. It was a self-therapy. It gave me a way to channel my discomfort into something that acted as a distraction. Here’s an example of one of my earliest doodles that I drew back before I was diagnosed:

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Here’s one of my more recent ones:

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As you can probably tell, I’ve done a lot of these over the years. I’ve actually sold some of them, since people seem to like them. Personally, they wouldn’t be my first choice of wall art, but they’ve been a wonderful therapy. As art goes, I prefer my more realistic stuff (the cover images on this blog, for instance), but when I feel miserable I can’t bear to try and draw anything that looks good. I can’t focus and I don’t have the patience to get things “right.” Doodles allow me to freewheel and do something with my hands without having to think much. There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to doodle. When I stick my earbuds in with some music and pick up a sharpie, I can completely detach from real life and lose myself for a while. It makes for a wonderful distraction. I encourage you to give it a try sometime. If you aren’t artistically inclined (not that you really need to be for this sort of thing), why not give crocheting or knitting a try? I’ve never knitted, but crocheting is wonderfully mindless. It gives you something to do with your hands other than hurting yourself— which is the whole point.

Now, this sort of thing doesn’t always work if the urges are really severe. Another coping strategy I’ve tried is running. I’m not a jogger. I’ve never been very athletic. But that almost makes it better. It’s easier to exhaust myself that way. I’ll go outside and jog/sprint until I’m about to collapse from exhaustion. Sometimes that takes the edge off an urge. But running, unfortunately, isn’t always an option— like when it’s -40 degrees with the windchill (yay Canadian winters). If you have a treadmill then that’s a potential option. But if not, you’ll have to try something else.

If I can’t get out of the house, or if I’m already tired despite getting urges, another thing I’ve made lots of use of is showers. Long, hot showers. To be honest, it’s amazing I haven’t washed away down the drain. When I was depressed, the shower was my go-to place. It’s somewhat ironic. People often quit showering entirely when depressed because they lack the energy and motivation. Their hygiene plummets. Mine skyrockets. I live in an apartment with my parents (and for a while, my uncle as well). The shower is one of the only places I can curl up in misery and cry without anyone noticing. And something about sitting curled up under a stream of hot water in an enclosed space is comforting. I’ve spent 40 minutes just sitting there before. Admittedly, it really dries your skin out. And it probably didn’t do very good things for our water bill either… But I didn’t much care.

Now, there are two caveats to this particular coping mechanism: 1) do NOT do this if you have a razor in the shower with you. That would be so self-defeating it’s just not even funny. 2) Don’t make the water so hot it gives you burns. It can be tempting to inflict pain on yourself in that way, but that completely defeats the purpose of the coping mechanism. That’s just another form of self-harm. If you don’t feel you have the self-control to avoid doing that, then don’t make use of this coping mechanism.

There are two coping mechanisms I’ve heard of that I want to warn you away from, mainly because they work by inflicting pain. If you’d rather not give yourself ideas, skip the next paragraph. If you’re already making use of mechanisms of that sort, you might as well keep reading and see my reasoning against them.

One of the questionable mechanisms that I’ve tried personally is that of snapping myself with an elastic band. People use this method because it hurts like hell and doesn’t leave scars. Another one I’ve heard of, but haven’t tried, is holding onto ice cubes. The latter method is probably healthier because it doesn’t leave marks on your skin. But even though these sorts of coping mechanisms are better than cutting yourself, they still aren’t a good idea. Why? They’re still a form of self-harm. If you’re inflicting intentional pain on yourself, that’s self-harm— that includes hitting yourself, pulling your hair, digging your nails into yourself, etc. It doesn’t matter if you don’t break the skin. You’re harming yourself. And when you use coping mechanisms like that, it doesn’t fix the problem. It aggravates it. You’re indulging the urge rather than resisting it. It’s like an alcoholic using beer to avoid vodka. It’s still alcohol, even though it’s much weaker. It doesn’t help you break the addiction, and it can actually make things worse in the long run.

If you’ve made use of mechanisms like that before, trying to avoid them in future is going to be hard. I know because I’ve used them and it was a real challenge weening myself off of them. But coping mechanisms that inflict pain are a bad idea. Avoid them at all costs.

Now that we’ve talked about some basic in-the-moment techniques, I want to address an unconventional self-harm avoidance method that works better than any other thing I’ve tried. If the things I suggested above don’t sound like they’d work for you, then I want you to seriously consider what I’m about to suggest. It might sound bizarre because it’s actually a specifically Catholic tool, and it’s counter-intuitive at first, but it’s made a huge difference for me.

It’s called “mortification.” Protestant readers, bear with me. This will be of use to you. It doesn’t even have to be looked upon as a religious exercise, though for me that’s what gives me the motivation to make use of it.

First off, I’m not talking about the “Oh my word please kill me now that was so humiliating” type of mortification. That’s an emotional state. It has nothing to do with the Catholic concept of mortification. In a Catholic context, mortification is something you do to yourself as an act of self-discipline, either physical or mental. When I first heard about it, my first thought was: “Well, I’ll never be able to make use of that. I have enough problems with self-harm already. That would be unsafe.” But that’s because I completely misunderstood the concept.

Some saints have made use of horrifying mortifications. They sound like worse forms of self-harm than cutting. Mortification in the form of self-inflicted pain is a majorly BAD idea for someone who struggles with self-harm. It’s something that you should NEVER, EVER make use of. There are many different sorts of mortification that are perfectly healthy and will actually help you.  That’s what I’m going to touch on.

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St. Rose of Lima

Before moving on to that, though, I want to talk very briefly on why why what the saints have done to themselves in the past wasn’t “self-harm” in the sense that we’ve been talking about. Things like self-flagellation, hair shirts, wearing belts or headbands with spikes pointing inward beneath ordinary clothing, or sleeping on beds of broken tiles all sound a bit disturbing. In the past I’ve asked myself “Why on earth is it okay for them to hurt themselves when it’s not okay for me to do that?!” Aside from the fact that some of the methods I just mentioned were frowned upon by the Church at the time they were made use of, and aren’t used at all (as far as I’m aware) today, there’s a MAJOR difference between that and addictive self-harm such as cutting.

When we self-harm, we’re doing it to satisfy an urge. We want to do it. Intellectually, maybe we don’t, but physically, we’re craving it. That’s why it’s so hard to resist. When the saints made use of the things I just mentioned, they were not satisfying a craving. They didn’t want to inflict that on themselves. It was a sacrifice they were offering up. There was no pleasure or relief there. I’m not saying I’m comfortable with the methods they used. It doesn’t strike me as healthy. But their motives were very, very different than the motive of someone who self-harms to relieve an urge. The two things are complete polar opposites.

At its core,  mortification is about self-denial. You’re curbing the desires of the flesh. And it serves another purpose as well. In a previous post I talked about “offering up” your suffering for a specific intention— the souls in Purgatory, for example. Mortification can be used for the same purpose. Self-denial is a form of suffering, and in some ways it can potentially be more meritorious because it’s something you’re going out of your way to experience rather than something you’re having to endure against your will. Fasting is one example of mortification. Fasting doesn’t have to mean a bread and water diet, or only one meal per day. It can be as simple as skipping your morning coffee (or putting it off for an hour or two). Or maybe not having that second cookie (or not having a cookie in the first place). Or maybe forcing yourself not to drink anything until you’ve finished a meal (especially a salty meal…). Fasting doesn’t even have to involve food at all. It can be skipping your favorite TV show for a day. It can be not turning on the heated seat in your vehicle for a trip in the winter, or not turning on the AC for a trip in the summer. It can be washing your hands with cold water all day. It can be forcing yourself to eat some extra vegetables at a meal that you don’t really like, or not salting your food for a meal. There are many, many different ways of doing this.

There are non-physical mortification as well: making an effort not to complain. Forcing yourself not to daydream when you’re getting work done. Refraining from engaging in unnecessary, compulsive chatter about someone (especially if its gossipy in nature). Being punctual with timing. Forcing yourself to not snap at your significant-other or sibling when they annoy you. Little sacrifices here and there. You’ll notice none of what I’m suggesting is dramatic. It doesn’t have to be. In fact, smaller efforts more frequently is better than immense efforts occasionally.

