I just finished this personal narrative for my honors english class and I think its pretty darn good and sums up these last eight months perfectly. If you have questions, comments, or corrections..feel free to share them with me. Here it is:
Being a perfectionist,
when I recognize a flaw within myself, I fix it...not by myself of course, but
with the help of my Savior, Jesus Christ. Life was flowing smoothly my junior
and half of my senior year in high school. I had, what I thought was, a near
perfect relationship with God. I was attending two youth groups, joined a
Christian school club, went to church on Sunday, and read my bible every so
often. No bad situation could ever ruin my relationship with Christ. But the
Christian life doesn’t roll like that. Believers don’t go unscathed in this
life; we battle the evil in this world too. Little did I know that in the
months to come, my relationship with Him would be tested close to the point of
complete unbelief.
I had everything for my future planned out, I even prayed
about it so I was positive these plans were set in stone. Yet, it all still
seemed too good to be true. I had gotten into my dream college and was the only
person out of near a hundred to receive an art scholarship as well. Life was
great…on the surface.
I
was deteriorating on the inside however, slowly but surely. I started getting
upset over the stupidest things, I rarely wanted to hang out with friends or
family anymore, and I’d often respond in an angry tone of voice. It didn’t help,
either, when my financial aid statement came in, leaving me no choice but to go
to a community college.
My
parents as well as a few good friends started noticing and asked me if
everything was OK. Everything should have been great, except it wasn’t. Going
from an optimistic, hyper, super-friendly and outgoing girl to an angry,
frustrated, lonely human being…I didn’t know what was happening to me. For once
in my life, I didn’t know how to fix myself. This reality was new to me, I was
helpless. It was then that I remembered one word from mine and my cousin’s
conversation from the previous summer: depression.
Whatever this “depression” was, I was pretty sure I had
it. Although, how could someone who believed in and loved God be depressed? That
was my biggest question. Before I jumped the gun and diagnosed myself, I got
the details from my cousin. She ran off a list of symptoms she experienced and
sure enough, I experienced the same, exact ones.
Before
I continue, I’d like to say that a lot of people do not understand what
depression is. People occasionally claim and casually announce that they are
“depressed”, not knowing the true meaning of it. The definition of depression
is: “1. severe despondency and dejection,
accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy and 2. A condition of
mental disturbance, typically with lack of energy and difficulty in maintaining
concentration or interest in life” (Google.com). Depression is more than
feeling sad for one day or during one situation. Depression is every day. It
eats the insides of your heart, soul, and mind until nothing remains.
The
first part of the definition, in my experience, means purposely avoiding
interaction with even your closest friends, and giving up. There is no hope in
becoming normal again and you can’t do anything, so why even try? The main
detail I would like to point out, however, is the second part of the
definition: “A condition of mental
disturbance...”. This literally means that there is a chemical imbalance in
the brain and there is nothing we can do ourselves to fix it. The way my
doctor put it, the only way to get me back on track was to either take
medication or go the natural route and put me on a diet, eating “brain healthy”
foods.
Now, having gone to the doctor’s and being “officially”
diagnosed with depression, it was time to break the news (hoping my friends
would be understanding and supportive) and time to make decisions. If there was
any ounce of hope left, it was when my friend heard the condition I was in. The
phrase “but you are the happiest person I know” was meant to bring closure and
realize things were never going to be the same; It did the opposite. This hopeless
phrase drove and stimulated me for the next eight months to fix my problem. I originally diagnosed myself and now it
was time for me to cure myself. No
medicine or healthy food was going to be the determinate of my mental
stability.
This was when my relationship with Him did a 180. How
could God curse me, of all people,
with the most horrible, supposedly incurable, problem? Was He punishing me for
my thoughts and actions in the past? If He put me here, obviously He didn’t
want to fix me, so I was going to fix myself without anyone’s, let alone His,
help.
I
played with the methods of distraction, sugar, and isolation. All seemed to work
temporarily but permanently left me stuck. Frivolous details and conversations
upset me, people were giving me sympathy looks (what was wrong with them?!), friends
no longer thought I was “fun”, relationships disintegrated, and my parents
wanted to understand but ultimately couldn’t and never would…no one understood
me. I didn’t even understand myself for that matter. I would lie in bed at
night, sobs flowed from a broken heart convulsing my body, silently screaming
prayers to a God I thought didn’t exist anymore. When was this going to end?
How long was I going to suffer before I broke completely?
Thoughts
danced in my mind; maybe I could drink away my problems, I heard that worked
for most people. No, being raised Christian, that was engraved into my mind as
a “no no”. Cutting…that worked for my friends, why not give it a try? No, that
wouldn’t work either; I got faint at the sight of blood. One thought, however,
stuck out to me: suicide. I had toyed with the idea back in middle school, my previous
years of depression gone un-accounted for, but never fully went through with it. I mean, why not? There was no point to
life anyways, right? But “when” and “how” were the most troubling questions.
In the last possible moment, just as before,
my faithful God had delivered me from these implausible, evil thoughts of
killing myself. Killing myself was not the answer, drugs and alcohol were not
the answer, pain was not the answer...God was the answer my heart had been
searching for, yet ignoring, this whole time. Although He never promised to
take away my depression, He did promise me that He would be by my side through
it all: “…In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome
the world,” (John 16:33). And He’s kept His promise.
You
could say, because of my perfectionism, I became an addict to fixing myself,
trying to rid this depression. The difference, however, between then and now,
is that I have God working and operating in me. Yes, I still have those days
where I just lie in bed, pitying myself. But in His perfect timing, God has
begun to erase the thoughts of worthlessness, replacing them with an
everlasting joy that no matter what happens, I’ll always have Him…strengthening
my relationship and trust little by little, every day.
