Overcoming the Shameful Disease

My name is Ben, and I have a confession to make: I have an illness.  I learned this in the ER after recovering from an overdose on pain pills.  My doctor told me he didn’t know the cause, but the disease had corrupted my blood, which is why I was in so much pain all the time.  When I asked if I would ever get better, he told me there were treatments, and some worked really well.  He warned me that each patient reacted better to some treatments than others.  The recovery process could be long, expensive, and complicated, and even then, there was no guarantee that I would ever be cured.

My parents drove me home in dead silence.  They thought I was just exaggerating my symptoms.  I didn’t dare talk about getting treatment or returning to the doctor’s; every time I tried they just shut down the conversation.  I guess it hurt them to think their son was broken.  They didn’t like to think that I could die from this disease, so they pretended it didn’t exist.

They didn’t realize I had been taking the pain pills for eons now; almost seven years ago I had started getting massive headaches and became sore all over my body. Each morning I woke up to a throbbing in my limbs that begged me to rest.  But I couldn’t: I had school.  So I got ready, my stiff joints forcing me to move slowly, lethargically. There were nights when I just wanted to never wake up, because death would be so blissful compared to feeling like every muscle in my body was on fire.

When I first started to have these problems, one of my friends just scoffed at me: “Whatever man.  You’re just trying to get away with doing no homework.  Stop kidding around!”  Others got tired waiting for me because my limbs were like lead and I lacked the energy to keep up.  By the time I started self-medicating, most of my friends were pretty much gone.  Even one of my teachers pulled me aside to tell me to pull myself together: he expected more of me.

Telling people about my disease and diagnosis only made it worse: now I was an outcast.  Even my closest friends avoided talking about the illness.  One of them went as far as to say that the doctor who diagnosed me was a fake and I should just go cure myself. 

So I did.  Or tried to at least.  It began with bloodletting—cutting.  At first it made me want to vomit, but it helped, so within a few months the acrid, metallic smell of my poisoned blood brought a sort of reassurance that I could manage my condition.  I became an adrenaline junkie—supposedly it would give my body energy to fight the disease—and I was drawn to danger.

I tried everything from starving to suffocating to self-medicating. After all those attempts failed, I thought there was no hope for me: that I would slowly waste away.  I was broken, helpless, and hopeless. No one wanted me: a person doomed to a long and painful death.

Then one day a girl smiled and said hi to me.  Every day.  For weeks.  By this time my disease had already left my body twisted and deformed.  No one dared look at me.  No one… Except her.  Then she introduced herself—her name was Kim.  We hung out.

For the first time in years, I had a friend!  But I didn’t dare tell her about my disease… Months passed and she noticed how I kept wincing in pain.  She asked what was wrong, so at last, I told her about my disease.  I told her about the pain pills. I told her about the cutting and all the times I had nearly died because I just wanted the pain to end.  I told her about the times when I was by myself and I just screamed in agony or sobbed because I felt so alone.  I told her everything.

And you know what?  She listened!  She didn’t judge.  She told me my disease didn’t determine who I was.  She told me about the famous people who also suffered from the same condition.  Like Abraham Lincoln!  When Kim looked at me, she didn’t see a broken thing; she saw a person with talents and the capacity to be great.

You may be wondering what my disease was. Well, it actually isn’t anything physical.  No, it is something far more terrible and far harder to escape.  I have depression.  My actual diagnosis is Generalized Anxiety Disorder with Major Depressive Disorder and Dysthymia (if you don’t know what that means, don’t worry, most people don’t).  I was diagnosed after my fifth—or maybe it was my sixth—attempt at suicide.

One time Kim asked me why she was the one to help me—two years after my diagnosis and almost 10 years after my first suicide attempt.  She was upset that my parents, friends, and high school counselors did nothing and even made things worse.  I told her that, unlike her, they didn’t listen.  They were afraid.  Talking about mental illness made them uncomfortable: it was taboo.  Because of their responses, I felt trapped: doomed to face my hopeless, painful illness completely alone.  So I stopped talking about it, afraid of dragging others into my abyss.