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Why am I suggesting this?

Well, how does a weightlifter get stronger? By weightlifting. How does an acrobat become flexible? By stretching. How does a pianist gain skill? By practicing. Self-discipline is no different than athletic training. It’s a muscle that needs to be worked. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. The less you use it, the weaker it gets. Resisting self-harm urges requires immense self-discipline. If you make use of a little mortification once or twice every day when you aren’t getting urges, you’ll start to get used to denying yourself. Then, when you do get an urge, you have more discipline with which to resist it.

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What’s great is that the very act of resisting a self-harm urge is a mortification. It’s self-denial. You can offer it up for something— preferably something really meaningful so that it gives you strong incentive. I’ve heard of people drawing butterflies on themselves and naming them after friends or family with the idea that if they give in and cut themselves then they’re killing their friend or family member. It’s a nice idea.  If it helps some people, great. It doesn’t work for me, though. When it comes right down to it, I know it’s just a butterfly drawn in marker. A make-believe mechanism of that sort is of zero use to me. But when I know with a certainty that the effort I make to resist self-harming will help someone else, maybe even someone else getting a self-harm urge or possibly contemplating suicide, that’s incentive. That’s real. And spiritually, there is definite merit there.

It might not sound like it, but at first, little mortifications are hard. Way harder than they have any right to be. But if you keep working at it, they get easier. I encourage you to set yourself a challenge: make an effort to deny yourself once, every day, in some small thing. Make sure it’s a legit denial. If you decide to skip your morning coffee when you aren’t feeling like coffee, that’s not a mortification. When you’ve been craving coffee with a vengeance since the moment you opened your eyes and you force yourself to wait until after lunch to drink some, that’s a mortification. After you’ve been doing it a while, you can increase it to multiple things per day. It’s just like weightlifting. Once your muscles get stronger, you end up having to move on to heavier weights to make progress. When a little mortification becomes easy,  move on to something harder. And don’t always use the same thing— unless its something that always works, every single time. I find if I make use of the same thing for several days in a row, it stops being effective.

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This has the bonus effect of making you appreciate things more when you don’t deny yourself. You’d be surprised how much more you enjoy your morning coffee if you force yourself to skip it sometimes, especially when you really want it. You’re also less disappointed if you don’t wind up getting something you wanted— like showing up at your favorite restaurant and discovering it’s closed.

I have one cautionary caveat: never deny yourself in a way that’s unhealthy.  For instance, never skip your prescribed medication to make yourself miserable. If you have an eating disorder, never make use of food-related fasting. Fast from activities, like TV or video games or whatever. Or better yet— eat. Forcing yourself to eat when you need to but don’t feel like it is a great mortification. I went through a phase during my repeated depressions where I was hardly eating anything, both because of the depression and because the antidepressant I was on completely killed my appetite. Forcing myself to eat was a major sacrifice.

On that note, however, I don’t recommend going out of your way with mortifications while depressed. Good mortifications for people who are depressed are things like forcing yourself to take a shower, eat regularly and go for walks— activities that you need to do in order to stay healthy, but are made very, very hard because of the depression. Don’t make things unnecessarily unpleasant for yourself. Depression is unpleasant enough on its own. You’ve got to be smart about this. The idea is to build your self-discipline, not make yourself utterly miserable.

A last cautionary note: don’t go overboard. If you find that you’re miserable all the time because you’re constantly trying to deny yourself, you’re doing it wrong. Yes, it should be a challenge, but its not meant to suck the joy out of life. Little efforts here and there are all it takes. Nothing major.

I’ve found mortifications actually make me happier. The actual act of denying myself is a bit of a drag, but then I enjoy things way more when I do indulge myself. And when self-harm urges come calling, I have much more practice exercising self-control. St. Paul agrees with me on this.

“Sin must not reign over your mortal bodies so that you obey their desires. And do not present the parts of your body’s to sin as weapons for wickedness, but present yourselves to God as raised from the dead to life and the parts of your bodies to God as weapons for righteousness.” ~ Romans 6:12-13

Weapons for righteousness. Making the effort to control yourself is a weapon you can use against the enemy to help build God’s kingdom. That whole “offering it up” concept is very much at play here. To wrap up this series of posts, here’s one last quote from St. Paul:

“Just as you presented the parts of your bodies as slaves to impurity and to lawlessness for lawlessness, so now present them as slaves to righteousness for sanctification.” ~ Romans 6:19

If you’re a self-harmer, now’s the time to make a change. If you’ve yet to give into it, keep fighting. If you’ve been trying to overcome the addiction, renew your commitment. Remember why its important. Pray to God for grace. Try employing some of the things I suggested–particularly the mortification idea. You can do this. It is possible. I’m praying for you.

Have any questions or comments? Leave me a reply and I’ll get back to you. 🙂

Take care and God bless,

Kasani

 

Now by Fireflight

The clock is ticking
The seconds pass you by as you lie frozen
You are petrified of one more failure
A swing and a miss might break your heart in half
Yeah I know you feel alone
Don’t let it break your back

Don’t lay down
Don’t let it destroy you
Pain is real but it’s not gonna own you
Not this time around
(This is your time now)
Get back up, gotta keep on trying
Raise your fist, gotta keep on fighting
This is your time now
This is your time now

Your head is spinning
The path is right before you but you’re stopping
The cycle locks you in and you can’t see
That you’re so close to finally being free
Yeah I know, yes I know
That you can turn the key

Don’t lay down
Don’t let it destroy you
Pain is real but it’s not gonna own you
Not this time around
(This is your time now)
Get back up, gotta keep on trying
Raise your fist, gotta keep on fighting
This is your time now
This is your time now

You’re not hopeless, you’re not worthless, no
You are loved, don’t give up now
This is your time now

Don’t lay down
Don’t let it destroy you
Pain is real but it’s not gonna own you
Not this time around
(This is your time now)
Get back up, gotta keep on trying
Raise your fist, gotta keep on fighting
This is your time now
This is your time now

Self-Harm – Part 2: Lessons From Scripture

So back in part 1 I discussed the details of self-harm, what drives people to it, and my experiences with it. Now I want to move on to a slightly different discussion. I want to examine what St. Paul has to say about this issue. Of course, he wasn’t addressing this issue in a specific sense, but his words still apply.

To clarify if confusion arises, I’m using the NABRE (New American Bible Revised Edition) Catholic Bible, so the quotes might be translated a little differently than the ones you’re familiar with if you use a different bible.

Lets start with some reasons why self-harm is sinful. Might as well get the painful stuff out of the way first, right? Self-harmers, this isn’t to heap burning coals on your head. It simply offers some spiritual reasons for why you need to keep making a serious effort to stop— or better yet, not start in the first place. I am NOT pointing fingers here. Remember, I’m just as guilty as you when it comes to self-harm. I’m one of the perpetrators, and I’m addressing myself as much as you.

Lets start with a quote that most Christians are probably pretty familiar with from 1 Corinthians 6:19-20:

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been purchased at a price. Therefore, glorify God in your body.”

That’s pretty straight forward, but let’s unpack it line-by-line.

If you’re Christian, you probably go to church. Maybe you don’t go every Sunday. But you go to a church building to worship God. Would you ever consider scrawling graffiti on the walls? How about carving things into the pews or breaking a window or two? Would you knock over the altar,  or rip pictures and crosses down and smash them? Of course not. Why on earth would a Christian want to vandalize God’s temple, right?

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I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say. Your body is God’s temple. When you self-harm, you are doing that exact same thing as what I just described you doing to your church. But it’s a little worse than that. See, if you look at the rest of that line you’ll notice that you received your body from God. But it’s not yours. He’s loaning it to you. So you aren’t just trashing a church— God’s home. You’re also smashing up the car you’re leasing from the all-mighty Creator. And if you read a little further you’ll see that it’s an expensive car. Jesus died to redeem that car (not to mention it’s driver).

I look at that and wilt. Yeah. I not only vandalized my Creator’s house, I also damaged the high-end, expensive sports car He loaned me. Okay, so it’s a bit harder to drive than some of the cars other people are borrowing. But I didn’t accidentally damage it. I did so intentionally. And God was expecting me to respect and cherish it. Whoops.

