I have not written in my blog for quite some time, which is probably because I have been in the midst of major transition in my life. Moving to NY, working for a living, engaging in hospital chaplaincy: these are aspects of transition that have been the titular chaos of this blog's title. Added to this soup of uncertainty and anxiety is the fact that I've been wrestling with clinical depression. I've had this condition for quite some time, but it is only recently that I've been able to get a handle on it thanks to therapy and antidepressants. So, I thought I would devote a little bit of my time talking about what depression has been like for me.
To put it succinctly, depression is like only being able to see half the world. I've felt limited: limited in options, limited in desires, limited in opportunities, limited in feelings, drives, perspective, and ambitions. I have felt cut off from everyone and everything, as though I've only been able to perceive the world in a certain way. If there is an arc to this universe, I perceived it as a negative one. We are all clinging to a world that is spinning out of control, swirling in a vast cosmos of doomed meaninglessness. Every night, my bed was a tomb that I gladly returned to because for eight-odd hours it meant I would get to die; to die to myself, to die to the world. Indeed, for me depression felt like I was at the bottom of my own muddy grave. My fingers would sink into the earthen walls of my pit, desperately seeking a firm hold to hoist myself up to the surface. My feet would slip and kick as I would attempt to find a foothold. There is no light in this pit of despair. There is no God. There is no hope that things will get better or that "this too shall pass." There is only the pit, a gaping black hole of despair, frustration, and anxiety that serves as a prison to your mind. You can only see half the world. You cannot appreciate its beauty or its music. You cannot truly appreciate and feel gratitude for the companionship of others. Depression is a prison of isolation and loneliness.
If you hope for anything, it's an end to the loneliness, meaninglessness, and despair. I hoped that I would die. I contemplated taking it myself, but I found I lacked the constitution for such an act. All the while I suffered from a paralysis of anxiety, uncertainty, and a general sense of self-agony that precipitated a circular chain of selfishness and pessimistic logic. I felt completely trapped in my perspective that things would not get better or improve. What's worse is that it took me a long time to realize that feeling this way about oneself is not right.
I had felt this way for almost a year- during my last year of seminary into my time here as a hospital chaplain. As I survived yet another hospital season, this one punctuated by the loss of a dear friend, counseling strangers through the raw experience of grief, and witnessing more miscarriages and stillbirths than I ever hope to witness in my remaining time here, I felt incredibly burnt out. I was exhausted; I felt like a match that had burnt down to a cinder. Furthermore, it drove me to become angry and resentful of those around me. During the first unit of CPE, I felt closed off and isolated from the group process. I was resentful of my supervisor as I felt he was overly critical and judgmental, a perception I frequently vocalized to him. In our last supervisory session, he said that he "did not feel free" in supervising me and wondered aloud if it might be better if I left the program, which is something I wondered and had voiced myself. I finally felt as though I had experienced enough of this and sought help. I went to a therapist after much searching and self-doubting. In our first session, she immediately identified what I had already assumed, that I was suffering from depression, and urged me to find a psychiatrist.
Shortly after finding a psychiatrist and informing my parents, i began taking antidepressants. It took me a while to find the right prescription, and I am still working out some of the side effects, but the improvement has been tremendous even in the span of two months. I feel as though vision is being restored to me. I can see the whole world again, and I desire to participate in it and contribute to it. I felt myself open up to the world in a way I haven't felt in a long time. I feel my feet sinking deeper into the soil as I slowly climb my way out of my grave. I can now see that there is light at the mouth of this pit. I still have my external troubles-my doubts, fears, anxiety about existence and my purpose, but I carry the weight like a sack rather than feeling as though I'm wrapped in chains. I am eager to discover more within myself and what I believe, rather than feeling spiritually and morally bankrupt and bereft of guidance. I still feel lonely, but I feel as though I have more resources available to quell it. I have also noticed a tremendous improvement in my work as well. I have regained lost skills in listening and other foundational practices in pastoral care. I have recommitted myself to the group process in CPE and contribute to the development and progression of my cohort members. My supervisor expressed that he felt free again to mentor me and expressed that he was glad that I did not leave. Things are improving. Things are slowly getting better. I see more and more of this world.
I have fears as well. I fear medication will become an intermittent pattern in my life. I fear going off medication and the depression and despair returning. I fear drowning, awash in my loneliness and self-doubt. I fear regression, that I will lose the progress I have made once I leave CPE. I have many fears. However, I recognize that I live too much for the future. I am always attempting to plan a way forward, to conspire against the future to implement my own design. I take the present for granted and I have learned to be grateful for the Now. I am grateful for feeling good and alive here and now. I am grateful that suffering and loss are not the only constants in this universe. I am grateful that change and progression are possible. I am grateful.
As a close, I guess I would encourage anyone who reads this blog and may be struggling with depression to go and seek help. Believe me, I know that it feels as though nothing will get better, but things can get better. It just requires a lot of time and a lot of work. For those of you who are reading this blog and think they know someone who is struggling with depression, do not be afraid to be insistent that they get help. If the person had a severe illness or was running a terrible fever, you wouldn't stop suggesting they see a doctor even if they refuse the first time. For those of you who are reading this blog and do not think they are struggling with depression and/or witnessing someone who is, do NOT pathologize them. There is a serious stigma about mental illness in our society. A person is more than their illness, more than their feelings, and more than their fears, and plans, and desires. Embrace the person, then help them get help. I hope that this blog gives some insight, not only into my struggles over this past year, but into the struggles others may be facing well. and I hope, fervently, that it is accepted in kindness rather than condescension or judgment.
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