Pioneer Christian Monthly - September, 1984

Out Of A Deadly Dark Valley
Anonymous

About twenty years ago, with God's help, I emerged from that deadly dark valley, which is mental illness. My sojourn in that valley is a period I don't think about very often, because even after all these years, remembering is painful. Yet, despite my reluctance to dredge up these memories, I feel compelled to share my story, not out of a need to "let it all out', certainly not in order to shock or elicit sympathy or to provide a few moments of interesting reading. The force that compels me is the desperate need I see in those still in valley of mental illness, the need to be understood. These people are often given advice and suggestions by good and kind folk who dearly want to help, but do not understand what mental illness is or do . es. Without intending to, these well-meaning people, can deeply hurt or discourage tile very ones they are trying so hard to help.

By means of an analogy, let me illustrate how this can happen. Imagine for a moment that you've had a spinal injury, your legs are healthy, but because of nerve damage they cannot move. You've become a paraplegic. Friends come to do what they can to help, but they do not really understand all the ins and outs of your injury, and here is what they say: "You have two perfectly healthy legs. Don't let a little back injury stop you. I bet you could walk if you really wanted to." "Are you sure you're not taking the easy way out" "If you were really a Christian, you could get right out of that wheelchair and walk."

The Dutch language also has a nasty little word that creeps into the situation, either spoken or implied, namely, aanstellen, which means faking non-existent problems or making major ones out of minor ones.

Ridiculous? Of course! Very! Yet those who are mentally ill (whose broken spirit paralyzes the will as surely as a broken nerve paralyzes the flesh), are often given very similar advice, equally well-meant, and equally hurtful.

"If you would exercise some will power, you'd snap out of it. You just aren't trying." (Will power and distraction can overcome the occasional "off day' we all experience due to fatigue, frustration, hormone cycle, weather or what have you, but they cannot cure profound depression.)

"You have everything you want. What do you have to be depressed about." (That's just the problem. Depression isn't "about' anything ... its just there!)

"The Lord is beside you. You don't have to be so anxious." (Like depression, -.- xiety isn't about anything. It is a vague, all undirected, sense of fear.)

Then there are the hints of aanstellen - sometimes more than just hints.

But the most devastating of all is questioning of faith. I've heard it said by both lay persons and clergy that" Christians can't possibly get depressed'. The implied message is that if you do get depressed, you can't be a very good Christian

I cringe for the depressed people who hear these words. Besides the heavy burden of their sickness, they have just been handed the even heavier burden - the burden of guilt. And their faith which is probably all they had left to hold onto, is badly shaken.

Jesus taught a much different way of dealing with the sick He gave them love and compassion without accusation. Even when confronted by those who were possessed, He never rebuked the victim, only the evil spirit. To the sick and discouraged He never said " 0 ye of little faith', but rather He opened His arms and said, "Come unto me ... and I will give you rest'.

If the sharing of my experiences can shed a little light of understanding on the problem of mental illness, if it can save even one sick person from remarks like those I have quoted, then it will have been worth it.

Roots

Why did I become sick when many who grew up in circumstances infinitely worse, did not? I don't really know. Why does one person get the flu when another who has also been exposed to the virus stays well? It seems to be a matter of susceptibility. On hindsight I can only suggest these contributing factors:

- my mother expecting me during a very frightening time of war (it has been proven that fear does transmit itself to the unborn).

- my fear of almost everything (probably triggered by the first factor) and despising myself for being such a "chicken'.

- being the immature, insecure kid at the bottom of the class pecking order. The names I was called followed me clear through high school (every class seems to have one child like this. The others say (s)he has fleas, and being that person's partner, or even having her(him) on your team, was good for days of teasing.)

- being painfully shy and unable to act "properly" in public. The worst part being that I was acutely aware of my acting "foolish', but I couldn't do anything else.

- having a father who had a stroke while I was quite young. He then developed severe hardening of the arteries, which changed him from a kind, gentle man I don't remember (A mental block the doctors say, because the difference was too painful for me to cope with) to the violent, jealous man I knew as Dad.

- a mother who was almost breaking under the strain of raising a large family and coping with a sick husband (I know that now, but at the time I thought she didn't like me - much).

All these factors, and many more besides, painted in my mind a picture of myself as no good and unlovable. During this time, I grew very close to the Lord, in the hope that He could still love me, even if people couldn't.

When my father died, I saw him for the first time in my memory, not in his usual state of agitation, but quiet and at peace. My first reaction was one of envy. How lucky he was to be "out of it". So the first seeds, if not of suicide at least of a death wish, were rooted in my child's mind.

As I grew towards adulthood, my feeling of being worthless increased and death seemed more and more a friend who would rescue me from the mess of my life. Suicide seemed more and more the only way out. Finally, I couldn't handle it any more. I felt I had done enough damage to the world and should leave it before I did more. I took an overdose of pills on a day when my roommate wasn't due home until late. While I waited for the pills to take effect, I read and re-read Psalm 23. When I couldn't see to read anymore, I prayed until I fell asleep: "Lord, forgive me, but I don't see any other way out. I'm coming home."