Now that we’ve reinforced our guilt, lets move on to something a little more encouraging.

What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate” ~ Romans 7:15

I don’t know about you, but that strikes a chord for me.

“For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want.” ~ Romans 7:19

So what can we take away from this admission by St. Paul? We’re sinful. All of us. Every single person is a sinner. We’ve all messed up. Assuming we don’t die within the next 5-10 minutes, we’re going to mess up again at some point. That’s just the way things are. Have you made the resolution to not self-harm? Are you feeling discouraged because you’ve broken that resolution? Guess what: St. Paul gets that.

“For I know that good does not dwell in me, that is, in my flesh. The willing is ready at hand, but doing the good is not.” ~ Romans 7:18

Those of us who are mentally ill would probably be the first to admit that good does not dwell in our flesh. Our bodies seem to be constantly out to sabotage us. Sometimes it feels like just making a resolution to improve ourselves guarantees that we’re going to fail. Why should we even bother?

Oh, right… we’re vandalizing our Dad’s house and wrecking the car He paid for with His Son’s life. That’s a problem. We can’t really afford to keep that up. So what do we do?

“So, then, I discover the principle that when I want to do right, evil is at hand… I see in my members another principle at war with the law of my mind, taking me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Miserable one that I am! Who will deliver me from this mortal body?” ~ Romans 7:21-24

Miserable one that I am!— I think it’s safe to say that St. Paul sympathizes.

It helps to recognize that messing up and breaking our resolutions doesn’t make us failures. It’s normal. Yes, it’s something to be avoided at all costs. But it’s normal. What’s more important to recognize is that this isn’t something we can do alone. In fact, trying to do it alone is prideful, and we all know what pride leads to (here’s a hint: it involves hitting the ground. Hard). Pride is a sin. We’ve got enough trouble with sin already if we’re self-harming. Let’s not add to it. It should actually come as a relief that we aren’t expected to fix ourselves on our own. God expects us to go to him for help.

pexels-photo-1166401Think of it this way. If you were to put an enormous, eye-catching, cringe-worthy scratch in the paint of your human dad’s sparkling new sports car (pretend for a moment that he has one), would you rush into the garage, grab a can of deck-paint that’s roughly the same color, and use it to try and cover up the scratch? It’s a given that going and admitting to your dad that you just badly scratched his new car probably isn’t going to make his day. In fact, depending on your dad’s temperament, the odds of him blowing a fuse are decently high. But how much happier would it make him for you to attempt the above mentioned solution to the scratch? Wouldn’t he much prefer you to allow him to get it repainted properly?

This isn’t a very good comparison because God isn’t mad at us. But the childish solution of trying to fix the scratch with deck-paint is similar to us trying to dig ourselves out of the pit we’re in without asking for assistance. Our heart might be in the right place, but that doesn’t mean that what we’re doing under our own steam is going to fix the problem. Maybe it is working right now, and that’s great. But keep in mind that when we start feeling self-sufficient, we are very close to falling. When things are going well we need God’s grace just as much as when they aren’t.

“The concern of the flesh is hostility towards God; it does not submit to the law of God, nor can it;” ~ Romans 8:7

According to Paul, your body really is out to sabotage you. By “flesh” he technically means our carnal nature, not our actual physical bodies. But the desires of our bodies fuel that nature. The only solution to that is God’s grace.

If your attempts to give up self-harm haven’t been working, or if you feel like you’re fighting a losing battle to avoid starting in the first place, it’s time to turn to God and ask for his grace and guidance. As I said before, He isn’t mad at you. He doesn’t see you as some colossal failure because you ended up down this road.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him. For he knows how we are formed, remembers that we are dust.” ~ Psalm 103:13-14

embrace_by_okbrightstar-db59atlIn other words, He understands what we’re up against. He knows our weaknesses and how difficult it can be for us to do what is right. For those of us with mental illness, He (unlike some people) actually understands exactly how much that handicaps us. He knows how heavy our cross is. He allowed us to have it in the first place. But he has a purpose for it, even if we can’t see what it is, and He wants to help us bear it.

Do you feel like you’ve put an impossible wall between God and yourself, and that God couldn’t possibly want you anymore? That’s a lie that satan loves to feed us. Do you recall the parable of the shepherd leaving his flock of 99 sheep to chase after the single stray and bring it home safe? That shepherd isn’t mad at the stray sheep. He wants to rescue it. And He wants to rescue you, but you have to be willing to let Him.

Sometimes when we ask for God’s help, there is a part of us that only wants the help if it’s the kind of help we want. We don’t want just any help. We have a specific sort of help in mind, and that’s what we’re expecting from God. But what we want isn’t always what is actually best for us in the long run.

Here’s something to consider: At the wedding in Cana, when they ran out of wine, Mary (wisely) turned to our Lord for help. But stop for a moment and think about what she actually did, specifically. She asked for help. She didn’t get the answer she was looking for. In fact, Jesus’ answer seems a bit cold.

“Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” ~ John 2:4

Look at Mary’s response to this. Does she get upset with her son and tell him what she expects him to do? Did she tell him “Listen, I want you to turn water into wine and help these people out. I’m your mother. It’s the least you can do!” No. She didn’t. She didn’t even demand a miracle, even though she knew her son was more than capable of it. Instead, she put her trust in him completely, knowing that whatever he saw fit to do would be best.

“His mother said to the servers ‘Do whatever he tells you.'” ~ John 2:5

She had complete trust in him to find a way to fix the problem. He could potentially have instructed the servers to rush out and buy some more wine. But he didn’t. Instead, he rewarded Mary’s faith and gave her a miracle. The idea of his fixing the problem by turning water into wine probably hadn’t occurred to her. It only seems like an obvious solution to us because we’ve read about the story over and over again for years. It’s not an obvious solution. It probably wasn’t what Mary had in mind. But she allowed him to do what he thought best, and he did something marvelous.

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What I’m saying is that you have to be truly open to whatever God wants to do for you. You have to be willing to listen for His advice and then accept it. If you recall from the previous post, I demanded help from God. I knew He could fix me, and I didn’t understand why He wasn’t doing so. And to my surprise, He gave me a very direct answer. I can’t say I was terribly happy about it at the time. Telling my parents was quite literally the last thing I wanted to do. He very well could have just taken away the urges. But that isn’t what He wanted. And there turned out to be a very good reason for that. Had I not opened up to my parents at that point, I never would have been able to open up to them later on when I faced the much more dangerous temptation of suicide, and there’s every possibility I wouldn’t be here today to write this.

I’m not necessarily suggesting that God’s solution for me will be His solution for you. Your family might be drastically different than mine. Maybe your parents are abusive, or simply wouldn’t care. Or maybe you’ve even tried to reach out to them already and they refused to help. Everyone’s situation is different. The only thing I can guarantee is that God does have a solution for you, whatever it might be, and He wants to communicate it to you. Once again, I don’t know how He will choose to do that. The number of times I’ve received a communication from Him that was that unmistakably direct are usually few and far between for me. He has many different ways of communicating, and some ways won’t work well for some people. The main thing is that you truly want His help.

If you’re feeling frustrated by the lack of concrete ideas for you to try so far, check out Part 3 of this post. I discuss some coping mechanisms you can try (along with a few more verses of scripture). The most important thing is to persevere in prayer, even when it feels like no one is listening. He is. And He will help you if you let Him.

