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)

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. 

Like A River Glorious

Hey there, fellow digressors. So today (or, well, yesterday, since I'm posting this after midnight), I went to church. Shocking, I know. What on earth was I doing in church on Sunday, of all days? Well, besides watching a video about Noah's Ark (put out by Answers in Genesis; they're awesome) and sitting through a slightly different (but still good) sermon by a local missionary, we sang the song that the church in general has set to memorizing over the past several weeks: 'Like A River Glorious'. During Family School (which is like Sunday School, except with the whole family together), one of the pastor's sons told us the story of the hymn's author, Frances R. Havergal. She wrote several hymns, actually, including the popular 'Take My Life and Let It Be', 'Who Is on the Lord's Side', and 'I Gave My Life for Thee'. 

While her hymns are beautiful and inspirational, and her life story is fascinating, the part that leapt out at me was the account of how she once became very ill -- with a severe cold that caused inflammation of the lungs -- and, upon being told that her life was in danger, exclaimed, "If I am really going, it is too good to be true!" 

That seems a little off, doesn't it? When you find out you're within an inch of your life, you're supposed to panic. You're supposed to gasp and cry and frantically look for any way of prolonging your life a little further. Such news is supposed to rock your world. It's only natural. 

But the peace of God is far beyond natural. It is supernatural. 

I know this because I have been in Ms. Havergal's approximate position before. 

No, I've never faced a doctor and been told I might die. I was once informed that I had a chronic illness that would take years to beat, but it's not bad enough to be fatal. But... Well, maybe the best way to explain it would be to tell you a story. It's a story I've lived several times over the past few years. It goes down a little differently each time, but there are some common characteristics, enough that I feel I can share a relatively accurate account with you now. It'll be somewhat fictionalized, since no two instances are exactly the same, but here goes. 

It was a day like any other. The sun rose long before I did, as did most of the people in the house. Physical pain was either faint or nonexistent, but I awoke tired and sluggish. I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed my trusty cane -- which I often call my "buddy," not to be confused with Sohrem -- and made my way down the stairs. My feet dragged a little, but with much concentration, I managed to avoid tripping or making it too visible. I spotted our dog, Mia, nearby and leaned down to pet her before going to the refrigerator and looking for something to eat. There was plenty available, but the slight churning of my temperamental stomach warned me off of anything too strong. I would have to find something non-threatening to feed it. 

My gaze fell on a carton of almond milk, some farm-fresh eggs, and some maple syrup, and I pulled out these ingredients to make an egg nog. I noticed throughout the process that every move required a bit more strength than usual, and as I finally mixed everything together, a flash of heat went through me. That didn't bode well. I quickly rinsed off the stir-stick, put away the various ingredients, took a sip of the egg nog, and grabbed my buddy. I took a moment to check my pocket. Yep, my phone was there. Good. That was one less thing to find before I crashed. 

I reached the stairs, set the rubber grip of the cane against the first step, and thrust downwards, then dragged my foot up onto the step beside it. Another step, another thrust, another foot grazing the step as it passed over the top. This might have been simpler if my mind didn't insist on counting the stairs and stepping in a certain sequence on the way up. It was hard enough taking the steps in the first place -- counting them and insisting on taking them in a certain way? Come on. 

A wave of heat passed over me again, and my legs started to get shaky. I gritted my teeth and thrust again, and a faint groan escaped as I scaled the next step. I'd have to be careful not to slip -- a tumble down the stairs would not end well. A little while longer of doing this, and I reached the top, and walked across flat ground again. Finally. 

My walking had almost turned into plain old tripping by this point, and I managed to grip the doorframe with the same hand that was holding my buddy without losing hold of either. Just a few more steps. A few steps, and I could lie down. I took a second to be thankful that my family helped me haul most of the junk out of my room a few months ago. There were fewer things to trip me without it. I made it to the bed and had to work hard not to fully collapse onto it. I took a seat, then hauled the cup of egg nog to my lips and took a sip. My arm begged for relief almost before I got any of the sweet liquid into my mouth. I slumped a bit and set the cup on a hard surface nearby, then let myself collapse onto the bed. Great. I'd only been here for a second, and already my body had decided that this was where I would live out the rest of my life. I always was an ambitious sort, I supposed. Maybe there were worse things to do with my life than lie in bed all the time. 