(it has been said, rather blithely, that suicides can't possibly be God's children. I sincerely hope this last paragraph is convincing that compassion and not judgement is in order.)

God wouldn't let me finish what I had started. Because the car wouldn't start, my roommate had to come home, found me and called for help. (The car started without hesitation afterwards.) That saved my life; but I didn't want my life to be saved. When I came to, in the emergency room, I thought the big overhead light was the light of heaven. That delusion was suddenly shattered when the attending doctor began to swear at me. Then the room swam into focus and I realized my attempt had failed. The terror that flooded me then defies description. How could I possibly live on?

The three hellish weeks in an Ontario hospital (required by law at that time) very effectively stripped me of any last shreds of dignity and self-respect I had managed to save thus far. And so, a terrified, depressed, self-loathing patient was admitted to Pine Rest Christian Hospital.

The Road to the Light

It took about seven months to convince me that I was really liked by the staff. Until I could accept that fact, no one could reach me to begin helping me. What finally convinced me, I think, is the affection and patience shown to me by staff members who were not responsible for me. The ones who were responsible for me, I reasoned, were being paid to be nice to me. But why were the others so nice? Didn't they know who and what I was? After seven long months I finally believed that they did know, but treat I was still okay in their books. At that point the "real" therapy could begin.

It was very painful and sometimes rather terrifying to have to dig away at my deepest feelings and memories, but there was so much support from the staff that it was possible. Carefully built walls came down, bit by bit. Heavy defenses were discarded, one after another.

I had a bad case of "If I were really a Christian, I wouldn't have . . .". The hospital chaplain patiently reassured me again and again, until I believed it myself, that I was sick and it was not a sin to be sick- He gave me the analogy of the paraplegic I used earlier.

I was taught that the roots of my depression lay in repressed emotions, especially anger. I couldn't get angry with my classmates who teased me so cruelly, so I convinced myself that I was all those things they called me. I couldn't get anger at my father's outbursts, so I convinced myself that I deserved everything I got, and no wonder he didn't like me. (My mother assured me many times that dad couldn't help himself and I wasn't really bad. But I guess that was more than a child's mind could understand.) On and on went the list of turning anger at myself instead of outward, where it belonged.

(Psychologists agree that a very large percentage - up to 85% - of all depression is caused by repressed anger. That is why I get very worried when I hear people say that Christians shouldn't get angry. That unbiblical idea is behind an awful lot of depression.)

As I learned to trust the staff, I was taught more tools to help the healing process:

- learn to recognize anger and learn to express it in acceptable ways;

- learn to express other emotions too, even if it is frightening;

- maintain a sense of self-worth (God doesn't make junk)

- recognize and deal with your motives, e.g. if you find yourself overly critical of others, chances are it's yourself you are upset with. Find out why.

I was also taught to understand my father's illness and accept the fact that it had nothing to do with my being unlovable. I learned to understand the strain on my mother. I was taught about the pecking order syndrome among children. (As hens in a barnyard will physically attack the weak or wounded hen, so children will "pick on" the weakest and most insecure of the group.) in short, I was taught that I was not unlovable, just a victim of circumstances - I learned to like myself a little.

It was a long, slow, at times discouraging climb out of that valley of mental illness. Often I got near the rim, only to slide down again. I often despaired that I would ever get to the top. But God always provided someone to encourage me and help me try again. About eight years after leaving Pine Rest, by God's grace, I finally emerged completely.

The Outcome

Even today I struggle with a sometimes elusive sense of self-worth, but because I was taught how to deal with this, I don't let it worry me too much. I am not nearly as shy as I was, even five or six years ago. The root of it is that, generally, I can like myself ... the first requirement of sound mental health.

Since I've come out of that valley, many troubled people have approached me for help. "You' ve been there. You'll understand." I've done a lot of work with troubled children - successful only because I knew how they felt. Praise God who can turn everything to our good!

Where to from here?

Through "being there" myself, living with others who "have been there", and seeing, at close range, the stages of healing of many of these people, I have learned of the acute and frightening aloneness of the mentally ill.

People tend to feel threatened by what they don't understand. They feel, perhaps, even more threatened if the symptoms resemble some of their own feelings. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, there is a fear that the sickness will "rub off'. (It worry)

When people feel threatened, they generally do one of two things: avoid or condemn. Being avoided hurts badly, and being condemned is shattering to an already fragile spirit.

In dealing with the mentally ill, we must remember Jesus' way: kindness, patience, compassion. These people need to be loved, to be made to feel that others stand beside them. if we can do that, we encourage them and give them a real boost. If, however, through fear or ignorance, we condemn them or make negative remarks to them, we give them only a shove downward.

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."

Anonymous

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