The week following this ordeal was not a pleasant one. My body was still exhausted, though functional. The dizziness of detoxing my meds was slow to leave me, as was the loopiness. Darkness still clouded my mind from time to time, and every now and then tears won their freedom. Yet, everyday was a little better. It seemed that Legion had retreated, at least for the time being.
Some days were better than others. One day at work I had messaged Josh in the afternoon saying I'd felt too loopy to drive home. He had borrowed my truck, and I don't like driving his car on a good day. I was worried that driving a vehicle I was somewhat unfamiliar with feeling the way that I was would have less than pretty results. But God is kind, and a block opened up in my schedule during which I could nap. The rest was just enough to get me home safely.
On my days off, youtube was my best friend, even though I wasn't watching. I was listening. Certain songs played in my head over and over during the previous weekend, and, of course, there was a reason. I connect with Christ most completely via music ~ it is also my strongest weapon against the enemy. You Won't Relent by Jesus Culture, Your Great Name by Natalie Grant, How He Loves Us by Kim Walker, and others were vital in keeping my sanity. What reciting the Lord's Prayer had done for my earlier battle, focusing on the lyrics of these songs did for my recovery ~ fought the darkness within. "Now the Spirit of the LORD had departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the LORD tormented him...Whenever the spirit from God came on Saul, David would take up his lyre and play. Then relief would come to Saul; he would feel better, and the evil spirit would leave him." 1Sam 16:14, 23
At this writing it is almost 2 weeks since the beginning of this battle, and though I am still coping with physical symptoms of cold-turkey quitting ~ some days are still better than others ~ my heart and spirit have finally found a peaceful safe-harbor
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
An Ol' Time Prayer Meetin'
Monday. I never thought I'd be so happy to see the end of a weekend. Maybe, I'd reasoned, if I could get back to work in my Christian office surrounded by my Christian co-workers, my body would heal and my mind would settle. I girl can hope, right? Alas, I knew in my soul it was not meant to be, and I messaged a friend from church asking for help. Without giving her the story ~ she had seen me on Saturday night and knew I was off my nut ~ I told her that I felt the need for some serious group prayer and would she be willing to help me rally some troops. Wasting the no time, the bugle sounded and the time was set for that evening.
When I walked into our break room at work, Bobbie was making coffee. She could see plain as day that I was not well, though she assumed that it was physical illness ~ I am known for allergy and sinus issues. When Bobbie asked what was wrong, I knew she was one of the few people to which I could honestly answer the question. I gave her the Cliff's Notes version of my weekend and admitted that I was still feeling pretty shredded and doubted my ability to complete my shift. Bobbie always takes such good care of me. She sent out the APB to our substitute therapists and got my afternoon covered. I'm convinced that woman is an angel in human clothing.
Leaving work for the day, my plan was to get home and rest for a while and then maybe putter around getting things done that had been neglected over the weekend. I had lunch and lay down in bed to read and mellow ~ and woke up 3 hours later when Josh got home, feeling no better rested. Sleeping until the end of time would not have been enough rest to shake the darkness out of my soul.
Josh and I headed out to meet a few people at the church for my requested group prayer. Of course, the one person I had hoped wouldn't be there was. And his was the only other car in the lot when I pulled in. Lovely. A few minutes later, however, a few other kind souls arrived and the telling of my story began. I ended up in a chair surrounded by loving spirits, the warmth of their hands resting on me as they prayed. One person brought up the trial of Job, how God had allowed Satan to destroy his life though Job was not deserving. I felt comfort knowing that these folks where with me in this battle, and yet I felt no release
And I have to confess that in my heart of hearts I believe that release was hindered in part because of the one person I hoped wouldn't be there. I believe he was there for the show it, for the sake of appearances, as opposed to truly getting dirty routing the evil at hand. It interested me that though he started off with a hand on my shoulder, as the intensity of the situation escalated he backed off while others drew in. By the wind-down, he was no where near me ~ a good several feet away. Hmm. Did the Spirit lead him to step away to pray more privately? Or did the situation make him so uncomfortable that he had to physically remove himself from it? Hmm...My guess would be the latter.