Well, drinking that egg nog I made for myself would also be nice, but the inches between me and the cup seemed to have stretched into miles. No way would I be drinking out of that anytime soon. 

The next half hour was spent mostly in staring at the ceiling. There was a faint fluttering in my chest, and breathing evenly took concentration. Funny how these things I learned to do so well as a baby and a toddler seemed like Olympic events to be championed now that all my energy had been drained out of me. 

The bed vibrated. I blinked and turned my head, and after a moment determined the source of the buzzing. The phone in my pocket was ringing. Uh-oh. I took a second to muster strength, then dragged my hand along the bed beside me and hauled the heavy device from my pocket. Another moment's concentration, and I hit the green phone button and pulled my phone to my ear. "Hello?" 

"Hey." Mom's voice. She sounded like she was at the store. 

My tongue felt impossibly thick, but I managed to make it move. "Hey," I slurred. 

"How're you doing?" 

"Um... A little worn out." Ha. That wasn't an understatement at all. "It's a low-energy day." 

"Oh, no. Have you eaten?" 

"I made an egg nog. What's up?" 

"Jonathan and I are out running some errands. Do you know if we're out of almond milk?" 

Almond milk. I forced my scrambled brain to recall how much liquid had been in the carton downstairs. "I think we're getting low." I swallowed and tried to combat the slur that blurred my words together. "Unless we have some outside. Do you know?" 

"I'm not sure. I'd probably better get some just in case." 

"'Kay." The fluttering in my chest got worse, and I forced my lungs to draw a breath long enough to speak again. "Mom, I've gotta go. It's hard to talk." 

"Okay. Call me if you need anything, okay?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"I love you." 

"Love you, too." 

The line went dead, and I pressed the red 'off' button before dropping the phone. Its landing sent another vibration through the mattress beneath me, but I didn't care. I was too busy breathing. I closed my eyes and focused. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. That's all it takes. 

Now if my heart would have just stopped fluttering, I might have actually been able to sit up and do something. Breathe. 

A thousand items from my to-do list flashed through my mind, and tears bit the corners of my eyes. How was I supposed to write anything or even pick up something off of my bedroom floor when it took a feat of strength just to breathe normally? I felt like I was dying. Keep breathing. 

Maybe I was dying. I'd heard of people dying from Lyme-related complications before. They had heart attacks or some such thing -- I couldn't remember all the different anecdotes, but they were out there. They really happened. What if I turned out to be one of those people? Air in, air out. Goodness, this is hard. 

Of course, logic told me that I probably wasn't dying. I had these attacks every few weeks, if they even had the courtesy to wait that long, and I was still here. I was still breathing, even if it took a lot of effort. And that fluttering in my chest told me that my frail heart was still beating. A normal doctor would probably do a check-up on me and tell me there was nothing wrong. 

But then again... what if I was dying? What if I was wrong this time? Would I ever muster the strength to get out of bed again? 

I took a moment to take stock of my emotions. They were a little hard to gauge, as the concentration it took just to breathe detracted from everything else, but I didn't feel particularly afraid. A little bit, sure. I was worried for my family. How would they react if I never came downstairs? Would they have to rush me to the emergency room? Would they think I'd done something to myself? Given my history of psychological issues, the idea of being found in my room unconscious or otherwise unable to communicate terrified me. I'd at least want to be able to explain what had really happened. 

But at the same time... I was okay. And that didn't really make a lot of sense. But when I thought hard about it, I realized that whatever happened, it would be okay. Of course, I didn't want to upset anyone, and I definitely wanted to get up out of bed and check off those items on my to-do list. I wanted to greet Mom when she came home. I wanted to help her carry in the groceries, carry on a normal conversation with her and the rest of my family, get out of the house and live a normal life again. I didn't really remember what having a "normal" life was like anymore, but it had to be simpler than lying there struggling to breathe and contemplating my immediate life expectancy. 

I looked up at the ceiling again. Talking was out of the question, but at least I could pray silently. God, help. Wow. My thoughts were so articulate. I focused on dragging up the proper words to use. I'm really tired. If You want me to get up again, please give me the energy. And if You don't, please help my family be okay. I've gotta admit, Heaven sounds really good right about now, but I also still want to do some stuff for You down here. So it's Your call. I trust You. 