Take care and God bless,

Kasani

Set Me Free by Casting Crowns

It hasn’t always been this way
I remember brighter days
Before the dark ones came
Stole my mind
Wrapped my soul in chains
Now I live among the dead
Fighting voices in my head
Hoping someone hears me crying in the night
And carries me away
Set me free of the chains holding me
Is anybody out there hearing me?
Set me free
Morning breaks another day
Finds me crying in the rain
All alone with my demons I am
Who is this man that comes my way?
The dark ones shriek
They scream his name
Is this the one they say will set the captives free?
Jesus, rescue me
Set me free of the chains holding me
Is anybody out there hearing me?
Set me free
And as the god man passes by
He looks straight through my eyes
And darkness cannot hide
Do you want to be free?
Lift your chains
I hold the key
All power on heaven and earth belong to me
Do you want to be free?
Lift your chains
I hold the key
All power on heaven and earth belong to me
You are free
You are free
You are free
We are free
We are free
Jesus set us free

Self-Harm – Part 1: When Emotional Pain Overflows

This is going to be a three-part post. Part 1 is where I’ll share my story in regard to this topic. In part 2 I’ll take a look at what scripture has to tell us about it. In part 3 I’ll offer some suggestions for coping mechanisms. If you struggle with self-harm, proceed with caution. This is not going to be a graphic discussion, but I’ve found that just discussing the topic can be triggering. If you’re concerned, you might want to skip this post, just in case. The next two posts will be a safer read for you. If you are someone who has a disorder that causes great emotional pain (depression and bipolar are just two examples) and you’ve never had the urge to harm yourself, don’t read this post. There’s no reason to feed your brain ideas. If, God forbid, it becomes an issue for you, feel from to come back and check these posts out.

If you don’t fall into either of those categories and are simply looking for some understanding of why people do this to themselves, or you’re trying to understand a friend or loved one, I hope this will be of some use to you.

As a final disclaimer, I want to add that everyone is different. I cannot say whether or not my experiences are what everyone else with this problem experiences. I’ve never had the opportunity to discuss this topic with another person who has dealt with this. For all I know, my brain is just especially messed up. But I suspect my symptoms are not unique.

Anyway. Lets start.

Brace yourself for a long post. I didn’t want to have to split the story up, so I’ve blurted it all out at once. I find this topic very difficult. The only mental health topic that I find more painful to address is suicide, and I’ll be getting to that in a later post. The only reason I’m sharing my own story about this issue is because I figure if I’m going to offer advice on the subject, people have a right to know what experience I have with it. From this post you can decide whether or not I know what I’m talking about.

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I’ll be the first to admit that compared to most people, I’ve gotten off easy. My childhood was stable. My best-friend and my parents are supportive. I’ve read many stories of people who don’t have those things and have gone through much worse experiences than I have. If you struggle with self-harm, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to hear that your story is a much darker, more difficult one than mine, and you may very well still be stuck in the middle of it. But one thing I can assure you is that I fully understand how awful self-harm urges are. I know how difficult they are to resist. I still get them on occasion. Granted, I’ve never been a cutter, but there are other ways to go about harming yourself. I’m not going to discuss them. It’s sufficient to say it’s been roughly two years now since the last time I gave in to an urge, and I will never walk down that road again. If you are struggling to break free of this addiction, I promise, it is possible.

I was eleven years old when I first heard about “cutting.” Considering how prevalent it’s become in today’s culture, it might seem ridiculous for me to have reached that age without ever having encountered the subject before, but I was a decidedly sheltered homeschooled child. I remember the day clearly because it was the same day I got braces and I was feeling awful. It was raining, and my mother’s friend was visiting for coffee. I overheard the topic get brought up between them, and I gathered from their subdued tones that it wasn’t a pleasant subject, but I had no idea what they were talking about. I waited until my mother’s friend left, and then I popped the question:

“What does cutting mean?”

With a certain amount of discomfort, my mother explained the concept to me. I still very clearly remember my horror: Why on earth someone would want to do that to themselves? Little did I know that six years later I would have a very intimate understanding of the answer.

September 2012, age 17, nine months after my diagnosis, I experienced my first major depression. Of course, I’d been dealing with periods of depression on and off for several years without realizing what it was, but that had been nothing compared to this episode. It began about halfway through the month and slowly progressed over several weeks until I reached a point where I was convinced I couldn’t possibly get any lower. It’s laughable how wrong I was. My subsequent depressions were more cripplingly severe. But in some ways, I think a person’s first major depression is always the worst. The unfamiliar agony is a complete shock to your system and you have absolutely no idea how to cope with it.

Anyway, that was about when I started to experience something I never had before: I began getting the strong urge to intentionally harm myself.

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Remember that eleven year old kid who was horrified by the concept of cutting?  That former horror did not go away. In fact, it came back to haunt me in spades. When I began to get self-harm urges, I was more disturbed and mortified than words can express. My mother had told me way-back-when that people who cut themselves were “very sick.” Not in a harsh, disparaging way, but in a “those poor people have something mentally wrong with them” kind of way. So apparently there was something mentally wrong with me. You’d think that fact would have sunk in nine-months earlier, but it wasn’t until a full year after my diagnosis that I actually clued into the fact that being bipolar means you are considered “mentally ill.” I guess it takes a while to register stuff you don’t want to accept.

I was in what felt like an impossible situation. I instinctively knew that harming myself, aside from it being “very sick,” was also morally wrong. But as much as I felt horrified and ashamed, the urges were still there, and they were getting worse. I felt completely trapped. I couldn’t bring myself to tell my parents. I loathed myself so much for it already that I felt sure they would either blame me or refuse to let me out of their sight— or both. Perhaps not being let out of their sight would have been good for me, because it was the times when I was isolated that I was hit the hardest, and it was on those occasions that I occasionally gave in.

If you’ve never experienced it, I suspect you’re pretty puzzled as to what an urge feels like. As I’ve said before, I don’t know if other people experience what I do, so I don’t claim to speak for anyone else. For me, it often goes something like this:

The prelude to an urge is usually some sort of emotional disturbance. Depression and hypomania can trigger one. Mixed episodes always trigger one. Actually, I usually get quite a few throughout the course of a mixed episode. It’s the combination of energy and anguish. But my bipolar episodes aren’t the only potential triggers. Life events, usually negative but occasionally even positive, can trigger them as well. All it requires is some intense emotions getting stirred up. It’s a bit like how tornadoes require certain conditions to spawn. You need a supercell thunderstorm.

The urges I get from straight depression aren’t usually the impulsive type. I hurt so much inside that I’m just desperate for a distraction and physical pain is the quickest (temporary) solution. Those are the easiest ones to resist. The urges I get from hypomania or mixed episodes are different. They’re the dangerous ones. Lets call them “agitated urges.”

When an agitated urge hits me, it feels like my veins have been lit on fire. I’ve described it as feeling like there are ants crawling under my skin, but it’s not a tactile feeling like being touched. Think of what happens to a bottle of pop when you shake it— millions of frantic bubbles swarm to the top of the bottle and build up the pressure, battling against the plastic to escape. That’s what I feel like internally, and the plastic that the energy is building up against is the underside of my skin. I feel it throughout my entire body, but it tends to be the worst along the insides of my arms and legs.

Sometimes it’s mild, like a distracting headache. Other times its viciously intense. The discomfort is unbearable. I want to run, scream, hit something, anything to bleed off the energy or distract myself. Trying to sit still is sheer torture. When it’s especially bad, being in physical contact with anything— even clothing —aggravates it like gasoline on a fire. It’s not exactly pain, but it’s so unpleasant that actual pain feels good in comparison. Physical pain acts as a distraction, much like with the depression urges. It can cut through the feeling like a bucket of ice water.

But there’s more to it than that.

A strange mental thought process goes along with an agitated urge. When I’m simply depressed, the depression is what incapacitates me, not the self-harm urge. But with an agitated urge, the urge itself is incapacitating. It makes you feel crazy. You pace back and forth, hold your head in your hands, pull your hair; if you’re sitting down you rock back and forth because sitting still is impossible. If other people are around, you have strong incentive to clamp down on these outward displays, so usually it isn’t noticeable to people around you. But when you’re alone, you don’t have any other choice. You can’t distract yourself with the presence of another person. The bizarre behavior is the only thing that keeps you from spontaneously-combusting.

And yet, despite the anguish you’re in,  there’s no evidence of it outwardly. No one understands. Don’t get me wrong, my family is sympathetic. But they can’t fathom the experience, and so there is really no point in explaining the details to them. It would just upset them pointlessly. But when you’re in the midst of that sort of suffering, there are simply no words to describe how frustrating it is knowing that no one else can understand what you’re going through.

pexels-photo-1930523Imagine being the only person in the world to ever experience a migraine. Migraines are awful. But if no one had ever even heard of them, including yourself, you’d probably start wondering if maybe you’re just being a wimp. Geez, no one else gets totally incapacitated by their headaches. Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion? And yet, you are incapacitated. The only thing that could officially prove to you that you aren’t just being weak compared to other people is if it gets bad enough that you start throwing up. That’s not exactly something you can push aside as ‘wimpishness.’ It’s a legit physical reaction to pain. It’s confirmation that you really are in hell. You’re not just imagining things.