When I walked into our break room at work, Bobbie was making coffee. She could see plain as day that I was not well, though she assumed that it was physical illness ~ I am known for allergy and sinus issues. When Bobbie asked what was wrong, I knew she was one of the few people to which I could honestly answer the question. I gave her the Cliff's Notes version of my weekend and admitted that I was still feeling pretty shredded and doubted my ability to complete my shift. Bobbie always takes such good care of me. She sent out the APB to our substitute therapists and got my afternoon covered. I'm convinced that woman is an angel in human clothing.
Leaving work for the day, my plan was to get home and rest for a while and then maybe putter around getting things done that had been neglected over the weekend. I had lunch and lay down in bed to read and mellow ~ and woke up 3 hours later when Josh got home, feeling no better rested. Sleeping until the end of time would not have been enough rest to shake the darkness out of my soul.
Josh and I headed out to meet a few people at the church for my requested group prayer. Of course, the one person I had hoped wouldn't be there was. And his was the only other car in the lot when I pulled in. Lovely. A few minutes later, however, a few other kind souls arrived and the telling of my story began. I ended up in a chair surrounded by loving spirits, the warmth of their hands resting on me as they prayed. One person brought up the trial of Job, how God had allowed Satan to destroy his life though Job was not deserving. I felt comfort knowing that these folks where with me in this battle, and yet I felt no release
And I have to confess that in my heart of hearts I believe that release was hindered in part because of the one person I hoped wouldn't be there. I believe he was there for the show it, for the sake of appearances, as opposed to truly getting dirty routing the evil at hand. It interested me that though he started off with a hand on my shoulder, as the intensity of the situation escalated he backed off while others drew in. By the wind-down, he was no where near me ~ a good several feet away. Hmm. Did the Spirit lead him to step away to pray more privately? Or did the situation make him so uncomfortable that he had to physically remove himself from it? Hmm...My guess would be the latter.
Monday, June 13, 2011
"My Name is Legion"
Then Jesus asked him, “What is your name?”
“My name is Legion,” he replied, “for we are many.” Mark 5:9
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I was more drained than before ~ and yet less burdened. I knew beyond doubt that I was under spiritual attack and that this was by no means over. Josh asked if I felt better. Well, I'd said, in order to answer that question, I'd have to make a confession. I finally told Josh what I had done regarding my meds and my experience in the bath. I felt improved, to be sure, but by no means well.
I went and lay on the couch beside Josh, and though I wanted to keep talking through what I was experiencing, he told me to be still (something I don't do well, hence the tattoo reminder.) As we lay there on the couch in the rec room Josh started praying over me. He has done this before when I have had particularly disturbing nightmares, and I'd felt a definite release, like a weight lifting off of my body. This experience was slightly different. There are no words to describe what was going on in and around me. I could feel the conflict within, and though my body felt again like a lead weight, I could feel Josh quivering, his hands shaking as they scanned my body. I could hear faint mutterings and knew he was praying in tongues ~ only the 2nd time I'd ever heard him do this. The pattern resumed ~ the darkness welling up in me and the light crashing in. Over and over again. At last, there was a peace. The muscles in my neck went limp and my head rolled, my body sinking into the cushions of the couch. I have no idea how long Josh prayed over me, but I do know that the effort drained him to the point of feeling sick. When I voiced feeling beaten down, Josh reminded me that my body had just been a battlefield.
In hindsight, I wondered just how many attackers surrounded me. It was as if each onset of darkness was its own entity, and the light of the Lord had to individually conquer every one. I was reminded of the New Test story of the man who lived among the tombs of the Gerasenes, raving mad, so strong that he could not be bound, and cutting his body with stones. When Jesus arrived, the demons inside of the man begged Christ not to torment them. Jesus asked the demons' name and they replied, "My name is Legion, for we are many."
