Why I Fear Being A Role Model

It was a day like any other -- I was at home, going about my business, and struck up a conversation with a friend on Facebook (the main place where I, a chronically ill hermit, get my socialization fix). I don't remember exactly what we were talking about. But I do remember the conversation digressing into MBTI discussion and jokes. My friend mentioned a habit she'd begun to develop, and I made a joke along the lines of, "Uh-oh -- you're turning into me." The gist of her response was, "I could do worse -- you're a pretty good person to aspire to be like."

I blinked at the screen, stared at her words for a few seconds, then rattled off a joke to change the subject. Her words echoed through my mind, and I had no idea what to do with them. Me, someone people would want to be like? A role model?

No. Obviously she was just being nice. And of course, I tossed around the seemingly rhetorical question in my mind: "Why would anyone want to be like me?"

So here's one of the most basic facts you need to know about me: I am not perfect. Nobody is, right? But somehow, the idea of having someone -- especially a younger person who's still figuring themselves out -- look to me as an example of how to behave is terrifying. I mean, how do you even do that? As the fourth-born child out of five and the youngest girl, I never felt much pressure to be an example for anyone. (Firstborn children, my cap is off to you for getting through life with the myriad of expectations placed upon you just because you happened to be born before any of your siblings.)

But I mean I am really not perfect. At least from my own perspective, I have a lot of flaws, some of which I'm on the road to conquering, others not so much. In fact, it seems like the longer I live and interact with others, the more aware and self-conscious I become about my own shortcomings. Having a few invisible physical and mental illnesses only compounds this. Because here's the deal -- I am literally brain-damaged. Not in the sense that I got in a car crash and bashed my head against something or anything like that, but because since I was in high school I have had parasites crawling through my body, burrowing in and eating away at whatever they found. And part of what they found was my brain and nervous system. As a result, even though they're clearing out of my blood bit by bit, I'm still left with a flaky brain and a tendency to be less than normal in my behavior (not that I ever really was in the first place). Depression saps my motivation. Anxiety paralyzes me and compels me to run into the arms of the many sources of procrastination which I've discovered. And brain fog sees to it that, on those rare occasions when I have both the motivation and the confidence to work, every word written or edited is... is, um... What was I going to say, again?

Oh, right. It's a struggle. That's what I was going to say. Except I was going to use much better words and some kind of original metaphor to make myself sound clever.

Anyways, you probably get the picture by now. Whatever flaws I might have had as a "normal" person are exacerbated (though not caused) by all the stuff going on in my brain and the rest of my body. Where I might have once been a little nervous about sending someone a message after extensive silence between us, now I tend to avoid conversations altogether just so I won't have to deal with my brain saying, "But what if they don't want to talk to you? What if they want to talk to you but you're not interesting enough? No, don't say that or they'll think -- uggggghhhhh, why on earth did you say that? That was the stupidest possible way to answer that question. Just close the chat window and run away to watch Netflix with me and never try to talk to people again." Where I might have been a little flustered to see that someone challenged my strongly held belief (oh, woe of all woes), now I panic and have to resist the urge not to lash out or dissolve into tears over the perceived rejection of my point of view.

In fact, if I were to believe everything my addled brain tells me in an average day, I would believe myself to be the:

1. Least reliable
2. Most irrational
3. Laziest
4. Most cowardly
5. Most ignorant
6. Least interesting
7. Most awkward
8. Most annoying
9. Clingiest
10. Most paranoid
11. Most temperamental

...person in the world.

So why, out of all the ~7 billion people on this planet, would anyone choose to look at me and want to model their lives and behavior after mine?

I have no idea how many people out there actually look up to me and how many just say so to be nice. I don't know what I look like from the outside, any more than most of the people I meet know how I see myself from the inside. The truth is, most -- if not all -- of us are our own harshest critics. It's easy to look at someone you admire and think, "Wow, they've really got their lives together," because they have a nicer car than you, a larger group of friends, or a Bible that's a lot more heavily highlighted than yours.

But I don't live inside your head. I don't know what thoughts cross your mind as you roll out of bed in the morning, what you notice first when you appraise yourself in the mirror. I don't know whether your comfort in social situations is natural or whether you're just really good at faking it. For all I know, if I compared my list of my own perceived flaws with the one you've made for yourself, yours might be just as long or even longer.

And yet if neither of us ever took a gander at the other's list, we would never know. We would probably just hide our lists behind our backs, smile and laugh pleasantly, and pretend we never felt insecure about anything in our lives.

And most likely, we would believe each other. Because even as we're aware that everyone is human and you should never judge a book by its cover, still we do it every day.

In fact, I believe this happens a lot, especially in this digital age where nearly everyone is on various social networks, posting and tweeting and snapchatting all the most interesting parts of their lives to everyone else. We spend ages searching for the perfect profile photo, then touch it up a little just to make ourselves look a little better and more put together. We take a few extra moments before posting our statuses to make sure everything is worded in a way that will make us look as clever, spiritual, funny, [insert preferred descriptor here] as possible. Everything gets filtered through our own ideas about what people like or don't like about us and what we could do or say to make them like us more. And the more we use that filter, the more impressive we appear, and the less our insecurities show through to anyone observing us.