Agitated urges don’t give you that. You’ve got nothing to point to that validates your misery. This, added to the fact that physical pain is the quickest possible distraction, can lead you in a very bad direction. Giving yourself tangible injuries is, for the moment that the urge is hitting you, twistedly therapeutic. It’s like a validation of sorts: Yes. This is really happening. I am in so much discomfort that I’m resorting to self-injury to try and cope. I’m not imagining things. This is real.

To top it all off, I also feel a certain amount of anger at my own body for putting me through the experience in the first place, and so harming myself becomes a sort of revenge (you don’t have to tell me that that isn’t rational. Believe me, I know). In the moment, it’s satisfying. Afterwards is another story entirely. The guilt and self-loathing would hit me like a kick in the stomach. But during an urge, self-discipline is not something that’s easy to grasp onto. Pain makes people irrational and impulsive. And, scientifically speaking, injuring yourself offers legitimate relief because it gives you a rush of endorphins. That’s what makes it addictive.

Now, people self-harm for different reasons. In some ways, it almost seems to be a fad now. I somehow doubt that everyone who self-harms gets agitated urges. In some instances a person can be pushed in the direction of self-harm by  a combination of helplessness, self-pity and anger brought on by mistreatment from friends and family. You’re miserable, you don’t know how to cope, and people won’t take you seriously, so you develop an I’ll show you mentality (even if you aren’t actually intending to let anyone know you’ve started doing it), and you wind up in way over your head before you realize the consequences of what you’re doing.

This sort of theoretical situation leads some people pooh-pooh cutting as “attention seeking.”  Now, maybe in some instances it can be called that. But overall, I utterly disagree with that suggestion and find it offensive. First off, it dismisses the behavior as nothing but a silly, childish phase that rebellious young people go through. Secondly, it releases the person who says it from any responsibility regarding the situation. It’s the young person’s fault. They just need to smarten up and get over it.

Self-harm is not silly, and it’s not childish. It’s dangerous. It’s not a phase. It’s an d5qx0m7-f368966b-a45b-418b-bb02-fc34075044d1addiction. I don’t think people understand just how addictive it actually is. Yes, the person who makes the choice to self-harm is at fault for that choice. But regardless of why someone begins self-harming, it needs to be taken seriously. Once you start, it’s hard to stop, and I’m sure I don’t need to stress how damaging a habit it is. Also, keep in mind that nobody self-harms for fun or for kicks. It’s not some sort of “pastime” people take up because they’re bored (at least, I certainly hope no one takes it up for that reason). A person self-harms because they’ve been driven to it by emotional pain. You can’t see emotional pain, but you can see cuts and scars. Trust me when I say that the cuts and scars are nothing in comparison to the emotional pain that drove the person to make them.

Basically, what I’m saying is to have compassion. Rather than blaming someone who self-harms and holding them in contempt, try to offer some support. They need it more than you know. And in some cases, there’s more going on than just life events. Sometimes it’s linked to a serious mental illness. I fall into the “serious mental illness” category, but I don’t consider that to give me any more of an excuse for the behavior than people who don’t have that. Self-harm is a swamp that people get stuck in for all sorts of reasons. It doesn’t much matter what road took you there. Once you’re there, you’re there. It’s the same hell for everyone.

Part of what makes me take offense to the suggestion that self-harm is attention-seeking is that in many cases that accusation couldn’t possibly be farther from the truth. When I was dealing with this problem, the very suggestion that it might be an attention-seeking behavior was enough to make me want to break something with helpless anger. I’ll elaborate on why.

When I started experiencing urges I was completely mortified. I absolutely loathed myself, and the thought of anyone finding out was terrifying. I didn’t want attention. I wanted it to go away, and I didn’t know how to make that happen. I did everything in my power to cover up the fact that it was going on. And yet, the fact that everyone was unaware of my situation just multiplied the suffering. I felt like I was drowning right in front of everyone without them having the slightest idea. Granted, my parents weren’t oblivious. In fact, my father repeatedly pulled me aside to ask if I was okay. He could sense something was more wrong than I was letting on. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth.

So I lied.

“I’m fine.”

Those two words left me sick to my stomach with guilt every time I said them. But I kept saying them. I said them so often, with a fake smile, desperately trying to convince myself I wasn’t lying (and not really succeeding), that I reached a point where they were out of my lips before I even had a chance to think about it. It became a knee-jerk reaction.

pexels-photo-1435441Looking back now, I can see it wasn’t just a fear of alienating them that kept me silent. It was a pride problem. I was accustomed to being looked upon as the well-adjusted overachiever who had her life in order and was excelling. Admitting to having a mental illness that was actually disabling me— let alone that I was having self-harm issues —would shatter that persona. I told myself I was afraid of letting the people down whom I respected and looked up to— my parents, my teachers, etc. To some degree, that was true. But deep down, what I was really afraid of was not letting those people down, but rather,  being looked-down upon by them. I didn’t want to appear weak and incapable. I wanted to impress them and live up to the expectations I thought they had of me.

So I kept right on lying and pretending to myself that I wasn’t.

Things kept getting worse. The only thing that kept me from resorting to cutting was my inability to hide it from my parents. There was simply no way I could do that without them eventually finding out— which would, of course, destroy that false persona I was trying to maintain. But there were other ways of going about self-injury that didn’t leave permanent marks. Each time I gave in, I recognized that I was on a very slippery slope. I was well aware that self-harm is addictive, and I knew the more I let my self-control erode, the closer I was getting to the cliff of suicide.

To clarify a misconception, people who cut aren’t trying to kill themselves. But if you’re suffering enough to resort to self-harm, and it becomes an addiction that you are struggling to hide, suicide can seem like your only way out. I was afraid that if I gave in and started cutting, my self-control would erode so much that I would end up impulsively taking my own life during a future mixed episode.

As it would turn out, that was a very legitimate fear, and if I’d continued down that road, there’s a good chance that I would have done exactly that in one of my future episodes. But I’ll save that story for my post on suicide.

Things finally reached a climax in mid-October. I knew I had reached a critical point. If something didn’t change, I was going to give in and start cutting, regardless of the consequences. I didn’t have the strength to keep fighting it. I remember kneeling on the floor of my room, praying desperately to God for help, demanding to know why he wasn’t intervening and making this stop.

Then, very clearly, I received my answer. It was like Jesus rested a hand on my shoulder and showed me the crossroads I was standing at. The thought was as clear as a bell in my mind:lds-clipart-jesus-with-lamb-10

He couldn’t help me until I stopped lying.

Regardless of the path I chose to take, He would be right by my side the entire way, but if I went down the path of cutting, it would be a very long, dark climb to get back out of the pit that it would plunge me into. The only way of escaping that fate was to go down the other road: I had to tell my parents what was going on. I couldn’t get around it anymore. Denial was the only thing that had kept me from completely breaking down under the fear and self-loathing that I’d been struggling with.

From that point on, the denial began to dissolve. I had spent weeks trying to convince myself that things weren’t really as bad as they were, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. I couldn’t keep pretending. I knew what I had to do. Now I just had to force myself to do it.

It took me a week to work up the nerve. I tried very tentatively to take conversations with my parents in that direction on a few occasions. But it was a very unusual topic for my family. My parents, through no fault of their own, were decidedly obtuse about the fact that I was trying to bring up something important. I ended up chickening out every time. But the guilt of not telling them was becoming more and more of a burden. Unlike many kids my age, I had a really good relationship with my parents. I didn’t hide things from them. At least, not serious things. It eventually reached the point where just being in their lovingly oblivious presence was a torture. It felt like they were constantly heaping burning coals on my head.