Could I have had my own Legion? Josh reminded me that as a believer the Spirit would not allow me to be possessed. OK. Is Legion's only purpose possession? Is it possible for Legion to attack and torment with out possessing? I think so, since I continue this battle, every day defeating another "Legion".
“My name is Legion,” he replied, “for we are many.” Mark 5:9
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I was more drained than before ~ and yet less burdened. I knew beyond doubt that I was under spiritual attack and that this was by no means over. Josh asked if I felt better. Well, I'd said, in order to answer that question, I'd have to make a confession. I finally told Josh what I had done regarding my meds and my experience in the bath. I felt improved, to be sure, but by no means well.
I went and lay on the couch beside Josh, and though I wanted to keep talking through what I was experiencing, he told me to be still (something I don't do well, hence the tattoo reminder.) As we lay there on the couch in the rec room Josh started praying over me. He has done this before when I have had particularly disturbing nightmares, and I'd felt a definite release, like a weight lifting off of my body. This experience was slightly different. There are no words to describe what was going on in and around me. I could feel the conflict within, and though my body felt again like a lead weight, I could feel Josh quivering, his hands shaking as they scanned my body. I could hear faint mutterings and knew he was praying in tongues ~ only the 2nd time I'd ever heard him do this. The pattern resumed ~ the darkness welling up in me and the light crashing in. Over and over again. At last, there was a peace. The muscles in my neck went limp and my head rolled, my body sinking into the cushions of the couch. I have no idea how long Josh prayed over me, but I do know that the effort drained him to the point of feeling sick. When I voiced feeling beaten down, Josh reminded me that my body had just been a battlefield.
In hindsight, I wondered just how many attackers surrounded me. It was as if each onset of darkness was its own entity, and the light of the Lord had to individually conquer every one. I was reminded of the New Test story of the man who lived among the tombs of the Gerasenes, raving mad, so strong that he could not be bound, and cutting his body with stones. When Jesus arrived, the demons inside of the man begged Christ not to torment them. Jesus asked the demons' name and they replied, "My name is Legion, for we are many."
Could I have had my own Legion? Josh reminded me that as a believer the Spirit would not allow me to be possessed. OK. Is Legion's only purpose possession? Is it possible for Legion to attack and torment with out possessing? I think so, since I continue this battle, every day defeating another "Legion".
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Incapacitated
Sunday morning arrived much earlier than anticipated, and brought with it liquid lead, which it fed to me intravenously. I felt as if my body was no longer attached to my mind ~ heavy, burdensome, exhausting to move. I was dizzy to the point of nausea when I stood and God forbid I make a quick movement. Had I been drinking the night before I would have sworn I had the worst hang-over known to man. It was exhausting to get dressed and ready for church, and I was so loopy that I was afraid to drive. I collapsed into the car and fought hard to prevent succumbing to the darkness in and around me.
Once at the church, I collapsed into a pew and literally wanted to die. My body felt as if it were not my own ~ disconnected, not responsive to what my mind willed for my body to do. Ironically, the sermon topic was exhaustion over doing good. I can't tell you much more about it because I couldn't listen. Whatever had a hold of me refused to allow me to pay attention, and I fought the urge to break down and sob. It took everything in me to keep from making a tearful spectacle of myself. After service, more than one concerned soul asked if I was OK. I lied, of course, claiming that I was just overly tired from a particularly long week.
The truth of the matter, I would come to discover, ran far deeper than detoxing medication. Our family had been invited to an all day party at a friend's house Sunday afternoon. I told Josh to take the boyz over and I would meet them there after I'd slept for a while. Two hours later, just as I was getting the strength to swing my legs out of the bed, my cell phone rang. Josh was wondering if I was going to make it over at all. I did make it ~ and felt like a salty, anti-social 5th wheel. It wasn't that I didn't want to join in and have a good time, I literally didn't have the ability to do so. I sat, half conscious and half aware of what was going on around me, feeling like quite the pill for almost 2 hours before bowing out and making my way home. Our friend tagged me in a facebook pic ~ not one of my better photos. When I commented that it was obvious that I didn't feel well, another friend chimed in to state that it was obvious to her because I wasn't smiling, and I was always smiling.
