It’s OK That You’re Not OK

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June 5, 2018 By Jennifer Lambert Leave a Comment

Some high profile suicides in the news these last few years. They had seemingly perfect lives. So why were they depressed? Why didn’t their family and friends know or save them?

I cried when I learned that Robin Williams had died. He was a comedian, but apparently the clown hid tears behind the smile.

Several musicians have died recently, combined with struggles from addictions.

Kate Spade was 55 years old and found in her New York apartment. Her 13-year-old daughter was at school, and officials said a note was found at the scene, telling her it was not her fault.

“Mental health issues do not discriminate. By all accounts, Kate Spade “had it all”-money, success, fame. None of these things matter when you are sick. Kate was not selfish. Kate was not weak. Kate was sick.” ~Twitter.

Then I wake up to news that Anthony Bourdain died by suicide in France. He was 61.

His mother, Gladys Bourdain, who was a longtime editor at The New York Times, said she had no indication that Mr. Bourdain might have been thinking of suicide. “He is absolutely the last person in the world I would have ever dreamed would do something like this,” Ms. Bourdain said.

This hit me hard. I have always loved his shows and personality.

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you… You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” ~Anthony Bourdain

But the media and most of us move on. How much does it really affect us?

Anyone can suffer from mental illness, depression…and contemplate or die by suicide.

If you’re struggling, please reach out. Mental illness is treatable, help is available, and suicide is preventable. You don’t need to suffer in silence. Reach out to the Crisis Text Line by texting “BRAVE” to 741-741 for free crisis support or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

These guidelines for reporting on suicide can save lives.

As author of the newly published book, It’s OK That You’re Not OK, Megan Devine says that while the conversation around Spade’s death may focus on how people need access to good healthcare/resources in order to prevent suicide, people like Ms. Spade, Robin Williams, and many others have LOTS of resources at their disposal. Access is important, says Devine, but the stigma attached to asking for help is the actual barrier.

Suicide rates in the U.S. increased for everyone between the ages of 10 and 74 from 1999 to 2014, according to the CDC.

It’s ok that you’re not ok.

So many are affected by depression. Some experience depressive episodes periodically, while others suffer from some form of depression all the time. Even when symptoms seem to alleviate for a while, it always lurks in the background.

Weather, illness, chronic pain, loneliness, conflict, and more make depression symptoms worse.

Common stressors are much harder to bounce back from, and cause extra anxiety and worry.

Medication can help, but there are often side effects to consider. Therapy is expensive and often just offers platitudes and weak advice without really helping.

There’s still so much stigma around depression and suicide, including:

“The “cheer up, it’s not that bad” cult of positivity, that pervasive pathologizing of sadness, that eternal advice culture that says it’s your fault if anything is wrong.

Just pray more. I really loathe the whole idea that Christians can’t be depressed. That’s a dangerous attitude.

Life is hard sometimes. Life hurts. When we can’t come to that with respect and kindness – when we can’t respond to that in ourselves and in each other – with respect and kindness, people go silent, and silence can kill you.

Military families suffer in silence. No one wants to be labeled with a mental illness. It can affect careers.

Stress and anxiety in a world of curated perfection on social media makes us strive to reach for something unattainable. It’s not real.

The holidays are especially difficult for people suffering from depression. We feel lost and alone. Stress and perfectionism make us feel worse. The expectations are too much.

Seasonal depression symptoms increase when daylight savings time ends. It really sucks when it gets dark at 5:30 and it’s too cold to go outside.

We need help. We need connection. We need relationship.

Reach out. Bother us. Ask how we’re managing. Invite us anyway. Listen. Just sit there with me. Call, text, email, message.

It’s ok that you’re not ok.

Step Away From the Edge: Depression

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August 14, 2014 By Jennifer Lambert 5 Comments

I woke up to my social media feeds being inundated with people expressing their love for the iconic Robin Williams. Most were fans, but few seemed to understand that just because he was a professional comedian and actor, he was wealthy, attractive, probably had a loving family…he still was depressed and apparently committed suicide.

Bloggers immediately jumped on this viral topic to gain some pageviews off this tragic event. Parasites.

Some posted images and quotes from movies, commemorating his art. Others begged for mental illness awareness – honorable, that. Still others used this event as a platform to spew hatred and Bible verses down upon the weary.

Because that’s what Jesus wants.

