Sunny with a Chance of Clouds

During one of my previous depressions, my psych doc described depression as a rushing river, and my supports as the sandbags – those things that keep the depression from overflowing the banks and washing me away completely. Together, we listed my sandbags (in no particular order): him, my therapist, my husband, God, several closest friends, my ladies prayer and Bible study groups, my tremendous co-workers, my parents and my sister, my medicines, rest and down-time. Pretty amazing pile of sandbags! As I look back over more recent depressive episodes, there are other friends who have joined the sandbag pile, even fellow bloggers whom I’ve never met, but support me in my struggles and and encourage me in writing about them. (It might not be the most complimentary term to describe you as sandbags, but it paints a picture I can easily visualize.)

This time around, my local sandbag list is much shorter: God, my therapist, my psych doc, my husband, my meds, my rest and down-time. I have a couple of folks here who know I struggle with depression, even that I’m dealing with it right now. We’re still new to each other, so I’m not sure what or even if I’ll share. This shorter list has made this depression harder to manage, I think.

I’m learning that while my local team is smaller, my previous sandbags are still available! A simple text or email can connect me to them. When I first thought I was heading into depression again, I sent an email to friends and family who I knew would pray for me, and each of them responded. I felt alone, but supported. Several of them told me to call if I needed anything or wanted to talk.

It’s not really an option for me to call anyone – it’s too hard to do. Depression is isolating, and zaps my energy and willpower. The lies of depression tell me that no one who lives far away can help me. So when I don’t call, please don’t take it personally. I might want to talk, but it’s almost impossible to initiate such a call. There are a few “sandbags” who are the exception, but generally, even though the offers are genuine, the reality is that I’m not going to call. I’m not saying that in order to solicit calls – it’s hard to talk, too. It’s not the healthiest choice, but I often just want to be left alone in my gray-clouds world.

Even when I don’t seem responsive, I know my support team prays for me, sending an occasional card or email or blog comment to remind me that I’m not alone. And I am grateful that God has placed you in my life, and that you pursue me – you check in with me – and in doing so, you show me His love in the middle of my depression. And I try to respond to the emails – it’s easier than talking, because I don’t feel like I have to hold back my tears or sobbing. It’s safer for me.

All through the first years of my depression, and especially when it got really bad and I ended up in the hospital, I would ask God to use this in my life to help others. And He did. I discovered that I have the freedom to talk about it, to admit my struggles in this fight against an invisible illness. I discovered my voice in the battle against the stigma of mental illness. I was talking about it, people were responding with “I didn’t know you had depression!” or sharing their own personal battles. And my sandbags increased! Even better, God used my experience to allow me to be a sandbag to others:

God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us…2 Corinthians 1:3b-4, NLT

I decided to blog in an effort to be a sandbag for others. To remind us – that means me, too – that we are not alone. We certainly have Christ with us, and we have each other – our sandbags.