This phenomenon also occurs in face-to-face interactions, though, not just online. Isn't it only human, after all, to want to be the best version of yourself that you can be? And if you can't be perfect, you might as well try to make others think you are, right?

But no-one is perfect. We all come with our own baggage, our own insecurities about who we are, what we are, and how other people view us. Listen, it doesn't matter how amazing and confident and put-together someone looks on the outside -- everyone, from your next-door-neighbor to the guy sleeping on a park bench to the celebrity whose face you have as your phone's wallpaper, has insecurities. Their life might seem perfect, but they have bad days, too. They just might not air them out for everyone else to see, or if those days do come to light, it usually wasn't their desire to allow that.

That's a big part of why the idea of being a celebrity is frankly terrifying to me. Because you get little to no privacy. As a living, breathing human being with a beating heart and a brain capable of forming thoughts and emotions, you have insecurities just like everyone else. The difference is that, when you're a celebrity, everyone is watching you. Everyone expects you to be perfect, and they're constantly looking to you for inspiration on everything from their hairstyles and clothing to getting ahead in their careers and having the best relationships possible.

And if you fall short of their expectations, everyone is disappointed. Everyone looks at you and shakes their head and says, "How could you? You aren't supposed to mess up like that. You're a role model -- you should know better."

And right there, that is why the idea of being anyone's role model scares me. Because I'm not perfect. I'm not even good at pretending to be perfect. The closest thing I can do is to try and behave as normally and respectably as possible and apologize when I mess up, hoping beyond hope that everyone will forgive me when I inevitably slip up and disappoint or hurt them in some way.

Because it happens. Always. The people who love me unconditionally stick with me anyways no matter how much I let them down, but that doesn't mean I never do anything that falls short of their expectations for my behavior. I can't help it. I am human, and I am flawed, and no-one is more aware of this fact than I am.

Well, I suppose there is one person -- the only perfect person who has ever lived or ever will live.

You know where I'm going with this, don't you? The only perfect human ever to walk the face of the earth since the first humans committed their original sin is Jesus Christ. He was fully human, but was -- and is -- also fully God. God knows everything and everyone. And on top of that, you know what I went and did when I was a kid? I asked Him to come into my life and pay the price for all my sins and stupid mistakes, to work in me and make up for the imperfection that has always been a part of me. So I don't even get the luxury of pretending that no-one knows what I've done or what makes me feel insecure, because He's right there in my heart (figuratively speaking), and He's around all the time, nudging me when I'm headed the wrong way, and waiting patiently for me to come back to Him when I disregard His directions and take the crooked path anyways. He's so thoroughly perfect and patient and all the things that I am not, and just thinking about it makes me a little weak in the knees, because how am I ever supposed to match up to that?

Here's the simple answer: I'm not. Well, of course He wants me to try. But I will fail, because I am human, because I am me, and anyone looking to be exactly like me in every way will either fail in the same ways or be disillusioned when they see me stumble. Anything good they see in me is not really mine, but rather is the result of Jesus standing with me, holding me up when I'm weak, telling me which way to go when I feel thoroughly lost.

But maybe that's been the point all along. Maybe it's not about what people see in me so much as it's about what they see through me. I fall short of perfection daily (strike that -- multiple times a day), but Jesus is still with me, and even when I don't see it or try to forget it, He's shaping me and the course of my life to accomplish His purpose, even when I'm not being particularly cooperative about it. He works all things together for good, even my laundry list of flaws and insecurities that I try so desperately to hide behind my back.

Well, I'm airing a few of them now. And my desire is that when you see me open up about my life and some of the areas where I fall short, you aren't disillusioned by my broken nature. Instead, I want people to look at me and see Christ's light shining through all the dark cracks in my soul that mark me as the damaged creature that I am.

Because that's the gist of it, digressors. Jesus is the ultimate role model, the one person worth emulating in His entirety. If you see Christ-like attributes in people you know, by all means strive to adopt them, but not because a fallible human possesses them. Rather, do it because what you see in them reflects Jesus and His pure perfection. Lift the weary when they fall, not because a celebrity you like helped that one person one time, but because "what you do unto the least of these, you do unto Me." (Matthew 25:40) Be "merciful and gracious, slow to anger and plenteous in mercy" (Psalm 103:8), not merely because your one friend has a skill for it, but because that's how Jesus is and how He wants you to be. Be honest and sincere, and "whatsoever you do, do it heartily, as doing it unto the Lord, and not unto men" (Colossians 3:23), because this isn't about other people, right? It's about Jesus and trying to emulate Him, in recognition of the fact that He has never failed and never will.

Will it be easy? Probably not. Will you mess up? Most definitely.

But in this way, when someone does choose you as a role model (because let's face it, even though you're not perfect, God designed you to be pretty amazing and someone out there is bound to recognize it), they won't just see your mistakes or some front you've put up to make yourself look good. They'll see your imperfections, true, but they'll also see how God uses those imperfections to bless others around you, and that will encourage them to go to the source, to the ultimate role model you so openly emulate.

This is, ultimately, my goal. It might seem incongruous, but as proud as I am, as strong as the instinct may be to stuff all my imperfections into a trunk and shove it into the back of a closet somewhere, ultimately I hope people understand just how imperfect I am. I hope they see that I have...