Once home, I collapsed on the couch for another couple of hours. I tried to be productive as I lay there like a bump on a log by reading, but my eyes refused to focus. I thought that I needed to get off the couch and get some house work done, but I literally couldn't move ~ my body forbade it. As I sat there, wallowing in my pity-party, I realized that what I was experiencing went beyond detox. I could hear laughter in my head and see the accompanying darkness. I was under spiritual attack, and the devil was enjoying every minute of torturing me.
A hot bath sounded like a good place to retreat. I could close the door and run the fan so the Boyz wouldn't freak out at seeing Mommy fall apart. I lay there, debating whether to slip under the water, fighting the tears that were welling in me. And as the tears fought for their right to be expressed, my mind's eye saw blackness, darkness, evil ~ all consuming and overpowering. The light may have been on in the room, but I never would have known. Though I wasn't frightened, I was a little freaked, and the only remedy that came to mind was prayer. As I tried to pray, the blackness interfered with my focus (or lack thereof on a good day) and I couldn't get very far. So I started to recite the Lord's prayer. I knew it by heart and could force my way through it facing every distraction under the sun if necessary. As I lay there engulfed in hot water, my body twisted into a position that was less than comfortable and certainly not of my choosing, reciting the Lord's prayer, my mind's eye could see light again ~ a thin band on the horizon at first. And then suddenly encompassing my entire field of mental vision, crushing the darkness, forcing it down. And my physical being went with the darkness, sinking into the water, feeling at once like lead and completely weightless. As I acknowledged my limp, non-responsive being, I was convinced that this is what mortal death must feel like ~ conscious recognition of one's lifeless being. No words can adequately describe the feeling.
My lifeless body lay in the water for an indeterminable amount of time, then the evil returned. The fighting back tears and extreme darkness rushed back into my being with renewed vigor. Once again, all I could do was recite the Lord's prayer. And again the light came crashing into me, knocking me down, and the evil with me. I can't begin to count number of times I went through this battle in my bathtub, but each confrontation left me weary, battered, and shredded.
Once at the church, I collapsed into a pew and literally wanted to die. My body felt as if it were not my own ~ disconnected, not responsive to what my mind willed for my body to do. Ironically, the sermon topic was exhaustion over doing good. I can't tell you much more about it because I couldn't listen. Whatever had a hold of me refused to allow me to pay attention, and I fought the urge to break down and sob. It took everything in me to keep from making a tearful spectacle of myself. After service, more than one concerned soul asked if I was OK. I lied, of course, claiming that I was just overly tired from a particularly long week.
The truth of the matter, I would come to discover, ran far deeper than detoxing medication. Our family had been invited to an all day party at a friend's house Sunday afternoon. I told Josh to take the boyz over and I would meet them there after I'd slept for a while. Two hours later, just as I was getting the strength to swing my legs out of the bed, my cell phone rang. Josh was wondering if I was going to make it over at all. I did make it ~ and felt like a salty, anti-social 5th wheel. It wasn't that I didn't want to join in and have a good time, I literally didn't have the ability to do so. I sat, half conscious and half aware of what was going on around me, feeling like quite the pill for almost 2 hours before bowing out and making my way home. Our friend tagged me in a facebook pic ~ not one of my better photos. When I commented that it was obvious that I didn't feel well, another friend chimed in to state that it was obvious to her because I wasn't smiling, and I was always smiling.