Today I’m writing because I’m worried for all the other people out there like me.  An estimated 1.5 million children and teens in US schools will suffer from depression this year, and most of them have no idea help is available.  I’ve heard tragic stories of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and friends who couldn’t take the pain any more and chose to end their lives.  This disease doesn’t discriminate.

As long as no one is willing to talk openly about depression, it will keep on killing.  So I hope you will learn from my story.  Take it from me; it doesn’t take much to help.  Just a smile. A listening ear. Being a friend. I will warn you that they—like me—will not bring up the topic.  So if you are seriously worried about someone, ask if they feel worthless or purposeless.  Please, ask if they have thoughts of suicide.

A friend or parent’s silence causes more damage than many people realize.  Because discussing mental illness was taboo in my family, it took Kim over 3 months to convince me to seek professional treatment. I’m now taking medication, which helps, and I’m doing much better. I’ve finally chosen a career that I’m passionate about, I have a job that I love, and for once I feels like my life has real meaning and purpose.  Fighting the disease is still hard, but now I have people by my side to help me along the way.

Depression doesn’t have to be a death sentence.  But it is real.  Painfully real.  And its victims need our help.  I think of Kim often… she and I both realize that, if not for her willingness to talk about my depression, I likely would not be alive today…  So please, talk about depression with your spouse, friends, parents, children, or peers.  Better yet, listen.  You might just save a life.

                     Sources/Additional reading:

http://kidshealth.org/parent/emotions/feelings/understanding_depression.html  

Black Dog Analogy-- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiCrniLQGYc

A good blog post-- http://www.thedarlingbakers.com/love-someone-with-depression/

My blog-- http://www.buildmeawindow.blogspot.com/

Angels and Demons

He looked down, past the edge of the building, toward the nearly empty street below, and shuddered.  Silence—interrupted only by the muted breathing of his sleeping roommates—pressed down on him from the outside while his own thoughts screamed, sobbed, spat, and whimpered at him from within.  Frustratedly rubbing a tear from his face, he gripped the edge of the window even tighter, and stepped onto the sill.

The air rang with the sounds of battle as flaming swords struck battle axes, cimeters, and maces.  Cherubim raced across the sky, plunging toward their dark and vicious foes.  Hair flying wildly as she swung a final blow at one of the snarling demons, one of the cherubim, Eloise, struck its weapon from its hand and cast it out in the name of her Lord and Master.

She spun around, looking to see if one of her siblings needed her help.  Below their churning battle, demons swarmed the mortal men walking the streets.  Scanning the throngs below, she couldn’t see any truly threatening foes: most of the powerful demons were entangled in this battle.  Meanwhile, to her left the Devil—clothed in magnificent robes of power—fell toward the earth blowing a horn that made a blood-curdling sound.  Michael the Archangel dove after him, practically glowing with his godly power.  Lucifer was rallying his troops.  Again.

She had never been involved in such a horrific battle.  Some of the most powerful devils and angels battled around her: Lucifer, Michael, Cain, Elias, Vertsdan, Abraham, Lucinda, Sarah.  As she watched their battles, she was stunned.  They all fought tirelessly, with skill and power that was as terrifying as amazing.  Why had her Master sent her on this mission?

One of the lesser demons took a swing at her, and as she parried his blows she thought about the reports they had received that an unusually powerful horde of devils was headed toward this city.  Of course, there were countless legions of devils attacking the children of men all over the earth, but the rumor was that it was a legion strong enough to attack one of the Master’s protected servants.

She ducked under a flying mace and spun as a long blade almost swiped her legs from under her.  This devil was strong.  Much stronger than she had anticipated.  And clever.  Eloise ducked under the mace again: her demon had pushed her up against three other fighting pairs.  Looking around desperately, she dove down and away from them, leading her opponent in a chase.