1. Bad days (but He gets me through them)
2. Insecurities (but He works through me anyways)
3. Temptations (but He always offers a way out and forgives me when I fail)
4. Bad habits (but He motivates me to attempt change, even if it's a slow, bumpy process)
5. Fears (but He gives me courage)
6. Weaknesses (but He gives me strength)
7. Misgivings (but He encourages me to forgive)
8. Doubts (but He gives clarity)

...and that if they consider me to be any kind of role model, it's really not me they're seeing. It's my Savior and the continual work He is doing in me (and in those around me) to make me more like Himself and show His love and goodness to those around me.

And, dear digressor, if He can work through me, an overly emotional, depressed, anxious, bitter, often disturbed human being... what might He do through you?

"I am crucified with Christ:

nevertheless I live; yet not I,

but Christ liveth in me;

and the life which I now live in the flesh

I live by the faith of the Son of God

who loved me,

and gave Himself for me."

Galatians 2:20 (KJV)

'The Runaway' - Part One

Hello yet again, fellow digressors. How was your weekend? Mine was a little busy, but not too bad. I got a copy of Microsoft Office on my laptop at long last, which should make my life as both a copy-editor and a novelist a lot easier. This makes me happy. However, because the program took time to install, and because I needed time to play with and get used to my new toy, I'm delivering this next short story opening a day or two later than I intended. (The opening for the first story, 'Street Rats', is here, in case you missed it.) 

Anyways, some of you may remember Jorthen Lavahr from 'The Follower'. Despite any mistakes he might have made, he still seems to be well-loved by readers, and it's been quite interesting trying to develop his backstory, especially as he tends to come across as 'Mr. Perfect'. As you are probably aware, no-one is truly perfect, and we all have secrets, some bigger than others. So, without further ado, here is the next short story... 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Runaway

–––––––

Reshan Territory, North-East of Jaern – Outerlands

Eleven years before the events of ‘The Follower'

There was a time when Jorthen Lavahr would have done anything for his father. If Atrin gave him an order, Jorthen would keep his mouth shut and obey, no matter the consequences. If someone from the outside asked him, he would say that hadn't changed.

But here, with the campfire crackling before him and Atrin plotting a course with their map a few feet away, Jorthen couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

“...I don't want to go.”

Atrin looked up briefly from the map, then went back to it without so much as looking Jorthen in the eye. “You'll go. The Council is expecting your arrival.”

“They're all older than me. I'm not supposed to join until I'm sixteen.”

“Ordinary people join at sixteen.” Atrin reached for his canteen of water and took a brief swig before speaking again. “We are not ordinary people.”

Jorthen swallowed. “What's so bad about being ordinary? What about...” He hesitated, but the question escaped him despite his efforts to be quiet. “...What about Amra?”

Atrin threw his prodding stick into the fire. Sparks leapt up from the coals upon impact, and Jorthen cringed to avoid them. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, but a hot look from Atrin made him slowly lower it and straighten his posture. 

Atrin ground his teeth and raised his eyebrows slightly. “I believe I remember telling you not to mention her again.” 

The evenness of Atrin’s tone made Jorthen gulp. His tongue felt thick, but he concentrated enough to make it work. “Sh-she…” No. No stammering. Stammering was a sign of weakness. He cleared his throat. “…She’s my friend. I barely got to say goodbye.” 

“You’re lucky you even got a moment with her. I should have made all the preparations myself instead of giving you time to bid goodbye to the local rabble.” 

Jorthen tensed. “Amra isn’t rabble.” 

“Look, I’m going to say this once more, and if you bring it up again, there will be consequences. Are you listening?” 

Jorthen’s muscles quivered, but he managed to nod. 

Atrin’s blue eyes burned into him. “That girl is beneath us. Always has been, always will be. Forget her.” 

All Jorthen could do was stare, unable to even avert his gaze. His mind seemed frozen, and with it every other part of him. Maybe that was why he shivered. 

Silence stretched, and Atrin picked up another stick and fiddled with it in what seemed like a casual manner. He snapped off a deviant twig that had sprouted from it and eyed Jorthen again. “You hear me, boy? No son of mine will run off with an herbalist’s daughter.” 

Jorthen wanted to retort, to ask what was so wrong with caring for an herbalist’s daughter, especially since that herbalist had kept him alive these fourteen years. But he withered under Atrin’s gaze, and he lowered his eyes to stare at the grass and mumbled, “Yes, sir.” 

“And hold your head up.” 

This command Jorthen rejected. Instead, he worked his jaw and glared at the coals of the fire before him. Half of him hoped Atrin would not notice, but the other half knew he would, and relished the rush of adrenaline that came from that knowledge. 

“…Go to the tent and wait for me.” 

The adrenaline faded as blood drained from Jorthen’s face. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard as his thoughts scattered. Atrin was taller than him. Even if Jorthen turned out to be the faster runner, his heart would likely betray him and take him to the ground long before Atrin gave up. 

A Lavahr never gave up. Never quit. Never showed weakness. 

“Did you hear me, boy?” 

