There's More Than One Way Out of the Pit

Thoughts on depression from someone who's been there

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and while I don’t often observe these kinds of markers, the subject of mental health is near to my heart. Longtime followers of my writing in other spaces know that the past few years have been characterized largely by struggles with mental illness. I spent time in a psychiatric hospital on 4 different occasions and also received a month of treatment for depression at a residential facility outside of Chicago. I was frequently plagued by suicidal thoughts and made more than one plan to take my life. On the worst days, the despair and sadness was so great that I could not imagine a different life, nor did I want to live at all. I went to therapy once or even twice a week, tried more than ten different psychiatric medications, and spent thousands of dollars on treatment. My family suffered, my friends suffered, I suffered. Depression has been a formidable foe, and it almost cost me my life.

Every time I hear about someone who died by suicide, I am shaken. I know what it is like to be on the brink, to stare into the pit and think there is nothing but darkness, to want nothing more than an end to the suffering and pain. In the pit, it can be easy to think that the only way out is to die. I don’t know why I have remained in the land of the living when others do not. I am not special.

But I am one of the lucky ones. I have access to treatment. I have health insurance. I have an amazingly supportive husband, family, friends, and a church that has loved me through all of it. I did not succumb to my suicidal plans but instead spoke up and reached out for help and received it. Not everyone who deals with mental illness can say all these things, and I do not take these blessings for granted.

Depression is no respecter of persons. It doesn’t care what you look like, how much money you make, or what your job is. And despite harmful messaging that has been in the church for years, depression also doesn’t care if you are a follower of Jesus. Christians get depressed too. For a long time, I carried shame and guilt about my depression, thinking that I was doing something wrong or not praying enough or reading the Bible enough or believing enough. But we live in a fallen world, and that means our minds as well as our bodies can fail us. There is no shame in needing help, and that help can come in a variety of forms: therapy, medication, hospitalization, prayer, Bible reading, exercise, etc. All of these things can be a rope that helps pull someone out of the pit.

Admitting to people I love that I was depressed and suicidal was incredibly difficult, but it was also necessary if I wanted to get out of the fortress of lies in my head and into a place of healing and recovery. If I had kept silent, I would have gone on believing that everything was hopeless. I would have kept on believing that I was unloved. I would have kept on believing that no one would ever understand or love me if I spoke my thoughts aloud. If I had kept silent, I would have let the darkness win. I would have missed watching my girls grow up. I would have left my husband without a wife, my parents without a daughter, my brother without a sister.

Yet even when I did speak up, relief was not immediate. Finding relief took literal YEARS and many failed treatments. I had to continue to choose to wake up each day, even if that meant the pain would still be there. I had to keep swallowing pill after pill, keep going to therapy appointment after therapy appointment. I had to keep reading the Bible when the words seemed hollow and empty, trusting that they would prove to be true and living and active. I had to keep praying, even if those prayers were sometimes little more than, “Help me, God” or “How much longer?” Honestly, sometimes it felt like nothing more than a lot of work I didn’t want to do. I often felt like a broken record when I told my husband or friends that I was still struggling. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I wanted my loved ones to see that their efforts and their prayers were not in vain, but as the days passed and things didn’t improve, hope was harder and harder to find.

However, though my hope often waned, I had people in my life who were hoping for me. They reminded me of what I was fighting to believe: that God loves me, that I am valued, that life would not always be this way. Slowly, I was able to see the light that had been there with me in the darkness all along, and that light got brighter and brighter. The suicidal thoughts decreased then left altogether. The depression became more manageable. The therapy appointments shifted from twice a week, to once a week, to every other week, and then stopped. One day I woke up and realized I wasn’t disappointed to still be alive. One day I woke up and was GLAD to be alive.

It has been two years since my last time in a mental hospital, and I give thanks for that while also carrying with me the reality that I could very well end up there again at some point. And while that possibility sometimes still fills me with dread, I know this now: I can survive depression. God was with me in the pit, and He graciously pulled me out. I know even when I can’t seem to hold onto Him, He will never lose His grip on me.

If you are currently dealing with depression or another form of mental illness, please know that you are not alone. Speak up. Look up. Reach out. There is help and hope for you. Do not believe the lie that no one cares and that things will never change. How you feel today isn’t how you will always feel. Even if all you can do today is wake up and continue existing, please keep doing that. Your life is too precious to spend one more minute suffering alone. Please do not stay silent in your pain.

Resources:
Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

Finding a Mental Health Professional

Warning Signs of Suicide

Mental Health by the Numbers