Once home, I collapsed on the couch for another couple of hours. I tried to be productive as I lay there like a bump on a log by reading, but my eyes refused to focus. I thought that I needed to get off the couch and get some house work done, but I literally couldn't move ~ my body forbade it. As I sat there, wallowing in my pity-party, I realized that what I was experiencing went beyond detox. I could hear laughter in my head and see the accompanying darkness. I was under spiritual attack, and the devil was enjoying every minute of torturing me.
A hot bath sounded like a good place to retreat. I could close the door and run the fan so the Boyz wouldn't freak out at seeing Mommy fall apart. I lay there, debating whether to slip under the water, fighting the tears that were welling in me. And as the tears fought for their right to be expressed, my mind's eye saw blackness, darkness, evil ~ all consuming and overpowering. The light may have been on in the room, but I never would have known. Though I wasn't frightened, I was a little freaked, and the only remedy that came to mind was prayer. As I tried to pray, the blackness interfered with my focus (or lack thereof on a good day) and I couldn't get very far. So I started to recite the Lord's prayer. I knew it by heart and could force my way through it facing every distraction under the sun if necessary. As I lay there engulfed in hot water, my body twisted into a position that was less than comfortable and certainly not of my choosing, reciting the Lord's prayer, my mind's eye could see light again ~ a thin band on the horizon at first. And then suddenly encompassing my entire field of mental vision, crushing the darkness, forcing it down. And my physical being went with the darkness, sinking into the water, feeling at once like lead and completely weightless. As I acknowledged my limp, non-responsive being, I was convinced that this is what mortal death must feel like ~ conscious recognition of one's lifeless being. No words can adequately describe the feeling.
My lifeless body lay in the water for an indeterminable amount of time, then the evil returned. The fighting back tears and extreme darkness rushed back into my being with renewed vigor. Once again, all I could do was recite the Lord's prayer. And again the light came crashing into me, knocking me down, and the evil with me. I can't begin to count number of times I went through this battle in my bathtub, but each confrontation left me weary, battered, and shredded.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Cold Turkey with a Side of Withdrawal
Sooooooooooo...I stopped taking my antidepressants ~ cold turkey. This from a woman with a medical license and knows better. I know good and well that one should ween off of these meds over a period of time ~ and usually under a physician's observation ~ but my script ran out and I didn't have any refills left. I thought now or never.
From previous experience, when I had gone a week without medication due to lack of funds for the co-pay, I knew that I would be OK for about 6 days. Day 7 would usher in the first of wicked withdrawal symptoms ~ the "angry bitch" phase. The last time I neglected my medication and reached this phase, some very understanding (and possibly frightened) friends offered the money for my co-pay ~ most probably for their own safety and sanity sake. That evening, happy pills were happily coursing through my veins and order was restored.
As a somewhat educated, if intentionally defiant, healthcare professional, I knew that my body would need to rebalance once detoxed of medication. However, I was quite unprepared for the extent of what my body was about to put the rest of me through.
I had taken my last dose on a Friday. The work week proceeded as usual. Then Saturday hit. Thankfully, I was not scheduled to work that weekend or I might very well have unwittingly strangled a patient. As the day dragged on I became more irritable and easily agitated. By the time RAZE rolled around I was thoroughly fit to be tied and very unpleasant (understatement intended.) I knew what was happening to me, because I had been to this point before, but still had no control over my reactions, as if something had crawled inside of my body and taken over. In only one of many examples, I saw a certain car pull into the church lot and my first thought was, "You've got to be f*****g kidding me. There's no way I can be civil to that person right now." How's that for the beginning of my symptoms? As another family hung around with us after the service, the topic of discussion strayed to one the pisses me off on a good day. I remember the topic, and I remember participating in the conversation, but I have absolutely no recollection of what was said. In chatting with the same family a few days later I filled them in on what I had done regarding my meds and apologized if I had scared them during the conversation. They graciously claimed that I hadn't, that they just thought I had very strong, passionate opinions on the matter. Ya think?