Numbness overtook Jorthen as he rose to his feet and stumbled towards the tent. If he was lucky, by the time he got there, he would be completely devoid of feeling. He would no longer care. By the time Atrin arrived, he would no longer feel pain, either physical or in that corner of his mind where Amra Sheram’s freckles and glittering brown eyes taunted him. 

But he had never been lucky. So numbness would have to be enough for tonight. 

–––––––

Reshan Guard Military Base, Jaern – Reshan Territory

Eight years later

Lieutenant Cpt. Jorthen Lavahr strode down the hall and ignored the looks his frenzied stride drew from others. Well, perhaps it would not have seemed frenzied had someone else used it, but the uneven rhythm and the way he leaned forward to gain momentum were so unlike him that only a few around him neglected to move out of the way. A young recruit with silky raven hair smiled and stepped forward as if to intercept him, but he ignored her. He barely felt the impact when his shoulder connected with that of a passerby, and it only occurred to him as he entered the echoing stone foyer a few feet ahead to mumble an apology. He spotted a door ahead as it swung open and some officer he couldn’t identify entered. He should have been able to identify him. Perhaps he was from another province? 

What did it matter? Jorthen caught the door before it could swing closed and stepped through it. 

“Lieutenant!” 

Jorthen’s feet halted even as his mind raced forward and tried to plot a course to the nearest solitary place. He took a deep breath and ignored the ache growing in his chest as he turned and smiled at the recruit behind him. “Yes, Haren?” 

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” Ardran Haren’s copper hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it out of the way as he straightened his scrawny shoulders. “Permission to make a request, sir?” 

Ardran’s sudden change in posture reminded Jorthen to square his own broad shoulders, though he didn’t bother with the dark chestnut hair that likely fell over his own forehead. He put his hands behind his back and managed a slight chuckle. “Ardran, if you want to make a request, then make it. An overture isn’t necessary.” 

Ardran’s cheeks flushed red, and he ducked his head briefly. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Um…” He wiped his hands on his tunic, then quickly folded them behind his back as if to copy Jorthen. “…I… would like to file a complaint, sir. A-about my roommate.” 

One of these days, the recruits would learn the difference between a request and a complaint. Jorthen nodded. “Find Inspector Brehn. He should be in the northern training room.” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ardran turned and sprinted a few steps before halting. “…Uh, what should I tell him, Lieutenant Lavahr, sir?” 

You can tell him to keep you busy for a few minutes so I can get out of here. 

Jorthen blinked and reined his thoughts in again to form an answer. “Tell him what you just told me – that you want to file a complaint against your roommate. And give him whatever details he asks. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” Ardran nodded again and halfway turned to go, then hesitated again. “You don’t look well, sir. Should I call for a physician?” 

Abomination. Was it that obvious? Jorthen forced another smile that he hoped looked real. “I’m fine, Haren. Now you’d better hurry if you want to catch Brehn. I think he’s scheduled to meet a lady friend in about twenty minutes.” 

Ardran’s blue eyes widened. “Yes, sir.” It took only half a moment for him to forget entirely about Jorthen’s appearance and to sprint off towards the northeast section of the base. 

And people thought women were the only ones with ears for gossip. 

Jorthen glanced around to be sure no-one else was approaching, then turned and walked out of the building, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Outside, the town seemed to be made of all brown materials, and even the grass that sprouted up between cracks in the walkway seemed to have aspirations of turning to match that palette. The military base’s grey stone set it apart, as did the splash of color from the Reshan standard that waved from the battlements. Jorthen set his sights on the green of the grass at the edge of the town square and headed that way. Out here, people still recognized him, but as none had any immediate business with him, he met with no delays. 

He did not know how long we walked before spots crept into the corner of his vision and crouched to lower his head between his knees. From there, he rocked back into a sitting position, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing evenly. His pulse still raced, but with some effort, he made it slow and even out into a less painful rhythm. The adrenaline that had charged his flight drained slowly from his muscles, leaving him fatigued and aching for bed. But it was only midday, and he had two batches of recruits left to wrangle before his scheduled activities ended and the paperwork began. Not to mention any meetings he hadn’t known were coming, or any more impromptu questions from the recruits who already knew him. 

He had a good mind just to sit here for the rest of the day and pretend he’d been in some secret meeting the whole time. 

If only Atrin Lavahr had not been sitting in one of the southern meeting rooms at that very moment, likely prepared to launch a full investigation should Jorthen not return in time to perform every one of his duties. 

Jorthen raised a hand to his right temple and rubbed it, trying to rid himself of the headache growing there. How had his life come to this? When he’d joined up eight years ago, he’d managed to convince himself that the Guard would serve as an escape. True, he’d left some things behind, but at least he would be away from Atrin, except for the inevitable visits here and there. He could be independent. He could make something of himself. 

And he was something now, all right. He was twenty-two years old, easily over six feet tall, and strong. He could put on a brave face in any situation, and there was hardly a woman in Jaern who would not revel in his attentions. Even those who did not particularly like him could not hate him, such was his charm and his skill as a diplomat. 

And in this moment, he hated it. He hated all of it. Because it had all come from Atrin. He orchestrated everything, pulled strings to get Jorthen in before he was technically of age, conditioned him by various methods to push through anything, and constantly reminded him of any shortcomings he still needed to eradicate. There was not an aspect of Jorthen’s life that did not smell of his father’s influence. 