Ahead of her, a horde of demons clumped around an apartment building like flies around rotting meat, clinging to the old bricks with long, yellowing nails.  A few cherubim were throwing devils one-by-one from the building, but too many were preoccupied by the rest of the demons.  That must be their target, she thought.  Glancing back briefly to make sure she the devil was no longer chasing her, she steeled herself, sword at the ready, and then charged.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember a time when he had been happy.  But he couldn’t.  It was as if all of the happy times and good memories were locked into a safe.  Pounding on the safe door, he was surrounded by a deep darkness that ate him slowly.  So he tried to visualize what the afterlife could possibly be.  Like a drowning man reaching toward the fading light, a tiny part of him tried to imagine heaven.  But almost instantly he cast that thought away.  After all, he wasn’t worthy to go there.  Not now, not ever.  How could he be?  Especially now…   No, heaven was a place for other people.  Like his roommates.  They always did what they were supposed to do, but him?  No.  No, he belonged in hell.  But maybe hell was better than this… Or maybe there wasn’t an afterlife at all.  What if, when he died, he simply faded into oblivion?

Eyes still closed, he leaned out into the air, toes hanging off the edge, arms trembling.  He wanted to let go.  Oh, how he wanted to just slip into that oblivion and escape this hatred boiling inside him.  Hatred of himself.  It was ripping him apart, but he couldn’t jump.  He couldn’t… His fingers clung to the sill more tightly the further he leaned, and he choked back a sob. 

He looked down at the street below, and imagined his broken body down there.  He imagined his roommates’ horror.  How could he do that to them?  Torment them in death as much as he did in life?  But how could they possibly understand what he felt?  How could they know hell?  They didn’t realize…

As he watched a lone stranger walk along the sidewalk, he tried to swallow the dryness out of his mouth.  And suddenly he realized he was afraid to die.

Eloise grunted as she crashed into the demons, their bony ribs breaking against her shoulders.  Several devils screeched when her blade impaled and scorched them.  Her charge carried her halfway through the mass of her demonic siblings, so she kicked the writhing bodies off her blade.  Not pausing to watch them fall back to hell, she swung her sword to fend off the opposition that now surrounded her.

For a split second, she doubted the wisdom of her choice, but fighting here—so close to the enemy’s target—filled her with unspeakable warmth and calm.  Almost as if she had been pulled into a familiar embrace.  Her heart pumping wildly, Eloise fought with all of her strength.  These demons weren’t powerful with their weapons, but they were slippery as eels and crafty as serpents.  And it was all of them against just her.

Or…  Almost all.  She noticed suddenly that about six demons were surrounding a window with their backs turned to her.  Another two or three were inside the building, and they were all struggling against something…

Then she saw him.  Now he had a body, but there was no way she could ever mistake that face.  It was her father, after all.  He had promised long ago that they would be a family.  And here…  She gritted her teeth as she drove a blade into one of her ancient friends who had joined Lucifer’s ranks.  And here some of her brothers and sisters were trying to destroy her family before it even had a chance!

Merely glimpsing the agony on her father’s face filled her with an indignant rage and compassion.  With newfound energy, she fought like a dragon against her beloved father’s foes until, suddenly, Michael forced his way into the fight and shouted, nodding toward the window,  “Go!”

Obediently, she flew into the apartment and attacked the demons inside.  When she had at last overcome them, she cast them out in the name of the Master.  Instantly, the apartment fell into silence.

He was trapped.  He couldn’t jump, but there was no way he could go on living.  Just thinking about another day like this filled him with horror, and all he wanted to do was curl up and hide from the darkness.  To climb back inside was to fail.  If he couldn’t even end his own miserable existence, then what could he do?  To go back inside—to force everyone else to deal with him one more day—was so selfish.  He clenching his eyes shut, shaking his head. Why couldn’t he just let go and fall?