Later, as my oldest son and I were walking through Wal-Mart, I suddenly felt very loopy ~ like my mind had suddenly disconnected from my body. I had to fight the urge to humiliate my son by leaning against him while we walked so that I wouldn't fall over. If the boy had a driver's license I would have handed him the keys. The "angry bitch" had played hard and was exhausted, and I was too shredded from the ordeal to worry about the uncharted territory of the following day.
From previous experience, when I had gone a week without medication due to lack of funds for the co-pay, I knew that I would be OK for about 6 days. Day 7 would usher in the first of wicked withdrawal symptoms ~ the "angry bitch" phase. The last time I neglected my medication and reached this phase, some very understanding (and possibly frightened) friends offered the money for my co-pay ~ most probably for their own safety and sanity sake. That evening, happy pills were happily coursing through my veins and order was restored.
As a somewhat educated, if intentionally defiant, healthcare professional, I knew that my body would need to rebalance once detoxed of medication. However, I was quite unprepared for the extent of what my body was about to put the rest of me through.
I had taken my last dose on a Friday. The work week proceeded as usual. Then Saturday hit. Thankfully, I was not scheduled to work that weekend or I might very well have unwittingly strangled a patient. As the day dragged on I became more irritable and easily agitated. By the time RAZE rolled around I was thoroughly fit to be tied and very unpleasant (understatement intended.) I knew what was happening to me, because I had been to this point before, but still had no control over my reactions, as if something had crawled inside of my body and taken over. In only one of many examples, I saw a certain car pull into the church lot and my first thought was, "You've got to be f*****g kidding me. There's no way I can be civil to that person right now." How's that for the beginning of my symptoms? As another family hung around with us after the service, the topic of discussion strayed to one the pisses me off on a good day. I remember the topic, and I remember participating in the conversation, but I have absolutely no recollection of what was said. In chatting with the same family a few days later I filled them in on what I had done regarding my meds and apologized if I had scared them during the conversation. They graciously claimed that I hadn't, that they just thought I had very strong, passionate opinions on the matter. Ya think?
Later, as my oldest son and I were walking through Wal-Mart, I suddenly felt very loopy ~ like my mind had suddenly disconnected from my body. I had to fight the urge to humiliate my son by leaning against him while we walked so that I wouldn't fall over. If the boy had a driver's license I would have handed him the keys. The "angry bitch" had played hard and was exhausted, and I was too shredded from the ordeal to worry about the uncharted territory of the following day.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Inspired!
Psalm 42:5 ~ Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise Him again--my Savior and my God!
According to my study Bible, the theme of this Psalm is "thirst for God. When you feel lonely or depressed, meditate on God's kindness and love." The study notes for this verse read: Depression is one of the most common emotional ailments. One antidote for depression is to meditate on the record of God's goodness to His people. This will take your mind off the present situation as you focus your thoughts on God's ability to help you rather than on your inability to help yourself." Do I hear an AMEN?!
Of course not. When we are truly depressed we don't want to focus on the goodness given to us. We are much more likely to wallow in our pity-party of one.
I am currently on my fifth read through of the Bible, and every time I read it, I read it with different eyes. One night I giggled while reading the Old Testament story of Balaam and his donkey. Balaam was summoned by King Balak, an enemy of Isreal, to come and call curses on the people of God. Along the way, Balaam's donkey saw the angel of the Lord blocking their path and thrice tried to keep her master from encountering the angel's wrath. Balaam saw the donkey's actions as defiance and beat her each time. The third time, according to Numbers 22, the Lord gave the donkey speech to ask Balaam what she had done to deserve the beating. "And Balaam answered the donkey..." And that's where I lost it. If I were to discipline my dog and he turned to ask me in plain English, "But Mooooooooooooooooooooooom, what did I do?" I'm not going to answer him, I'm going to call the nut house. This was the 4th time I had read the passage and never once read it with those eyes.