But then, had he ever really expected that to change? 

A rhythmic pounding fell on his ears, and he opened his eyes. His vision was still blurred, but if he squinted, he could see something on the northern horizon, a dark shadow in the distance, growing nearer as the pounding grew louder. A horse and rider? 

He stood and fingered the shakahn at his belt, just in case, but kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the figure in the distance. It could be a scout returning with news from one of the Reshan-Shamindo bordertowns, perhaps, but if so, why did he ride so hard? And as the horse approached, Jorthen could see that it was far from a war steed. It looked to be more of a packhorse, really, its shaggy grey coat littered with dirt and flecked with sweat, stride faltering as if it could not take much more running. 

And the skinny rider’s black hair, pale skin, and ragged clothing sent the word Shamindo ringing in Jorthen’s head. 

His pulse spiked again, and he pulled his blade free of its sheath. “Guards!” His voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat and called out again. Voices from the town behind him proved that someone heard him. If it came to a fight, he would have backup. 

At the disturbance, the grey horse tossed its head, released a shrill whinny, and stumbled to one side, then toppled, throwing its rider into the grass some yards away as if he weighed nothing. Jorthen dropped into a fighting position, but when the rider did not rise, he strode forward and tried to get a better look. The fallen horse paid him no mind as its lungs heaved in an attempt to catch its breath, but he leaned down to pat its neck as he peered at the rider nearby. He had landed facedown, but from here Jorthen could tell that he was small, barely a man if he was one at all, and that he carried no weapon. Jorthen slowly lowered his own weapon and froze as he spotted burns on the arm that was not pinned beneath the rider, and charred holes where fire must have caught his clothing. 

Jorthen kept still for a moment, then sheathed his weapon and knelt next to the boy. He touched his shoulder as lightly as he could and turned him over onto his back, then recoiled slightly at the sight of more burns on his face and neck. If treated, they should heal without leaving scars, but how had they gotten there? How much more of his body was burnt? Jorthen heard footsteps behind him and called over his shoulder, “He’s injured. Find a physician.” 

One of the newcomers repeated the order, and someone else sprinted back towards the base. Yet another person knelt beside the fallen horse to assess its condition. Jorthen stretched out a hand to feel for the Shamindo boy’s pulse. 

The boy gasped and jerked away from Jorthen’s hand as his eyes flew open. Jorthen started, then held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy, easy – I’m not going to hurt you.” 

From behind him, someone called out, “Shamindo! He’s a Shamindo spy!” 

“Quiet,” Jorthen snapped. He looked at the boy again and offered a hand. “Come on. We’ll get you some help.” 

The boy shook his head and tried to scramble away from Jorthen, but fell to the ground again, his green eyes wide, emaciated body trembling. The burns covered his hands and arms, and his tunic was singed halfway into oblivion. He could not have been much older than sixteen. 

Jorthen swallowed hard. “…Easy,” he repeated, and extended a hand again. “I’m Jorthen Lavahr. Let me help you.” 

The boy blinked at him, uncomprehending in his panic. All at once his muscles went loose, his eyes glazed over, and Jorthen barely moved forward in time to keep him from hitting his head on a rock as he fell unconscious again. 

Jorthen cursed under his breath and glanced at a Guard recruit as the boy stepped up beside him. “Help me get him to the base.” 

The boy nodded, and with little difficulty they lifted the Shamindo and headed for the military base. Until this point, Jorthen had managed to focus his distractible mind on the matter at hand, but as they walked, he could not help thinking, Won’t Atrin be thrilled when he finds out about this? 

Lies People Believe About Depression

So here's the thing, fellow digressors: there's a reason why this blog is called 'Digressions of a Demented Scribe'. Several reasons, actually. You've probably picked up on several of them, if not all. I am a highly random person who's just as likely to bring up Messy Mondays, Doctor Who, or the weather in Afghanistan as she is to talk about how her day went on her blog. I have a chronic, neurological disease that messes with my head and gives me such things as photophobia (no, I'm not afraid of light; it just hurts my eyes sometimes), neuropathy (like pins and needles in the hands and feet), neurological tics (that's a new one; I keep randomly jerking my head back and forth), anxiety, and depression. 

One one accepts the idea that Lyme is a real disease, and that it can be chronic (and believe me, not everyone is willing to accept that), most of these are readily forgiven. People understand that, if microscopic parasites have gotten into your bloodstream and made their way to your brain and throughout your nervous system, things are going to get a little wacky. Heads might jerk, light might sting, and it might get uncomfortable to walk. But things like depression and anxiety are often stigmatized, and are widely misunderstood, even if they come about in relation to a separate, officially diagnosed issue. Depression in itself is a diagnosable, treatable problem, but all the same, there are a number of lies that people in general tend to believe about it, whether they pay lip-service to those lies or whether they just hold them in the back of their minds as "something I heard from some knowledgeable friend once." 

So, without further ado, here are a few... 

Lies People Believe About Depression (Debunked) 

Depression is just a bad mood that comes and goes. 