And with that, I felt calmer. My situation had not changed. I still lay in bed, focusing intently on drawing life-giving breath, heart fluttering in my chest. I still couldn't reach the egg nog nearby, and I still dreaded the idea of having to talk again. 

But I knew it would be okay, one way or the other. 

It would be hours before I had enough energy to do anything productive, besides what could be accomplished by hauling out my cell phone or iPad, but eventually breathing became easier, and the fluttering stopped. I heard noises outside my room, indicating someone had come home. The idea of getting up still wasn't appealing, but it appeared I had made it through another day. I felt a bit silly for being so melodramatic throughout the incident, but it really had been crippling. Still, you would think I'd learn after the first dozen or so energy crashes. 

It has been three and a half years since I contracted Lyme disease, and over two years since I received my diagnosis and began treatment, and these attacks are still a normal part of my life. I have attacks of other varieties, too. Depression, anxiety, neuropathy, restless leg syndrome, OCD, chronic fatigue, and other issues all play a part in my everyday routine. I battle them constantly. And I have little doubt that, if I had to battle them alone, I would lose. But the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, keeps my heart and mind in Christ Jesus. To say I do not struggle to feel that peace sometimes would be a blatant lie. I struggle just like everyone else. I have moments of terror, despair, and hopelessness. But in those moments, I can hold to the hope that I have a God who loves me and will never abandon me, even when life seems impossible to bear, or even when it seems like I might not have much life left at all. The peace of God truly does surpass all understanding, and overcomes everything else when it matters most. 

Little wonder, then, that Ms. Havergal penned the words, "Stayed upon Jehovah, heart are fully blest, finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest." 

Turmoil and pain are a normal part of life, whether you have a chronic illness or are completely healthy, believer or otherwise, wealthy or impoverished. But as believers, we can take comfort in the fact that, when we reach rock bottom, when we feel like we have nothing left, God's perfect peace is ever-flowing, and sustains us in the face of everything else. 

And beyond all this, I know that somewhere down the road, whether it's in fifty years or five, or even next week, when God calls me home, I will have peace. This fatigued, degenerate body is only a temporary dwelling. None of these trials are permanent. Even if the Lyme never goes away, even if I struggle with these trials for the rest of my mortal life, I will find freedom in Christ and in His salvation. 

"Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.

Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall all be changed.

For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord."

1 Corinthians 15:50-58, KJV

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"Like a river glorious, is God's perfect peace

Over all victorious, in its bright increase;

Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day

Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.

Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest

Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest.

Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,

Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;

Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,

Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.

(Refrain)

Every joy or trial falleth from above, 
Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love;

We may trust Him fully all for us to do.

They who trust Him wholly find Him wholly true.

(Refrain)"

'Like A River Glorious', by Frances R. Havergal

Depression and the Psalms

Hey there, fellow digressors. Recently, a friend and I admitted that we had been slacking with our Bible-reading, so I've purposed to read five Psalms each day. (Obviously, that plan will have to change a little when I get to Psalm 119.) Yesterday, I read Psalms 6-10. One of them really got to me, and I thought I would share it here:

"O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.

Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.

My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O Lord, how long?

Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.

For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?

I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.

Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.

Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.

The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.

Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly."

Psalm 6, KJV

"Well," you might say, "that's a rather depressing scripture to share. Is there a point to this?" I'm glad you asked. Here's the thing: I think this psalm is just about the most accurate portrait of faith-filled depression I've seen in a long time. And it was written millennia before clinical depression became a widely-accepted illness, before there were support groups and social networks where people could share their stories and compare notes on their struggles. Did King David have clinical depression? Who knows? But the Psalms have always been a great encouragement for myself and for others who struggle with depression. 

Okay, wait -- let me back up for a second here to clarify: Yes, I do have depression. I've never gone in for a medical diagnosis, but given its persistence, its recurrence, and its correlation to my Lyme timeline (I started having depression problems around the time I started having health problems, and it gets worse at times where it would make sense for Lyme-related symptoms to worsen), my guess is that it is clinical. It's not something I generally broadcast to the world. In fact, it's something that I tend to hide as much as possible. Depression is an isolating illness, and has this way of convincing you that you're alone in your problems, and that you should be. 