Now, on my fifth go through, my eyes are changed yet again. Our small group is studying Psalms and when I came across 42 it spoke to me in a way I'd never heard before. Off and on my entire adult life I have depended on medicine to control my depression. Here the psalmist depended only on God. I felt so small, so defiant for seeking something other than God to make me feel whole. God made me this way, certainly He is all I need to be well and whole in body as well as in spirit. I was convinced that I could get off of my meds with the Lord at my side.
According to my study Bible, the theme of this Psalm is "thirst for God. When you feel lonely or depressed, meditate on God's kindness and love." The study notes for this verse read: Depression is one of the most common emotional ailments. One antidote for depression is to meditate on the record of God's goodness to His people. This will take your mind off the present situation as you focus your thoughts on God's ability to help you rather than on your inability to help yourself." Do I hear an AMEN?!
Of course not. When we are truly depressed we don't want to focus on the goodness given to us. We are much more likely to wallow in our pity-party of one.
I am currently on my fifth read through of the Bible, and every time I read it, I read it with different eyes. One night I giggled while reading the Old Testament story of Balaam and his donkey. Balaam was summoned by King Balak, an enemy of Isreal, to come and call curses on the people of God. Along the way, Balaam's donkey saw the angel of the Lord blocking their path and thrice tried to keep her master from encountering the angel's wrath. Balaam saw the donkey's actions as defiance and beat her each time. The third time, according to Numbers 22, the Lord gave the donkey speech to ask Balaam what she had done to deserve the beating. "And Balaam answered the donkey..." And that's where I lost it. If I were to discipline my dog and he turned to ask me in plain English, "But Mooooooooooooooooooooooom, what did I do?" I'm not going to answer him, I'm going to call the nut house. This was the 4th time I had read the passage and never once read it with those eyes.
Now, on my fifth go through, my eyes are changed yet again. Our small group is studying Psalms and when I came across 42 it spoke to me in a way I'd never heard before. Off and on my entire adult life I have depended on medicine to control my depression. Here the psalmist depended only on God. I felt so small, so defiant for seeking something other than God to make me feel whole. God made me this way, certainly He is all I need to be well and whole in body as well as in spirit. I was convinced that I could get off of my meds with the Lord at my side.
Wow, That's Depressing
I have a long, glorious history with depression. If women were to be completely honest with themselves, I'd bet money that the vast majority of us do, whether we can to admit it or not. The first bout with depression that I can remember hit me when I was a freshman in high school. I remember my drafting teaching ~ a man ~ approaching me in the hall one morning before school and asking if everything was OK. My initial response was my usual one: Fine, I'm just tired. A half-truth, to be sure. But in hindsight, that teacher kept an eye on me the rest of the year, occasionally checking in with me to see how I was fairing.
My worst and most prolonged bout of depression began when I found out I was pregnant right after I graduated from high school. My world crashed down around me. I felt like God was punishing me for some hideous sin I had yet to recognize and repent of. I'd heard from my friends all about their unprotected sex lives and how, up to this point, they'd managed to remain blissfully baby-free. Yet, I had given my virginity in immediate exchange for a birth-control baby. My life was over. I had sworn I'd never have kids. (God has such an evil sense of humor.) I had to wait to go back to school. The rug had just been very nastily pulled out from under my freedom. And I did not handle it well.
There was a lot of crying, a lot of screaming, a lot of believing that God hated me and was out to ruin what was left of my pathetic life. Though the thought of abortion never entered my mind, the thought of giving the baby up for adoption did. The baby's daddy ~ who is now and forever will be my loving husband ~ refused to let it happen. And so I relented, and was miserably depressed throughout my pregnancy.
All through my pregnancy I had hoped that there would be an immediate bond of heavenly love between the baby and myself that would magically lift this darkness from heart. I sank even deeper when that immediate bond was not immediately there. And sink I continued to do, for 2.5 years.