Depression is more than just a bad mood, though such moods are common when the disease is present, due to a low amount of serotonin and other mood-regulating or pleasure-related chemicals in the brain. In fact, sometimes it is not a mood or a feeling at all, but an absence of feeling, and absence of pleasure or of the ability to appreciate what once made a person happy. It may frequently involve tears and guilt and a crushing feeling of hopelessness that strips you of everything you are. But oftentimes, it may keep you chained to your bed, or sitting in a chair in your room, staring at a blank wall or an empty page, struggling to feel, to remember what it might have been like to experience joy, or excitement, or even pain or sadness. It is more than a sadness -- it is a loss of self. And although the intensity of one's "bad mood" may rise and fall, that pervasive sense of being different, of being a non-self without the ability to "fix" oneself, or to even remember who that "self" was before depression, persists. 

Depression has no physical symptoms, and is not a viable disease. 

Clinical depression is a highly researched disease with multiple neurological symptoms, and is often made marginally more bearable through treatments and activities that promote the production of healthy chemicals in the brain, although this is only a temporary "fix" meant to help with day-by-day coping, not a cure. It can affect not only one's mood, but also sleep cycles, concentration, energy levels, body weight, and even a tendency towards substance abuse and other self-destructive behaviors (usually as methods of coping or escape). Genetics can also play a role -- some people carry a gene that makes them more likely to suffer from depression or a similar disorder, and this can be passed on to their offspring. Therefore, depression often runs in families, though severity may vary between affected family members. 

Depression impacts nothing beyond a person's basic mood swings. It does not interfere significantly with its victims' lives. 

Among the many documented symptoms of depression are fatigue, lack of focus, severe loss of motivation (to the point where some severe sufferers lose even the will to leave their beds in the morning), and a loss of interest in activities that would normally be pleasurable. I realize I am repeating myself here, but one of the major points here is that depression is not just a mood -- it is a disease, and it should be taken seriously. 

Depression is a choice people make. If they would just try harder, smile more, make an effort to think more positively, exercise more, etc., they could snap out of it. 

Sorry, no. While some of these suggestions might help to alleviate symptoms temporarily (for example, exercise has been proven to release pleasure-related chemicals in the brain of which the sufferer is usually deprived, and promotes health overall), they do not cure depression. A person with hypoglycemia needs frequent blood-sugar-boosting foods to keep them going, but the foods do not cure the hypoglycemia. They are necessary, yes, as exercise and other such things are necessary to someone with depression, but they do not cure the root problem. You would not give a hypoglycemic person a big jar of nuts and say, "Here you go -- you're cured. Now you don't have to worry about that pesky hypoglycemia anymore." Would you? Of course not. It might help deal with their deficiency in the short term, but their blood sugar will run low again when the nuts run out, because that is the nature of their condition. Likewise, you can do things to temporarily boost a depressed person's mood, but eventually the high will wear off. The disease is still there. That does not make the mood-boosters unnecessary or irrelevant, but it does mean that they will not be sufficient to cure the person of their issues on a permanent basis. 

Depression sufferers are selfish and immature because they choose to wallow in self-pity and bring down the moods of everyone around them. 

Most (if not all) depression sufferers actively spend their days battling with their own minds in an attempt to think positively. They are constantly bombarded with thoughts of, "You're pathetic. What's the point? Nobody likes you. Your life stinks. You stink. You should just lock yourself in your room and never come out again. You're a freak. You shouldn't even be talking to normal people. This is all your fault. You should be able to just walk out there and be normal." To even make the effort to leave one's room and participate in normal activities often takes tremendous effort, and is exhausting for the person battling them. Personally, I sometimes find myself telling my brain out loud to shut up and leave me alone. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The point is, if people with depression always wallowed in self-pity and made no effort to push past the thoughts their brains manufactured for them, you would never see any of them (us) out of their (our) rooms or even attempting to do anything or to interact with people. If they let their brains win, they might not even live long enough for you to realize they were depressed. They are far from selfish pity-party-throwers -- they are warriors. And their private war should be respected, as hard as it may be to relate to something you cannot always see from the outside. 

Depression sufferers are just lazy and looking for an excuse to get out of work, school, etc. 

Depression sufferers would like nothing more than to be healthy and happy, and to move on with their lives just like the 'normal people'. They want to succeed and to be treated with the same respect as everyone else, and most of them work hard to earn that respect. I have never met one who did not wish they could just be normal and happy like everyone else. I've never met one depressed person who said, "Hey, this depression thing is really convenient. Now I have an excuse to lie around and do nothing all day." It just doesn't happen. If someone with depression appears to be lazy and unmotivated, it is only because they are exhausted and find the idea of doing anything productive daunting beyond belief. 

People with depression are insecure attention-seekers who need to get ahold of themselves. 

It is true that depression sufferers tend to be insecure, but very few actually seek attention unless they are truly desperate and don't know any other way to get help. Most live their lives in fear that those they know will discover the darkness of their inner lives and reject them. People with depression also tend to see themselves as burdens on those they love, and are particularly sensitive to rejection. As such, they do their best to hide their problems with others and appear as "normal" as possible, but when your mind insists on assaulting you on a regular basis, sometimes acting normal is impossible. 