She reached forward, about to pull her father’s spirit back into the room, away from the demons that had drug him onto the windowsill in the first place.  But a voice, soft and gentle, spoke in her heart, “Eloise, no.  To force a brother’s spirit is not the way of the Lord, we must give him his choice.  Our adversary works by power, we influence by persuasion, long-suffering, gentleness, meekness, and by love unfeigned.”

She withdrew her hand, kneeled in reverence, and looked upward, “But, oh, my Lord!  What if they overpower him?  I cannot remain aside for them to tear my father away from me and thee!”

“All that is unfair can be made right by your Master.  Now go forth with kindness and love, lest in pulling you rend him in two.”

Biting her lip, she nodded and then slowly stood.  Carefully placing a hand on her father’s spirit, she whispered in his ear, “You have a body, you have power over them all.  Don’t be afraid, there is more with us—with you—than them.  I am here.  I am here.  Please, I am here beside you.  It’s going to be all right.  You’ll see.  Now just climb back inside.  It’ll be okay, I promise.  I’ll stay here to protect you.  I will stay all night and stand by you.”

Tears welled in her eyes.  Please, no.  Don’t jump.  You can’t, your life isn’t over yet, you can go on one more day.  Please, please, please.  She could feel his spirit lurch forward with every pull from the demons, and with each passing second he was leaning further over the edge.  Fists clenched so hard that her nails dug into her palms, she could barely restrain herself from pulling him, and she stepped away from him, a tear streaming down her face. “Father.  My dear brother.  I know everything will be all right in the end, no matter what you choose.  But… Please…” She wrapped her arms around herself and watched helplessly as the cherubim outside continued to battle.  He stood and leaned out, holding onto the window with just one hand.

He took another deep, rapid breath.  And another.  He could do this.  If it meant being free from this living hell, he could.  Opening his eyes, he stood.  It didn’t make sense why he shuffled his feet to make sure he wouldn’t slip.  But he did it anyway. Perhaps it was just instinct.  Letting go of the window with one hand, he leaned forward with all of his weight, feeling the stretch in the arm that still anchored him to the building.

His arm trembled.  He was stuck again.  He tried to will his fingers to move, but they refused.  Suddenly they slipped a little.  His heart pounded in panic, and he immediately pulled himself tight against the building.  This time he didn’t pay any mind to the tears that poured down his cheeks.  All he could think about was how much he hated himself and his own terrible weakness.  He couldn’t do it!  No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t.  He was too afraid.  Too much of a coward.  Crouching back down and hugging his knees with his free arm, he cast a glance at the ground below.  His lip quivered involuntarily.  He didn’t want to die… Not really…

He choked back a sob, not wanting to wake his roommates.  They could never know about this. Oh! … Suddenly all of his limbs felt like lead.  He was so tired… So tired…

Hope flared in her heart as she watched him pull himself back toward the building.  As he shrunk down into the fetal position, the demons pulling on him recoiled as if they had been burned.  They didn’t falter in hissing and shouting insults at him, but they didn’t dare touch him; he had cast them off.

She rushed forward to coax him away from the window and down onto the couch, watching with satisfaction as one-by-one the devils were picked off and cast out.  Yet she cringed at the way they left: shouting horrible obscenities and spitting as they fought to continue attacking their brother whom they had once loved.  Turning away from them, she sat beside her father, coaxing him to lie down.  He did so, head in her lap as he curled up into the fetal position and rocked back and forth.

She smoothed his hair.  Before now, she had never wished so much to have a body.  How she wanted to hold him!  Eyes soft, she looked down at him in awe.  He had cast off six demons.  By himself.  It was amazing!  She could cast out demons only after they had been severely injured.  She had always admired his incredible strength… but now that he had a body and power given him by the Lord, he was astounding!

Speaking softly, she congratulated him on his victory.  Eventually he stopped rocking, and she sang a few of his favorite songs.  At long last he fell asleep.  She held him close and listened as his breathing slowed and joined the restful silence.

Picture from:  http://www.zastavki.com/eng/Fantasy/wallpaper-41334.htm