By the time I finally sought help for my depression, I had almost killed my son twice and was myself suicidal. I will never justify a woman killing her child, but I do understand what drives her to the brink. I've been there ~ it's a dark, deep, debilitating place that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And if I hadn't had people in my life to keep me from shaking my son or throwing him down the stairs, he would be in heaven and I would be behind bars. At the deepest point of the pit, after falling asleep in the bath tub more than once hoping I would slip under and wishing I knew a lethal concoction of OTC drugs, I was so warped in my depressed thinking that my twisted line of reasoning went something like this: It would be so selfish of me to kill myself and leave my baby here as a burden for everyone else to raise, so I'll have to take him with me. Sounds like a murder/homicide to me. I was so demented that I actually thought this was a good and doable plan!
One day, when my son was 2, he took off for the street. I was so frightened and angry when I caught him that I carried him by his upper arms all the way back to our apartment. It was when I took his shirt off of him for his bath that night that I saw the bruised ringlets I'd left on his arms from squeezing him so tightly. It was the first visual evidence to me that I had gone over the edge. Out of sight, out of mind ~ if I couldn't see it, it wasn't real. Now I had seen the mark of the devil, and knew I needed to remove him from me. But how?
Enter pharmaceuticals. Yes, I started taking an anti-depressant. And it helped me feel like a normal human being again. Combined with talk therapy, my treatment make me feel human again. And over the years, I have gone off and back on the meds. At times I feel so overwhelmed with life that I need something to keep me on an even keel. Paxil seems to do the trick.
My worst and most prolonged bout of depression began when I found out I was pregnant right after I graduated from high school. My world crashed down around me. I felt like God was punishing me for some hideous sin I had yet to recognize and repent of. I'd heard from my friends all about their unprotected sex lives and how, up to this point, they'd managed to remain blissfully baby-free. Yet, I had given my virginity in immediate exchange for a birth-control baby. My life was over. I had sworn I'd never have kids. (God has such an evil sense of humor.) I had to wait to go back to school. The rug had just been very nastily pulled out from under my freedom. And I did not handle it well.
There was a lot of crying, a lot of screaming, a lot of believing that God hated me and was out to ruin what was left of my pathetic life. Though the thought of abortion never entered my mind, the thought of giving the baby up for adoption did. The baby's daddy ~ who is now and forever will be my loving husband ~ refused to let it happen. And so I relented, and was miserably depressed throughout my pregnancy.
All through my pregnancy I had hoped that there would be an immediate bond of heavenly love between the baby and myself that would magically lift this darkness from heart. I sank even deeper when that immediate bond was not immediately there. And sink I continued to do, for 2.5 years.
By the time I finally sought help for my depression, I had almost killed my son twice and was myself suicidal. I will never justify a woman killing her child, but I do understand what drives her to the brink. I've been there ~ it's a dark, deep, debilitating place that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And if I hadn't had people in my life to keep me from shaking my son or throwing him down the stairs, he would be in heaven and I would be behind bars. At the deepest point of the pit, after falling asleep in the bath tub more than once hoping I would slip under and wishing I knew a lethal concoction of OTC drugs, I was so warped in my depressed thinking that my twisted line of reasoning went something like this: It would be so selfish of me to kill myself and leave my baby here as a burden for everyone else to raise, so I'll have to take him with me. Sounds like a murder/homicide to me. I was so demented that I actually thought this was a good and doable plan!
One day, when my son was 2, he took off for the street. I was so frightened and angry when I caught him that I carried him by his upper arms all the way back to our apartment. It was when I took his shirt off of him for his bath that night that I saw the bruised ringlets I'd left on his arms from squeezing him so tightly. It was the first visual evidence to me that I had gone over the edge. Out of sight, out of mind ~ if I couldn't see it, it wasn't real. Now I had seen the mark of the devil, and knew I needed to remove him from me. But how?
Enter pharmaceuticals. Yes, I started taking an anti-depressant. And it helped me feel like a normal human being again. Combined with talk therapy, my treatment make me feel human again. And over the years, I have gone off and back on the meds. At times I feel so overwhelmed with life that I need something to keep me on an even keel. Paxil seems to do the trick.
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