People who try to express or alleviate their depressive symptoms through such destructive behaviors as cutting, eating disorders, drug abuse, etc., are freaks to be shunned, and will obviously go to Hell for making these choices. 

Okay, no. Just no. Where did this idea even originate? True, self-destructive behaviors are terrible things to adopt, and might even be categorized as sin by some, but nothing is beyond the grace of God. I mean, think about it -- God forgave and redeemed Saul of Tarsus, a man who built his reputation on his religious supremacy and persecution of Christ-followers. (Read the book of Acts. Saul is mentioned a couple of times in reference to the stoning of Stephen in chapters 5-7, but much of his story starts in chapter 9.) In fact, Saul of Tarsus became the Apostle Paul, one of the most faithful and effective witnesses for Christ ever to be seen. His crimes before coming to Christ were despicable, and I'm sure many believed he had no chance of redemption, but God worked through him nonetheless, and his mistakes now serve as a testament to us of how great God is and how mighty He is to save those who come to Him for forgiveness. 

So taking this into account, in what context can we assume that any person engaging in any behavior (no matter where their sins may fall on our scale of sinfulness) is past redemption? And beyond this, when is it okay to tell someone desperate enough to engage in self-destructive behaviors in an attempt to cope that they are irredeemable freaks unworthy of "righteous" people's attention? People who engage in self-destructive behaviors, while they may sometimes be crying for help with their actions, tend to engage in such behaviors as either a form of self-punishment, a release of tension, to make themselves feel again when depression has numbed them, or as a way to escape from the pain of their everyday lives. They are complex individuals created by God and loved infinitely by Him, and they are in pain. Excruciating pain. Pain so bad that they feel they need to hurt themselves just to survive. This may seem counter-intuitive, but it's common. And it is not your place, not my place, not anyone's place, to judge them. It is our place to love them and to do everything we can to help them deal with the problem behind these behaviors. You've heard that you can't treat the symptoms and ignore the disease and expect the patient to make a full recovery. Well, there you go. 

Depression is a character flaw, and proof that the sufferer doesn't really trust God like they should. 

Depression is a mental disease. It is neurological. It is perpetual. It is torturous and paralyzing. It is not a choice. It is not a mere state of mind. And it is not a sin. And for more on the subject of whether suffering is the result of a lack of trust in God, check out the book of Job. Seriously. Go look it up. Right now. Throughout the book, Job was judged and condemned by advisors who believed that his suffering was the result of some hidden sin, when all the while it was a test. It had nothing to do with Job's sins or with any lack of love for or trust in God. It had everything to do with putting the trust and love he had to the test, and proving just how strong and true it really was. Even when Job did not understand what was going on, even when he wished for death and questioned why God had brought it upon him, still he trusted that God was there, and glorified Him even when he didn't feel like doing it. Job did nothing to deserve his suffering. Likewise, whatever mistakes a person with depression may have made in their life, their depression should never be assumed to be a symptom of any hidden sin or lack of trust in God. Again, it is not our place to judge -- it is our place to accept people as they are, to acknowledge their pain without condemning them for it, and to love as God loves us. 

Depression is a temporary phase, and not to be taken seriously. 

Clinical depression, by its very definition, is a medical condition which can last months, years, or even for a person's entire life. It can severely impair its victims' ability to function and associate with others, or even to take care of themselves, and it drives some to take their own lives, either intentionally or by accident while engaging in self-destructive behaviors such as those listed above. And the longer it is left alone, the worse it gets. 

If someone with depression seems to have several good days and acts "normal" for longer than usual, this is a sign that their depression is gone, and should no longer be acknowledged as a reality. 

Sometimes people with depression have good days. They might even have an entire week of being able to behave normally, and those who are especially good at acting might be able to pass as a healthy individual for even longer. These highs, while enjoyable and encouraging, do not last forever, and often the depressed person may feel even worse when the high crashes, due to profound feelings of disappointment, fear, and guilt because they thought they were getting better. They truly want to be happy and healthy, as stated above, and when a high crashes, the loss of that empowering feeling may make the sufferer feel as though they have lost control. However, they may continue to fake the high so as not to disappoint their loved ones. In this way, the friends and family of depression sufferers are often left in the dark by a well-meaning person who only wants to spare them the hurt which the sufferer himself/herself bears every day and night. 

If you discover that someone you know is depressed, you should ignore their complaints and divert the conversation whenever possible. They will cheer up eventually on their own as long as no-one fosters their negativity. 

If you discover that someone you know is depressed, support them. Yes, cheering them up can sometimes be helpful (depending upon the person and how severe their depression is), and dwelling on the negative aspects of life can certainly be harmful. But what this person needs from you now is not just a pep talk, not just a cheery conversation about the weather or a TV show -- they need an ally, someone they know will be there no matter how rough things get, someone they can trust with their deepest insecurities. They need you to be the voice of sympathy and reason that does battle with the voices of insecurity and hopelessness that scream at them at all hours of the day. They need to feel that they can express their feelings and seek your help without being judged for what they say or do. Basically, actions speak louder than words, and your actions, whatever their nature, will positively scream your intentions in times like these. 

If depression is not a character flaw, then it must be the result of sin. Therefore, depression sufferers should be confronted and judged until they realize the error of their ways. 