Let's just say a depressed brain is not a normal brain. At all. 

Also, I should clarify the differences between feeling depressed and having depression. If something bad happens and your mood takes a turn for the worse, and you have depression symptoms in the short term only, it's generally not indicative of a clinical problem. For example, if I'm generally happy/normal, but my dog gets hit by a car and I cry for a while then get on with my life, I probably am not clinically depressed. On the other hand, if my dog gets hit, and I start to internalize about the situation, blame myself, cry a lot, and my depressed mood lasts a long time without letting up much, there might be a problem. (Not to minimize the trials of people who aren't clinically depressed; your problems are perfectly legitimate. It's just that pain tends to be processed differently by depression sufferers as opposed to "normal" people. We're not as good at getting past things or accepting that things aren't our fault.) 

Generally speaking, if your depression symptoms persist for longer than two weeks, it is considered indicative of some chemical imbalance that needs to be dealt with. Some of the symptoms, according to the CDC, include: 

- Depressed/sad mood 
- Diminished interest in activities which used to be pleasurable 
- Weight gain or loss 
- Psychomotor agitation or retardation (either restlessness or a slowing-down of thoughts and movements due to stress and/or sadness/depression) 
- Fatigue 
- Inappropriate guilt 
- Difficulties concentrating 
- Recurrent thoughts of death 

According to the American Psychiatric Association (in the article I linked to above), five or more of these symptoms must persist for at least two weeks to constitute a diagnosis of depression. Anything less might still be a problem, and especially if you are having recurring thoughts of death, I recommend you talk to someone you trust IMMEDIATELY, whether you fully meet these criteria or not, but officially, this is what it takes to be diagnosed with clinical depression. 

When people hear "depression," they tend to get a certain picture in their mind. A common idea might be that depressed people wear dark clothing, cry a lot in public, engage in some kind of self-harm, and probably have at least considered killing themselves, if they haven't actually tried. There is a lot of stigma involved. But the truth is, most people with depression might look and act normal. They might go to parties, laugh at your jokes, and even get good grades in school. They can be the most devout people you know. They might have never harmed themselves, and it's almost certain that most of them will not openly discuss their struggles with you. And in fact, many people with depression never attempt suicide. You could know them for years and have no idea of their problems, and it would be perfectly understandable. 

There is also a popular opinion floating around that says people who have depression, self-harm, and/or attempt suicide must not be Christians, and must have chosen to be the way they are. If they would just read their Bibles, pray a little more, trust God more, then all their problems would go away. They could be happy, productive people again if they would just try a little harder. 

To combat this idea, I will refer you back to Psalm 6. Or almost any of the Psalms, for that matter. 

"Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.

My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O Lord, how long?

Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.

For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?

I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.

Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies."

Psalm 6:2-6, KJV

King David, one of the great men of the Bible (though he was still human and certainly imperfect), struggled with depression (though whether it was clinical or not, I couldn't say), and was not afraid to admit it. He says plainly that he is weary of groaning, that he makes his bed swim and his couch wet with his tears all night. He is worn down by his trials and pleads for relief. This can be found elsewhere in the Psalms; for example, in Psalm 42: 

"As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.

My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?

My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say to me, Where is thy God?

When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday.

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance."

Psalm 42:1-5, KJV

Whoa, hold up there. We just heard David express how his soul is cast down within him, how he no longer takes as much joy in going to worship with others, and cries day and night. But did you catch what else he said? "My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God." "Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance." And in Psalm 6, he said something else:

"Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.

The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer."

Psalm 6:7-8, KJV

Time and time again, the psalmist contrasts his own struggles, his own weaknesses with God's strength, faithfulness, and glory. Does he suffer? Absolutely. Does he stumble and fall? That much seems clear. Does he ever feel hopeless, abandoned, and guilty? Does he plead fervently with God for deliverance? Yes, he does. 

But he also turns all that pain, all those trials and all that desperation around to praise God. He trusts in Him, even when life is hard, even when the world has turned on him and everything within him wants to give up. 

"In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust: let me never be put to confusion.

