In an earlier post, I described the epiphany from God that provided me with the knowledge that my son was suffering from depression. When he realized that he did indeed have depression, at my urging, he went -- mostly willingly, somewhat reluctantly, to our primary care physician. He returned with prescription, but to my surprise, no referral to a psychologist or counselor.
So I blessed my son with an Oscar-worthy performance of my "Toolbox Lecture." I called son into my office one evening and invited him to sit down. I pointed to my upside-down desk chair and announced dramatically, "My chair is broken! Woe is me! Whatever shall I do?" Suspiciously humoring me, he tentatively suggested, "Fix it?"
"What a great idea!" I exclaimed. "But where do I start? If only I had something to use to do that, like a tool maybe?" all as I "accidentally" directed his attention to the toolbox sitting on my desk by casually leaning on it.
Rolling his eyes but still humoring me, he stated the obvious: "There are tools in the toolbox."
"Really? There's something in there that will help me fix my chair?" I feigned stupidity.
"Yes, mom."
Without lifting the lid of the toolbox any further than was required to snake my hand inside, I blindly removed the first tool my hand touched. I grandly waved a measuring tape at my son. "Ta-dah! I have a tool! Now we can fix my chair!"
"No, mom."
"What? Is this the wrong tool?"
"Yes, mom."
Meryl Streep got nothing on me. "Oh, no! All is lost! Whatever can I do now? My chair will never be fixed!"
Raising his eyebrow and wondering where all this is leading, son still plays along for the moment. "Uh, mom, get another tool?"
I gasp, "You mean I shouldn't give up? I should try something else? There's still hope?"
"Yes, mom."
I torture him long enough to repeat this, twice more withdrawing a not-so-helpful tool from the toolbox, until triumphantly my hand emerges with a screwdriver and we both agree that now, after several tries, we have the right tool.
I close the analogy by telling him that fighting depression is like fixing my chair. We have a huge toolbox filled with wonderful tools: a plethora of different medications that address a variety of physical issues, counseling, support groups, psychologists, etc. All the tools are useful, but not all of them are the best for doing what we need done.
I encourage him that his recovery will be a process. The first tool we pull out of our toolbox may not be spot-on the perfect tool for the job. We may need to try a different medication. Or add individual counseling. Or support group. But we will press on. We will not give up. We will try everything and anything until he is well. We shall overcome! Together we can do anything!
Seriously, I am not clever enough in the flesh to have come up with the toolbox analogy/lecture. It just happened. Poof! It was in my mind, and I believe it was given to me by God Himself. With that belief, I just knew that in a couple of months, all would be right again.
As I said before, boy, was I naive.
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning. Psalm 130:5-6
Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. Luke 18:1
But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. 2 Peter 3:8
He makes all things beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:11
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. Psalm 30:11
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
As Christians, we have a most amazing weapon in our arsenal against the battles and wars raging in our lives. And that is hope. Jesus told us we would have tribulations in this world, but that He has overcome them.
A friend brought me this heart-shaped souvenir rock from a trip she went on. My hope always faltering, the rock lives on my desk so that I can see it, pick it up, hold it, remind myself of the hope I have. The stone is cool and polished smooth. I often trace my fingertips over the letters as if trying to absorb the engraved hope by osmosis into my broken heart.
It does not take much for the door of my anxiety closet to swing wide open and all the boogeymen to rush out and attack me in weak moments.
Yesterday, it was jealousy, downright sinful envy that washed over me upon receiving a save-the-date card for a friend's daughter's wedding. The happy couple smile adoringly at each other on the Pinterest-inspired card seem to mock me, and my stomach knots. The self-flagellation begins as I sternly tell myself that I am beyond happy for my friend and her family at such joy.
But the knot tightens. I doubt that my son will ever be healed enough to venture forth into the world, find the love of his life and get married. Bolstering my doubt is his closed bedroom door. I think I did see him yesterday, after I texted him to remind him to come eat something.