Finally, at Mass on Sunday, I knew I had to take the plunge. I waited till my parents and I were out in the car, and then I blurted it out: there was something I needed to tell them, and they weren’t going to like it. But then I clammed up. I refused to explain things to them until we got home. I had known that if I’d waited until then before speaking up, I would have chickened out again. But I couldn’t bring myself to start explaining things just yet. Not from the back seat of a vehicle. The very fact that I had finally said something, that I had taken the plunge, left me giddy with relief, but I was also shaking and sick to my stomach with nerves.  My parents were distraught. I’d never behaved in this way before. I still remember my dad demanding in an aggravated, panicky tone: are you pregnant? The absurdity of the question (I’d never even had a boyfriend) gave me a burst of borderline-hysterical laughter. I assured him it was nothing of the sort, and then I kept silent.

I think that was probably the longest 30 minute drive of their lives. It was much too quick for my liking. When we arrived home, we all sat down in the living room, and I finally told them what was going on. I had to explain it between sobs because the moment I opened my mouth to speak I began to cry and I couldn’t stop. Even at that point, I couldn’t bring myself to admit the total truth— that I’d actually given-in to the urges on some occasions. I was convinced that just by admitting to having the urges in the first place they would be utterly horrified, alienated, and disappointed in me. Ironically, however, I had scared them so much by refusing to tell them on the drive that they were actually relieved to hear it was “just that.” They didn’t understand it, but they didn’t blame me for it, and my mother promptly called up my psychiatrist and got me put on antidepressants— something that hadn’t even occurred to me as a possibility.

Thanks to the fact that I was bipolar, the antidepressants began taking effect by the next day. They usually have an impressive impact on people with bipolar disorder. The downside is that they usually have an impressive impact on people with bipolar disorder.

Yes, you did read that correctly.

What I mean is that while they can be initially very effective in lifting you out of depression, they are also very effective in shooting you back up into mania. I discovered this when my dose was doubled in a subsequent depression that was more stubborn to treat. But that’s a story for another day.

The moral of this story is that if I hadn’t lied for so long, I would have been put on antidepressants sooner and saved myself a lot of grief. They certainly weren’t a permanent cure, and later on I had to engage in a slow process of weening off them, along with the rest of my medications (you can read up on that story here), but they did give me a badly needed relief and they plucked me away from the edge of the cliff I was teetering at.  Next time I was thrust towards that particular cliff, I had a much better understanding of what I was dealing with and was able to control myself better. And I was thrust towards it. Many times. I still am on occasion— usually only when an episode pops up, but sometimes even when I’m stable. I’ve developed some coping mechanisms, which I’ll detail in Part 3.  More importantly, though, I’ve developed a stronger self-discipline.

The next thing I want to talk about is what the bible has to say— or more specifically, what St. Paul has to say about this subject. Yes, some of it is guilt-inducing for those of us that have struggled with this, but believe it or not, some of it is comforting, as well as thought provoking. Check it out here.

Take care, and God bless!

Kasani

 

Under the Knife by Icon For Hire

This is the song I’m too scared to write
But some of you may need it tonight
Oh there you were, heart made of glass
Fragile little thing, shattered too fast
Had to pick the pieces up, up, up
And that’s why you first got cut, cut, cut
The devil drew you in, you didn’t let it show
Didn’t want the others to ever have to know
That you were getting hooked on up, up, up
And all you had to do was cut, cut, cut
You carved a special place for your pain
So it came back to hurt you every night
You closed your eyes and wished it all away
Until you disappeared under the knife
You knew the deal, no one gives a damn
Just another needy kid, sob story in hand
Keep your secrets covered up, up, up
We don’t need another cut, cut, cut
But you couldn’t hide, a heart made of glass
You pull yourself together with all the strength you had
You were finally fed up, up, up
Finally had to scream enough-nough-nough
You carved a special place for your pain
So it came back to hurt you every night
You closed your eyes and wished it all away
Until you disappeared under the knife
Listen, I know it’s simplified from the other side
It’s easy to gloss over all the messy reasons why
And it’s easy to forget where you’ve been
I guess that’s what the scars are for, huh
When we were 15 we wouldn’t dare let that shit be seen
But now it seems mutilations gone mainstream
I see you at my shows, scarred up from head to toe
Like there’s no point even trying not to let it show
Cause we all know “Emo kids like to hurt themselves”
Too many feelings, and not enough self control
And I mean does this mess with any of the rest of ya
It’s an epidemic yeah we’re cool with it don’t question it
But it bothers me our scars are currency by which we’re measured
Like let the records show who let it slip and who held it together
Cutters and burners and honorable mentions
Posers who cut themselves up for the attention
I don’t care your intentions I just want you to know
My self hatred never took me where I wanted to go
At the end of the day, you know I still had to face
But I can pick up the pain, but I can’t cut it away
And you know what else I can’t do, is give you 10 good reasons not to
I’ve wracked my brain with clever sayings of all the things you ought to do
But you know I think if there was something I could say
They would’ve thrown it on a brochure and sent you on your way
So I’ll keep doing what I always do
Drag my heart to the piano and make it sing for you
I’ll keep doing what I always do
Drag my heart to the piano and let it sing for you
Drag my heart to the piano and let it sing for you

The Advantage of Suffering – Part 1: Offering it Up

“Brothers and sisters, I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what was lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church.” ~ Colossians 1:24

Suffering is an unfortunate fact of life, and people with mental illnesses experience their fair share of it. The suffering is compounded for those with comorbidity (when a person has two or more illnesses occurring at the same time. e.g. Fibromyalgia often occurs in patients with mood disorders) or when personal tragedy strikes. There are no easy answers to the problem of suffering, although a number of excellent books have been written on the subject (Making Sense out of Suffering by Peter Kreeft and The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis are two examples). There’s nothing I can tell you that hasn’t been said more eloquently and with better insight by someone else, but I’m hoping to offer you a way of looking at your suffering that allows you to make use of it to achieve something positive.

pexels-photo-326559First off, allow me to chuck a few assumptions out the window. I’m not going to elaborate on the idea that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” My friend and I have a joke that according to that rule we should both be able to bench-press semitrailers by now. It has some credence. Pain changes you, often for the better. But not always. Then there’s the saying that “pain is just weakness leaving the body.” To be blunt, I think that’s one of the stupidest sayings in existence and anyone who tosses it at me receives a withering glare. Pain creates weakness, not the other way around. I’m not talking about athletes and soldiers who have to physically push themselves to the breaking point to achieve a goal. That kind of pain does make you stronger, in a very literal sense. You become physically tougher, with better endurance and better abilities.

Mental illness doesn’t do that.

Depression leaves you curled in a ball of self-loathing pain on the floor, unable to even decide which clothes to wear and lacking the energy to put them on anyway. Hypomania takes your thoughts, shakes them up like a bottle of pop and makes it impossible to remain seated long enough to read one page of a textbook (which wouldn’t have worked anyway thanks to your racing thoughts), and if it progresses to full-blown mania you might get to spend some time in a psych ward. Anxiety gives you panic attacks that leave you paralyzed, unable to breathe, unable to act, so terrified and miserable that you’re afraid you’re dying. ADHD does the same thing to your thoughts as hypomania, except it’s 24/7, 365 days a year, and people blame you and make fun of you for struggling with a disorder that lots of them don’t even think is real. People with schizophrenipexels-photo-551588a suffer through hallucinations and delusions that very few people can even begin to comprehend. People with borderline personality disorder struggle with the lonely misery of alienating the people they love because of their behavior, which the disorder makes very difficult to control.

The list goes on and on, and outside of a Christian context, it can be difficult to find positive things within that mire of unpleasantness. There are some: You might develop coping mechanisms that give you strength. You might get used to your disorder and become more resilient to its effects. You might become more compassionate towards the suffering of others. Or not. Ultimately, mental illness makes life a lot harder than it would be otherwise, and to what purpose? How can there be an advantage to suffering? How can you possibly turn abject misery into something good? Unless you’re coming at it from a Christian perspective, I don’t think you can.

Now, when it comes to Christianity and suffering, one of the first objections to God that atheists and agnostics toss out is that very thing: why would an all-powerful, all-good and loving God allow suffering in the first place? I don’t claim to have the answer to that, but this post  by Tianna Williams does a lovely job of tackling the subject. For now, I want to offer some concrete suggestions to believers about how suffering can be put to good use. These will not take away your suffering. They will simply give it a purpose, and that can make it easier to bear.

