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Depression Hurts. God Can Help (Warning: Long)

Home Forums Christian Life PI Girl Testimonies Depression Hurts. God Can Help (Warning: Long)

This topic contains 1 reply, has 2 voices, and was last updated by  DauntlesslyDivergent 1 year, 9 months ago.

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I have gone to church my whole life. I even went to the nursery and got ‘saved’ when I was seven. Only because everyone I knew was doing it and I knew all about it. I never felt conviction, or even thought twice about it.
I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety.
The dark hole of clinical depression is where it rains all day, milk is always spilled, and someone is always dying. For me, it’s been pouring since I was about ten, and I’m stuck outside with no umbrella.
When people are sad, they cry, they drag themselves around the house and call it quits after a day or two. A normal person gets the blues every once in a while, usually over spilled milk, a death in the family, or break-ups.
The normal person gets sad; I get depressed.
Sadness and depression are different. To put them in the same category would be like eating chocolate-covered garlic. There is a point where a person cannot cry anymore, where the point of no return is passed.
Still confused about the difference between the two? Imagine drowning at the bottom of a lake. It’s oddly silent and cold. The lungs drag in bitter water that floods the stomach and lungs. On your muddy death bed, a tiny, blinking red button is protruding out of the muck. This button has the power to give you back the day before deciding to go to the lake. Press thi button, get your life back. The choice seems obvious. You would press the button.
Sometimes, it’s like I can’t. I would if I could.
Occasionally, I ran my fingers over the scars on my chest, stomach, arms and thighs. I winced at the memory of the blade slicing across my skin.
They were the cuts that showed the pain I felt stabbing at me on the inside. I believed it made the pain go away, even if only for a short while. You see; when there is physical pain, you don’t have to think about anything other than that pain, present and calling attention.
It was the only way I knew how to make me feel better, and I hated myself for it. I couldn’t look in the mirror anymore.
I put on a facade of happiness in public, but would go cry in my room or the bathroom. This was my own, self-dug hole. It’s hard to believe how miserable I was.
But how do you get out of a rut you’re terrified to leave behind?
I would try to be social. I would make up lies about myself to seem interesting. I was so desperate to be liked and craved attention. Maybe, I thought, if someone wanted to be my friend, I’d be okay.
I tended to beat myself up for talking too much, and hated people staring at me. I was paranoid that they were thinking bad things about me. I was homeschooled, so I tended to have a lot of time to reflect on what I thought I’d done wrong.
I’d have panic attacks; just sit there in my room, screaming my head off. Irrational reasons made me scared stiff, especially thunderstorms. Yes, it seems like a little-kid thing to be scared of, but for some reason, I hete them. My heart speeds up, my breathing gets weird, and I just want to curl up in a ball and hide.
Panic attacks were my diagnosed anxiety. The craving to sleep was my depression. This is a terrible and sometimes deadly dou. Do you know what it’s like to feel nothing? No pain, no sadness, no happiness, nothing to look forward to or live for? I do, and let me tell you, it’s not somewhere I want to go again.
The depression made me not want to go to church. Sure, I’d drag myself through Sundays, but where would you find me on Wednesday nights? I’d be in the nursery, with my mom, reading a book. I wanted nothing to do with AWANA or anything of the sort. Who was missing me anyways? I didn’t see anyone knocking down my door, asking me to come. I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to if I did go.
I started going to church on Wednesdays at the end of sixth grade. I’d go every sunday and Wednesday, but still felt nothing. I’d talk to people, even answer questions. Mostly because, after growing up in church, I knew most of the answers. I was a robot, just going through the motions.
Salvation? No way, not me, I was a nobody. I wasn’t strong, but I was afraid to be weak. In my eyes, God was too formal and right to be loving. My vision of him was never smiling, not laughing, and certainly not a friend.
They say my depression and anxiety are in my head. They tell me to be happy and “Smile for goodness sake.” Well, at least they got half of it right – It is all in my head, the brain to be exact. Seratonin and Dopamine just stopped running around upstairs. The result is suicide or meds.
Slowly, though, I found redemption.
I was sitting in my youth group, Connect, one wednesday night during this thing called “Gladiator Games”. Ninth grade, Freshman year. I heard my youth pastor ask if anyone needed to talk. I don’t exactly remember the whole lesson, but I know I was near tears. Of course, I raised my hand.
Me and one of the youth leaders talked about what was going on. He listened, even while I ramble and my body shook. This had been building up for a few months. That night, November 9th, 2011, I accepted Jesus Christ, let him in my heart, and felt the Holy Spirit move through me as I took a deep sigh of relief. I learned I don’t have to be strong, because God is, and I can do all things through Him.
My life was given back to me, and it wasn’t easy. Now, I believe life is better with me in it. There are still rough patches, but they are nothing compared to the hole I was in before.
The most important lesson I’ve learned is to love myself. I may nothave the best grades, be good at sports, or even please people alle, but at least I’m happy with myself.
Finally, I pressed that red button. I don’t believe I’d be here if I didn’t. Now, that spilled milk doesn’t even bother me, that much

February 18, 2015 at 20:19


You are incredible, Hon. God is doing great things in your life. Thank you so much for sharing this!

March 3, 2015 at 20:41
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