Let's just start here: "Judge not, lest ye be judged." (Matthew 7:1, KJV) We already looked at the book of Job and discussed how suffering is not necessarily the result of sin or of a lack of trust in God. Suffering is a natural part of living in this sin-cursed world of ours. But even if it were the result of a person's own private sin, that is between them and God. Again, it is not your job to judge them. It is your job to love them. Yes, encourage them to think of good things. Gently encourage them to abstain from behaviors which harm themselves and others. Be honest, but also be loving. And in the case of depression, recognize the tremendous measure of strength it takes just to get through each day while suffering from this crippling disease. The error of their ways? Your friend, family member, etc. deserves a great big hug just for getting out of bed today, just for drawing breath again and again despite what their brain might try to make them do. Remember, you are not them. You do not know how they feel or what they are going through. You are in no position to judge them. 

And now, here's a big one: 

Depression sufferers are weak. 

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. 

And again, just to clarify: NO. 

Try this: Imagine the person you trust most is standing in front of you, the person whose ideas tend to most often match your own, whose opinion you value above all others. Now imagine that they're spouting out lies about you, horrible lies that tear you down and strip away whatever dignity you might have had previously. Now imagine they're sitting on your shoulders, and that you're forced to carry their weight all day, every day, and that they keep whispering these horrible lies while you try to sleep at night. They repeatedly tap your head in the most irritating and distracting way, making it impossible to focus, and whenever you try to do anything enjoyable or productive, they scream the futility of your actions into your ear, and don't quiet down until you give up and go back to bed. Then they just go back to whispering. You try to shake them off, but every attempt just makes them grab on more tightly. It's as if they're stuck to you with Gorilla glue, and it takes more energy than it's worth to pry them loose, so after the first couple of days, you just give up and try to ignore them. 

And they blame you for all of it. 

Over time, you begin to realize that this is not a person on your back -- it is a monster, and it's digging its claws into you, especially into your head. It makes it hard to sleep at night, and hard to get up in the morning, and what seemed like just a set of hurtful annoyances on the first day becomes a terrible routine and soon, you start to believe that all this is somehow your fault. You deserve this. Maybe those things the monster is saying about you really are true. Maybe nothing you do has a point. Maybe there's not really glue sticking them to you; by now, you should have just been able to shake them off and move on with your life. But they're still there. So now you believe you are a pathetic weakling who deserves all this distraction, discouragement, etc., just by nature of the fact that you're not able to get rid of this horrible, destructive person on your own. 

Congratulations. You've just gotten a tiny glimpse of what it's like to live with clinical depression. 

Now imagine that everyone around you sees you limping along with this leech on your back, but either they cannot see your burden, or they choose to ignore it, despite any pleas you may manage to communicate to them. And they start spouting things at you: 

"It's just a bad mood. You'll be fine." 

"Something on your back? Of course not. It's all in your head." 

"This isn't going to affect your work, is it?" 

"You know, if you would just straighten up and smile more, you'd forget all about that imaginary monster on your back." 

"How can you be so selfish? You should be running alongside all the rest of us, not asking for help with some little pest that's supposedly on your back. Shut up and man up." 

"You're just doing this to get a break from work/school/chores, aren't you?" 

"Sheesh, quit whining so much. It's not like you really have anything to complain about. Get ahold of yourself. You wouldn't even have these problems if you'd just stop complaining so much." 

"If there really is something on your back, it must mean God is punishing you. You're such a horrible person." 

"You're such a weakling."  

How do you think you would feel? 

I hope this post has been helpful in debunking a few of the common myths regarding depression. My intent is not to antagonize anyone, but simply to shed some light on a commonly misunderstood condition and help those who know and love someone with depression be better equipped to understand and help them. 

If you are depressed and thinking about hurting yourself, or are already engaged in some self-destructive behavior, I urge you to seek help. Talk to a parent, a trusted friend, a doctor or your pastor, but realize that you do not have to deal with this alone. Even if you have difficulty finding the support you need in your immediate group of friends and family, there are other options. Sites such as IMAlive allow you to chat instantly with someone who is trained in crisis intervention and wants desperately to help you through this, and the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at 1 (800) 273-8255. And above all else, remember that you are a unique human being created by God, loved infinitely by Him, and with a purpose in life far beyond anything you can see right now. However hopeless things might seem right now, you are not alone, and there is always hope. The next time you feel weak or worthless or like no-one cares, place your hand over your chest and feel your heartbeat, how it's still going despite everything that has happened to keep you from making it to today. And remember that Jesus Christ came to earth to give His life for you, to take your sins and pay for them with His own blood, because HE LOVES YOU. And no disease, no mistake you've made, nothing anyone else says can change that. 

Thanks for reading. Oh, yeah -- and Merry Christmas. I ought to make an effort to post something a bit more cheery before Christmas comes tomorrow. Is it tomorrow already? Wow. That's close. And guess what, you out there still reading this? You made it this far. Now keep holding on, and celebrate Christ's birth, death, and resurrection with me and everyone else who remembers the true meaning of the holiday. He came for you, you know. Christmas happens because God loved you enough to send His only son for you. I think that's something worth celebrating, don't you? 

But, of course... I digress.