There are two concepts in particular I want to discuss. One of them is Purgatory, and I’ll be attempting to tackle that in Part 2 of this post. As far as I know, Protestants don’t believe in it, so if you’re Protestant then that might not be of much use to you. But there’s a lot of confusion and misunderstanding revolving around the concept of Purgatory and I might be able to clear some of that up for you, so I encourage you to check it out anyway. The other concept can apply to Christians of any denomination, without question, although I’m not sure if it’s something that is discussed much outside of the Catholic church. I’ll tackle that concept first.

keep-calm-and-offer-it-up-7If you’re Catholic, you’ve probably heard of the idea of “offering up” your suffering to God for a purpose. Or you might not have. A few years ago, I had heard about it, but for a long time I had no understanding of its value. I wasn’t close enough to God to feel inclined to try it, especially when I was in the midst of intense suffering. It was an airy-fairy sort of subject that sounded to me like a half-hearted consolation prize handed out by people who didn’t know what else to say to someone in pain. I’ve since revised that opinion. Part of my confusion came from not knowing how to offer my suffering up. It wasn’t as if I could grab it off a shelf and give it to God. I also couldn’t understand how offering God my suffering could have any value. Suffering was forced on me against my will. It wasn’t as if I was making any special effort to do something for God by experiencing it. And then there was the question “if I offer my suffering up, does that mean I can’t ask God to take it away?”

All of this conspired to keep me from exploring the subject. I also, deep down, still resented God a little for having to deal with the suffering in the first place. If you resent God for your suffering then it’s pretty hard to make any use of it at all. It took me a long time to accept the grace that allowed me to pull that deeply rooted weed out of my heart. But once it was gone, I received a whole new dimension to my world-view. Christ’s suffering and death redeemed the entire world. He died once, for all. But that doesn’t make all of the suffering in the world that’s come since his death obsolete and useless. Suffering has merit.

“Dear in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his devoted” ~Psalm 116:15

Other versions of the bible read: “Precious in the eyes of God is the death of his saints.” It means the same thing. God values our suffering. He understands deeply just how much we hurt. It moved him to send his only begotten Son to earth to die for us on the cross. It gave our suffering a purpose. Because Jesus opened up the gates of heaven for us, we can join our suffering to his on the cross and do something with it. I didn’t understand this idea at first. How can I join my suffering to Christ on the cross? For some reason the idea didn’t ‘click’ with me. Then I was given another way of looking at it: because Christ used his suffering and death to pay the price for our sins, we can now go to God with our suffering and say “you used your Son’s suffering to redeem me and the world. Please use my suffering too.”

God can make use of suffering. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know. But he does. When you’re praying for something, maybe for a loved one, or for the resolution of a problem of some sort, you can take whatever suffering comes your way and embrace it for the sake of that intention. You essentially put your money where your mouth is: “God, instead of resenting this bout of depression, I accept it willingly for the sake of my loved one who has turned away from you. Please make use of it to guide her home.” Now, this doesn’t mean you can’t pray for God to take the suffering away. You can. But by accepting it with patience for as long as you’re forced to endure it (or at least making an effort to do so; it isn’t easy) you gain great merit for yourself and for the intention you’re offering it up for. (You can also offer it up as a penance or mortification, but I’ll discuss that in a later post.)

This is one of those things that’s easier said then done. In theory, it’s an exciting possibility. God used his Son’s suffering to redeem me, so he must be able to use my suffering to accomplish something too! In the same breath, we have to keep in mind that we aren’t Jesus. He was a perfect, innocent human being without blemish (not to mention, he was also God). He didn’t deserve any of the suffering he endured on this earth, but he embraced it anyway for our sake. No amount of suffering on our part will ever come close to being worth that kind of merit. Despite being redeemed by his death, we are still sinful creatures. But our suffering can still have great worth when we attempt to imitate Christ by picking up our cross and following him.

This idea also plays into my discussion of Purgatory in Part 2 of this post.

Until then, take care and God bless!

Kasani

 

 

 

Sit Down, Buckle up, and Hang on Tight: Riding the Bipolar Roller Coaster

What is bipolar disorder?

To quote Wikipedia:

“Individuals with bipolar disorder experience episodes of a frenzied state known as mania, typically alternating with episodes of depression.”

It’s a teeny-weeny bit more complicated than that (<— please note the sarcasm in this statement). I’m not going to launch into a full, in-depth explanation, because plenty of books have already been written on the subject. For an excellent, highly entertaining book check out Welcome to the Jungle by Hilary Smith. It’s the first book I read about bipolar disorder, and it’s by far the best. I guarantee you’ll get a laugh—something you won’t be getting from most other books on the subject.

For the purposes of this post, I’ll just walk you through the terminology I make use of on my blog:

mania_by_okbrightstar_d6fwmhl-fullviewManic episode – You’re bursting with energy. Sleep is impossible. You’re either euphorically happy, alarmingly irritable, or paranoid, or some combination of all three. Some people fly into rages (thankfully I’ve never had that problem). Your thoughts are speeding along at roughly a million miles per minute, which starts out exhilarating, but it gets old very quickly (just staying focused on one conversation is difficult, let alone trying to read something or plan your day). The speeding thoughts can enhance your creativity, but you have the attention span of a gnat, so you might start a dozen new projects in the course of a day, but you won’t ever finish them. Your judgement goes out the window. You do stupid things: driving recklessly, maxing out your credit cards on spending sprees, breaking up friendships, quitting your job. Hypersexuality is another symptom. Ordinarily you might be a very chaste, conservative wall-flower, but in the throws of mania you are liable to get into a lot of trouble if you’re in the wrong place with the wrong person (or people). You aren’t in your right mind, so you aren’t morally culpable, but when sanity returns you might end up facing some devastating consequences (this is something I’ve never had to deal with, thank God). If things progress far enough you can become psychotic. You have delusions of grandiosity that leave you convinced that you’re a celebrity, or that you’re Jesus (this is actually a very common delusion, even among non-religious people), or you’re on a mission to save the world, or you’re invincible, can control things with your mind, can fly, etc. Hallucinations are also a possibility. The symptoms of psycho-manic episodes are very similar in some ways to the symptoms of schizophrenia.

Hypomand6uhuht-d7e8ebca-0a65-4cc5-9640-179e1bc594b1-1ic episode – This is another way of saying “mild mania.” Take manic symptoms and turn them down a few notches. It still interferes with your life, but you’re able to function at least semi-normally. Sometimes hypomania can actually be a positive thing, since the extra energy and creativity isn’t compromised by incapacitating racing-thoughts. It can also be quite enjoyable if euphoria happens to be a symptom.

Depressive episode – In other words: depression. Anyone who has ever experienced it probably doesn’t need an explanation. Bipolar depression is very similar to major depressive disorder. Symptoms of depression include utter misery and despair (that’s not despair_by_okbrightstar_d6e8nup-fullviewan exaggeration), crying, lethargy, exhaustion, apathy, loss of interest in formerly enjoyable activities, inability to feel pleasure (anhedonia), morbid thoughts and suicidal ideation, excessive and irrational guilt, intense self loathing, insomnia, loss of appetite and weight loss, and withdrawal from friends and family. There are three potential differences in bipolar depression: firstly, antidepressants usually kick in immediately and have the potential to shoot you over the moon into mania, so you have to be very careful with them (best not to take them at all if you can help it), and they also make you rapid-cycle (see explanation below). Secondly, some people experience hypersomnia rather than insomnia. They are unable to get out of bed for days. This is not due to laziness, but rather absolute exhaustion (the intensity of it defies description) and apathy.  The third potential difference is an increase in appetite, rather than a loss, which can result in impressive weight gain (eating a whole tub of ice cream every day, for example, or sitting down and eating spoonfuls of sugar straight from the bag. It doesn’t help that a number of medications used to treat bipolar have weight gain as a side-effect). When someone experiences hypersomnia or increased appetite  it’s considered an “atypical depression.” I’ve never had either of those problems. My depressions are pretty typical. Unless they’re mixed episodes.