Mentally, I relive the past week. The Christmas Eve midnight service we went to. The brief conversation we had where he admitted that he is feeling better after a year and a half of treatment. He describes his depression and moods as once being like an upside-down mountain range. There is no up. Only down and further down. I imagine a rock-climber clinging to further down trying to climb up higher to simply down. But now, he explains, it's like right-side up rolling hills.
Much easier to navigate, I had remarked, trying to not press him to go deeper than he is comfortable sharing, and praying fervently that I won't say anything stupid to make him clam up and end our conversation. His succinct reply darts my heart: Don't press an analogy too far, mom.
Hubby limps in from work. He is in severe pain, arthritic knee worsened by cold and damp. He needs surgery desperately but we can't afford it. The "economic downturn" was apocalyptic to us. After losing the job he'd been at for 25 years and bouncing around from job to job for the last five years, he's been at his present job for a year and a half. Not yet long enough to be out of work for eight weeks during post-op recovery and still have a job. Not long enough to have made the leap from an hourly employee to a salaried employee and have income during that recovery.
In all this anxiety, a verse pops out of the blue into my mind. "He makes all things beautiful in its time." In His time, not mine.
Discouragement is simply having reached a premature conclusion.
I rub fingertips across my stone. I can feel hope.
In her book "How You Can Survive When They're Depressed," secular author Anne Sheffield coins the term "depression fallout." She writes,
"Living with a
husband, wife, lover, parent, or child who views the world through a
prism of despair is a daunting task. Proximity to them gives rise to
many of the same feelings as does the illness itself: futility,
worthlessness, and an inability to enjoy or cope with life . . .
Depression and depression fallout are mirror images of each other,
distinguishable by the fact that the former is a recognized illness and
treatable by medication, while the latter is neither. We have the
symptoms but not the illness, and they originate in not in our brain's
faulty neurotransmitters, but in the other's behavior and our reaction
to it. . . Confronted with the unrelenting despondency and negativism of
the other's depression, we match it with a painful gloom of our own.
And when our love, sympathy, and support are rejected or ignored, we
slip into irritability and anger that mimic the depressive's"
See, I wasn't kidding when
I asked if depression is contagious. Somehow, there is relief and
validation in these words. I am not alone in my struggle against
depression while trying to help my son battle his.
There is a name for what ails me. Depression fallout. Is there no balm in Gilead?
Christmas was a mixed bag of
hope and despair for me. Son and I had a brief, but I felt valuable,
conversation riding over to a relative's house for Christmas Eve. That
night, son and I went together to midnight candlelight services.
Unfortunately, both were marred by the fact that he had not slept at all
the night before. At our family gathering, he fell asleep in my
brother's chair. Everyone kept asking me if he was okay. Later on, he
could not stay awake during the church service. I feared he would slump
over in the pew or fall into the aisle. Christmas Day saw longer car
ride out of state where the time was pleasant but otherwise
unremarkable.
I think he has been in his room for the two full days after Christmas.
Worst of all,
to my mind anyway, he procrastinated filling out some paperwork that
may have cost him a valuable career opportunity and at least for the
moment, feels like I spent and wasted $500 for updating immunizations
and obtaining a drug screening for this perhaps now squandered career
opportunity.
But see, this is where I need help.
Do I calmly point out that I am upset because he wasted opportunity and
money? I suppose throwing a fit would be counterproductive. Instead,
I asked him to empty the dishwasher and if he would have a job ready
for me by Monday morning -- seeing how I gave it to him a week ago.
How is a parent supposed to respond to the daily frustrations and despair of depression fallout?
The sight of his closed bedroom door ties my stomach in knots and I feel the weight of the world almost physically press my shoulders down. I confess that most days, my mood and my outlook on life seem to mirror his. Oh, how I have prayed for this child! And yet, my prayers seem to be falling on deaf ears.
I strain my ears in an attempt to discern what he could be possibly doing in there after so many hours. The door stays closed. I wonder, if I lay down on the floor, will I be able to discern if there's even a light on in there?