Deliver me in thy righteousness, and cause me to escape: incline thine ear unto me, and save me.

Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort: thou hast given commandment to save me; for thou art my rock and my fortress.

Deliver me, O my God, out of the hand of the wicked, out of the hand of the unrighteous and cruel man.

For thou art my hope, O Lord God: thou art my trust from my youth.

By thee I have been holden up from the womb: thou art he that took me out of my mother's bowels: my praise shall be continually of thee.

I am as a wonder unto many: but thou art my strong refuge.

Let my mouth be filled with thy praise and with thy honour all the day."

Psalm 70:1-8, KJV

The hardest thing about depression is that it paralyzes you. There are a million things you want to do, and about as many that you know you need to do, but it keeps you frozen or just slows you down so that it doesn't seem worth it to try. It tells you that you're alone, and that you shouldn't bother other people with your problems. It makes you feel guilty more than you should, might make you lash out and give more cause for guilt, and overall it just makes life not seem to matter as much as it should. It tries to steal your joy, and can even steal from you the desire to get that joy back. It is a monster, and it is not your fault. 

If this sounds like you, please get help. No matter what "real" problems you may or may not have, if you struggle in these ways and feel like you are slipping, please talk to a parent, doctor, or a trusted friend as soon as possible. Admit that you are struggling, and don't be afraid to ask for help. There is no shame in the struggle, and Christ did not die for you just so you could beat yourself up and suffer in silence. He loves you, and He is always there, no matter what you might be feeling. And despite how it might seem, there are people out there who understand (to at least some extent) what you are going through, and are ready and willing to help. Blogs such as The Hope Movement offer support and encouragement to those suffering with depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and other difficulties, and if you are in crisis and contemplating suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or talk to your parents or a trusted friend IMMEDIATELY. 

I won't try to tell you that if you read your Bible and pray more, your problems will magically go away. That's not how it works, at least not always. Depression has a physical side as well as a spiritual one, and if not addressed, it can eat you alive. God never promised us that we would live easy lives, that we would never be discouraged or struggle to hold on. But He did promise that He would always be there. 

"Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of his understanding.

He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."

Isaiah 40:28-31, KJV

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Romans 8:35-39, KJV

Life is hard sometimes. But we can be sure of one thing: If we have trusted in Christ, if we have confessed our sins to Him and accepted His free gift of salvation, we are His forever. Nothing, not even depression, is enough to drive God away. Everyone else may leave, may laugh at you or accuse you of faithlessness or abuse you with their words and actions, but God will never leave. He is faithful to the end, and beyond. Even when you feel like giving up, God won't. Even when you think you are hopeless and beyond redemption, He will stand by you and give you strength to continue. Human strength fails, but God's strength never does. Depression is real, and it is crippling. But it is not the end. And if we trust in God, we can be sure that He will work everything out in the end. All will be brought around to His glory, and if we endure in His strength, we will learn and grow in ways that we could never have imagined. And that, in and of itself, is enough reason to keep fighting. 

"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."

Romans 8:28 KJV

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end."

Jeremiah 29:11, KJV

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

"I remember
When my eyes were too tired to see
I remember
When I choked on my sadness and failures
And I couldn't breathe
The yoke on my shoulders was heavy, and I couldn't stand
And if only I'd reached out much sooner and taken Your hand,
I would have realized

That You were there through it all
That You were ready to pick me up whenever I'd fall
When I was weak, You were strong
And when I couldn't breathe
You were my song
Before I heard Your call
I was weak and I'd fall
But You were there through it all

I remember when my mind turned on me
And I stopped believing in Your love
I remember
When the pain was too much
And I cried and I screamed that I'd had enough
Because the night was so dark and my eyes were so blind
I was blind, but now I can see
That You were there,
There with me

Though friends may desert me
Though foes may beset me
Though the pain, it still stabs at this heart of mine
Though my spirit's not willing
And my flesh, it is weak
And I turn on myself every time
Lord, I know every time

You'll bring me through it all
And I know that You hear me
Whenever I call
When I'm weak, You are strong
You're my breath, You're my song
And You pick me up whenever I fall
Lord, You pick me up
And You carry me through it all."

'Through It All' - Original Song
(Copyright 2014 (c) by C. F. Barrows)