Mixed episode (also known as Dysphoric Mania or Agitated Depression) – You’re depressed and manic at the same time. I’m not joking. This happens rather frequently (in my experience, anyway). Take the emotional anguish of depression, along with its self-loathing, guilt and suicidal ideation, and mix it with the energy, impulsiveness and racingd5qx0m7-f368966b-a45b-418b-bb02-fc34075044d1 thoughts of mania, and you have a very dangerous cocktail. According to the stats, about 40% of people with bipolar disorder attempt suicide at least once in their lives, and roughly half of them are successful. In other words, 1 out of every 5 people with bipolar disorder end up killing themselves. Mixed episodes are the main reason for this. In straight depression, exhaustion and apathy make suicide less likely. Exhaustion and apathy are probably the only two depressive symptoms missing in a mixed episode. Energetic impulsiveness + thoughts of suicide = dangerous. In my experience, mixed episodes are also the time when self-harm urges hit you the hardest (if you’re someone who has that problem).

Rapid Cycling – In ordinary bipolar disorder, a person doesn’t get more than 4 episodes per year (that doesn’t sound like much, but one episode can last anywhere from a few days, to months). But it doesn’t always work that way. If you have more than 4 episodes over the course of a year, you are considered to be rapid-cycling. It’s a common problem in bipolar teens, and as mentioned above, antidepressants can play into it in a big way as well.

So there’s your bare bones overview of some of the terminology I make use of. I’ll try to explain any other stuff I bring up as it comes along in each post. But if you have any questions, please feel free to drop me a comment!

Take care, and God bless!

Kasani

 

 

My Story – Part 2: The Aftermath

After the ship of my old life had been shattered on the rocks of hospitalization, I was dragged aboard a new, unfamiliar vessel, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Fully coming to terms with my diagnosis would end up taking several years.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

While still in the hospital, after medications had grounded me once more in reality, my doctor tried to explain to me that in bipolar disorder, what goes up must come down. A depressive episode almost always follows on the heels of a manic one. But I was still hypomanic (the term for mild mania), and thus cheerful and optimistic and feeling great. I assured him that I was overall a very happy person and I was sure I’d be fine. And I wasn’t deluded in thinking this. I was going on experience. For most of my life I’d been a happy, well-adjusted person. Happy was my norm. I had no way of knowing just how radically that would change.

Not surprisingly, I did experience a depressive episode a couple weeks later. At the time, I thought it was the worst experience of my life, mainly because it contrasted so drastically with the euphoria of the preceding manic episode. But looking back, I can see it was pretty mild. It only lasted a little under two weeks, and I didn’t end up needing antidepressants. After that episode, God granted me 7 months of almost total stability. This allowed me to get back on my feet and start trying to live my old life again, but it did nothing to prepare me for the reality of my disorder.

d6uhuht-d7e8ebca-0a65-4cc5-9640-179e1bc594b1By the time August rolled around, I was completely adjusted to my disorder (so I thought) and not the least bit embarrassed or uncomfortable talking about it. It was a bit like a cool new label that put me in a separate category from most people– like a weird sort of bragging right (boy, did that ever change over the next several months…). My best friend, who had been diagnosed with ADHD within the same month that I was diagnosed with Bipolar (funny how these things work out), was amazed by my nonchalant attitude towards my disorder. She had been having a difficult time coming to grips with her own diagnosis without it completely destroying her self-esteem.

The difference between her and me was that she had been struggling with the effects of her illness every day of her life without fully understanding it, and now she was still having to deal with it every day but with the added bonus of having a label slapped onto her that essentially declared her “defective” because of it. There was no way to deny the reality of it. It was part of her life 24/7. The fact that she was a straight-A student, whom her friend’s thought the world of, did nothing to ease the initial sting of the diagnosis. She did eventually come to grips with it, and even met and befriended some fellow sufferers of the disorder, but adjusting to the diagnosis of a mental illness takes time.

For me, the fact that I had a mental illness hadn’t yet sunk in. While the events surrounding my hospitalization had been very dramatic, the disorder seemed to have vanished into thin air after a month had gone by. Once I stabilized, it was as if it had never happened. The only changes in my life were that I was now on medication and I had to monitor my sleep and stress levels to avoid triggering another episode. Other than that I felt normal. It wasn’t compromising my ability to function like a normal person. I didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about it.

In the fall, that changed.

Part-way through September, 2012, I crashed into a depressive episode. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the start of what would turn into nearly two years of rapid-cycling. After September, I went on to have 12 more episodes over the course of the next year, and 6 the year after that. The first year of that very nearly killed me. From December 2012 to May 2013, I went straight from depressive episode, to hypomanic episode, to depressive episode, to hypomanic episode, with only a day or two of stability here and there. The depressive episodes typically dragged on for close to a month, while the hypomanic episodes usually lasted a couple weeks. If I hadn’t had an antipsychotic medication (Zyprexa) on hand as a PRN, the hypomanic episodes would almost certainly have progressed into full-blown manic ones, and I likely would have had to be hospitalized again. Thankfully that didn’t happen. But most of the hypomanic episodes were dysphoric. In other words, they were mixed episodes. So to say that they didn’t lead to euphoric happiness would be a very impressive understatement. I was miserable.

It was around this time that I began to feel very insecure about my disorder. When I was Disabledstable,  I had successfully taken several university correspondence courses and passed with flying colors. In 2013, I failed a university course because I was hypomanic for my midterm and depressed for my final. I began to think I would never be able to attend an actual university. If I couldn’t handle just one correspondence course, how could I possibly handle a full-time course-load on a real campus?

I withdrew from all my friends except my previously mentioned best friend (most of my friends at that time were not a very positive influence anyway). I muddled along putting one foot in front of the other, and stumbling into a number of pitfalls along the way. I came to have a very intimate understanding of why people self-harm, and thoughts of suicide were rarely far from my mind. As far as I can remember, my faith life did not deteriorate, but it certainly didn’t improve either. To be honest, I’ve forgotten large chunks of that period, especially some of the depressive episodes, and what I do remember is foggy at best. The only reason I know most of what took place in my head in the years of 2012 and 2013 is that I kept a journal. It was one of the coping mechanisms I latched on to.

The year 2014 marked the beginning of my recovery. It was a much stabler year, thanks to changes in my medication. The first mood stabilizer I was put on when I was diagnosed was Lithium. It didn’t work, and over time it began to give me alarming muscle weakness as a side-effect. Any muscle strain at all caused me to shake like a leaf. I looked like a caffeine addict whenever I so much as raised a tall glass of water to my lips, and walking up a single flight of steps left me gasping for air and utterly exhausted.

Thankfully those symptoms went away when I was taken off the drug. The next mood pills  picstabilizer I was put on was Lamictal. My doctor slowly increased the dose until I stopped popping regularly into hypomania, the process of which involved some strange side-effects until I adjusted to it (disorientation, lightheadedness, panic attacks). I also wound up on a constant dose of Wellbutrin (an antidepressant), which my doctor would increase whenever I got depressed, and would decrease again as soon as the increase popped me up into hypomania (which it always did). I also kept the previously mentioned antipsychotic Zyprexa on hand to take whenever hypomanic symptoms appeared. This combination seemed to work, and I was much more stable over the course of 2014 and 2015. However, at the end of 2015, my mother found out some very disturbing things about the medications I was on and after much research and debate, I decided to start weening off all my medications in 2016. You can read about that story here. (As that series details, I am now living completely med-free with the help of some wonderful supplements, and doing far better than when I was on psychiatric medications.)

December 23rd, 2015 marked the end of the fourth year since my diagnosis. A lot happened in those 4 years that I’m not going to try and summarize here. Some of it appears my other posts if it’s relevant to the issue I’m discussing. To wrap up, I am finally adjusted to my disorder. I’m back to living a relatively normal life. I’m happy again. Whether that will last or not is in God’s hands, and I’m content to leave it there.

One of the most important lessons my disorder has taught me is that we have to live in the now. The future is impossible to predict. Life is much less stressful when we let go of the illusion that we’re in control and instead trust God to take over the navigation of our vessel. He knows where we’re supposed to be heading, and he will give us all the grace and support we need in order to get there. We just have to be willing to accept it.

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Take care, and God bless.

Kasani