Some days, through that closed door, I can hear a low murmur of him talking on the phone and his voice sounds pleasantly normal. I wish I could hear who he is talking to and what he is saying. But I feel hope soar, a tenuous smile curves my lips, and there is a lightness to my steps.
Some days, I hear the rapid-fire tapping of his keyboard, and I know he is working. I thank God for this age of technology where people can work from home using computer and internet and never have to go to the office. At least he is doing something productive and learning life skills.
But then there's the day like today. No sound comes from the inner sanctum. No light. Is he sleeping? Is he staring at the wall? After hours pass, I get bold enough to knock on the door. I really could use his help. When he responds, I can tell he has not been sleeping. I open the door and discover him at his standing desk, playing a computer game. In the dark.
It takes great effort to keep my despair from entering my voice for him to hear. Lend a hand? I ask, and he nods. I explain. He nods. No words.
He moves through the house, silently, like a wraith, a ghost inhabiting my house. He does as he is asked, and just as wordlessly, returns to his room. Wait, I say. He responds with a slightly raised eyebrow. I continue: open your blinds, the sun is shining. And please, leave your door open for a while so you can hear me if I call you. He does as I ask, but still without words.
A slow dull ache starts in my head. Tears prickle behind my eyes. A deep fatigue overwhelms my body, mind, and spirit. I am so tired, I just cannot go on.
Yes, I think. This depression, this evil illness, it is contagious.
Aside from the illness itself, one of the biggest challenges that a Christian suffering from depression encounters is myth, misconception, misunderstanding, and maybe even just plain ignorance on exactly what depression is. Some believers pronounce judgment by loudly claiming that anyone who has depression is not right with the Lord, or is lacking faith. That taking medication for depression is somehow not biblical, or that it is unnatural or unhealthy, or even a crutch or "happy pills."
When our child is the one who has depression, these misconceptions expand to include the idea that we, as parents, have failed in some way: that we didn't take our children to church often enough, soon enough, or memorize enough Scripture, homeschool them, et cetera.
Now, I am not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I have experienced depression and anxiety personally, seen it in family members, and live with my child who suffers daily from it. And I have researched it and read books trying to learn how to best help my son.
What depression IS NOT:
1. All in their head, or all in your head
2. Laziness or lack of motivation or effort
3. Strictly a spiritual issue or lack of faith
4. Sign of a weak mind or lack of intelligence
5. Something you can rationalize or reason with
6. It is not your fault.
Depression is a real illness and involves -- no, it overwhelms every part of a person. Depression is physical and it is psychological, and often has a spiritual component or may grow to have a spiritual component to it. Because our bodies are fearfully and wonderfully made, and our body, soul, mind, and spirit are incomprehensibly intertwined, it is difficult to say where the physical illness ends or the psychological and the spiritual begins. I also think that it is also a case of "which came first, the chicken or the egg."
Physical causes for depression can be: genetic make-up, biochemical factors (the chemistry of the brain), hormonal influences, seasonal factors (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and illness or physical disease.
Did you know that you are more likely to have depression if you have a first-degree relative who has depression? And the likelihood is even a higher percentage if the depression is bipolar.
Depression is a matter of brain chemisty, low levels of norepinephrine, serotonin, and/or dopamine.
Hormonal imbalances can cause depression. Stress triggers increased levels of the hormone, cortisol, which can cause depression. Think also of a woman's monthly hormonal fluctuations, and we know that estrogen and progesterone affect mood. In men, low testosterone levels can cause depression.
Some physical illnesses are known to be linked to depression. Studies show that patients diagnosed with coronary heart disease or vascular disease (involving blood vessels) are likely to have depression, as are those with hypothyroidism or Cushing's syndrome.
My first bout with depression was a direct result of mitral valve prolapse.
Of course, it is easy to see that depression can be the result of psychological causes, such as rejection, heartbreak, grief, stress. But here is where the psychological can turn physical.
Suppose your husband comes in and tells you that due to your shortcomings, he is filing for divorce. As you grieve over days, weeks, or longer, his negative words play over and over in your mind. Over time, these repeated thought patterns actually form neural pathways in your brain, creating a sort of super highway or a "path of least resistance" where your thoughts will naturally begin to turn at any given moment. A cleared path through the forest undergrowth. A rut.
If you are old enough to remember playing records on a record player, perhaps it is easy to think of a scratched record, where the needle would get stuck playing the same few words over and over and over again until someone intervened by physically moving the needle.
Whether you believe your child's illness started off as physical, psychological, or spiritual, these components all feed off one another. Chicken-and-egg. Body-mind-spirit. Round and round they go.
The problem with trying to address the psychological or spiritual components first, is that the depressed mind is not working correctly or functioning rationally. Like trying to reason with someone who has had too much alcohol to drink, we must first sober them up, put them in a physical position where their mind is working correctly, before we can address other issues.
Do not hesitate to seek and encourage medical intervention. Do not be ashamed or afraid of anti-depressants. They very well may be the first step in stopping the merry-go-round that is depression.
Here is a link to click to Prevention's depresson quiz. Click here!
Above all, pray!
Be unceasing in prayer [praying perseveringly]; Thank [God] in everything [no matter what the circumstances may be, be thankful and give thanks], for this is the will of God for you [who are] in Christ Jesus [the Revealer and Mediator of that will].
1 Thessalonians 5:17 (The Amplified Bible).
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Much of today's research is from the book, "When Someone You Love Has Depression: A handbook for family and friends by Barbara Baker
Let's start at the beginning. How do you know if your child is suffering from depression versus ordinary hormone-infused teenage angst or young adult stresses? And what if you suspect your child is really suffering from depression? How can you know? How can you approach them? Bear with me as I tell my story. I can get verbose, I know, and am only sort of sorry about that.
I remember what happened so vividly, though I cannot remember the month, the day or year. I believe my son was a freshman in college. I had been concerned about his lack of social life for a while. But this day, for whatever reason, my gut gnawed with pain from worry, and I knew there was something really wrong with my precious child. He had not left his room all day -- or was it all weekend? He avoided me, I could not engage him in any conversation. My husband said it was part of growing up, leave him alone and he'd get over it.
Instinctively knowing better, I retreated to my room and knelt and prayed. Anguished prayers. Weeping. Begging. Pleading. What is wrong with my son, Lord? What can I do?
I do not believe that God answers in audible voices, but I know for a fact that He spoke to me somehow in that tear-drenched moment. Because instantly, out of nowhere, and in a way I cannot explain, the thought blazed my brain and I knew this truth as well as I knew my own name: He is suffering from depression.
I lifted my head in awe and wonder. The tears dried as I recognized the truth. Thank You, God, I whispered. I immediately got up off my knees and headed to my friend Google. In response to my inquiry "symptoms of depression," up popped a checklist of maybe ten symptoms. Immediately I could answer yes to several of them on son's behalf, but some were of a more personal nature.
I prayed. I knocked on son's door and invited him to come and join me at the computer. He came compliantly, though not willingly. I suppose his curiosity was aroused.
When he settled into a chair, without explaining why, I told him that I was going to read a list of symptoms. He did not need to tell me which ones he was answering "yes" to, but he was to keep a mental tally of how many yeses there were. I kept my back to him as I read the questions.
When I turned around, my son had a look of bewildered wonderment on his face. How did you know? as he admitted to answering yes to almost every single question. As gently and as lovingly as I could, I said son, you're suffering from depression. And now that we know what we're dealing with, we can get help and you'll feel better.
How naive I was.
Please post a response. Tell me, tell everyone, your story. How did you know? How old was your child when he/she was diagnosed with depression?
Click:
Here is a link to webmd. Click for a list of symptoms to see if you or your loved one may have depression.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