He wants His Word used as a weapon against those who need Love and Truth and Understanding. Those who struggle every.single.day. to just complete menial tasks that you take for granted. Just to get through another day. To breathe. To live.

And I don’t discount The Gospel. We all need His saving grace, but we need people to speak with love and gentleness. The Christian church needs to quit spouting off that depression can just be cured with a magic wand of some joy, joy, joy down in my heart, three sessions of Christian counseling with some pompous pastor’s wife who has no life experience, and more church ministry involvement to keep our minds busier.

I haven’t showered in two days. I have an ear infection. I’m going through the motions of doing dishes and laundry and making peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal cookie bars. I’m educating my three children really well (gasp!) this week…while I have panic attacks over Liz being away at Civil Air Patrol encampment for.seven.days. These are the longest days ever without her here.

And I remember.

It could’ve been me.

Because I know what I would leave behind.

A husband. Four children. Two cats. Parents. Friends, cousins, acquaintances…a dozen deadlines. They keep me here, plugging along. And I wonder those thoughts you don’t dare admit consciously. Sometimes, everything is so overwhelming. And no one understands.

Depression is not a choice. No one would choose this. No one wants to feel this way. If I had a choice, I’d be any other way but this.

Is it selfish? Maybe. But I felt cornered, alone, lost. Jesus and hope and love seemed far away. We who are trained to never be selfish feel guilt upon guilt and just want it all to stop.

Circumstances don’t matter.

Money and fame don’t mean a thing. Bible verses don’t help. Often, meds don’t help but exacerbate the problems or cause other unpleasantness. We’re surrounded by all these people who love us, but yet we still feel lost and alone. And in the midst of the darkness of depression, the desperation…I don’t hear Jesus. That’s the evil of it. The perfection of the darkness, the loss of self, the hatred of being.

I unconsciously push people away who try to get too close, even my husband and children. It’s not normal. Keeping them at arm’s length is a defense mechanism, a self-deprecating behavior, that we’re not good enough to accept love and affection.

People tell me to “snap out of it” or “pray more” or “seek joy,” as if it were that easy. People tell me to count my blessings. That just makes me feel guilty for still feeling this way. People remind me of my wonderful family and all the places I get to live. Of course, I realize all that, but locale doesn’t make a difference. For all the 1000 reasons to be thankful, if that were enough, then we’d all be shiny happy people all the time.

I was depressed in Georgia.

I was depressed in Texas. (It was triple bad, having had two babies fourteen months apart.)

I was depressed in Hawaii, people. Yes, even there.

I was depressed in Utah. Why doesn’t spring come until July?

I was depressed in Germany. Despite my happy lamp and all the fun travelling.

I manage it. I eat well and use essential oils and supplements.

But it’s always just at bay, waiting to rage down upon me, ravaging everything in its path.

I make sure my vitamin D levels are up. I make sure I get outside in the fresh air and sunshine. I exercise (sometimes), eat right, and drink water. I try not to take too much caffeine or alcohol because I know that can trigger a downward spiral.

I do all the “right” things…and it’s still there. A thorn in my flesh. A dark cloud hanging over my head. The slug who eats all my flower buds.

Pray for us, friends. Be compassionate. Pray for the Williams family. Pray for all the families who have lost loved ones to mental illness and its issues. Pray for all those suffering in silence because of the fear of admitting to the pain. Quit judging and pointing fingers and offering unsolicited advice. Sometimes medicine is the answer.

Don’t say you understand if you don’t. Don’t offer pompous advice if you have no clue what it’s like. Having a friend or loved one who is depressed is not knowing what it’s like.

You can see, but you don’t really understand unless you’ve been on the precipice.

Step away from the edge.

Keep pluggin’ on. Get help if you need it. Please. Don’t give up.

Get help here.

Note: I am not a doctor nor a therapist. These are just some methods that have helped me through the last ten years or so. Perhaps these resources can help others. If you feel hopeless, please tell someone immediately and seek professional help.

There’s always hope.

I Attempted Suicide

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April 9, 2013 By Jennifer Lambert 27 Comments

I am a survivor of an attempted suicide.

I spent Christmas 1997 in a series of hospital environments because I attempted to commit suicide.

Essentially, I was locked up for my own safety for over a week.

I had reached a breaking point.

Circumstances beyond my control, that were not my fault, wreaked havoc on my sensitive heart, mind, and soul. I have always felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I want to help everyone, fix everything.

I was twenty years old.

The world was not my responsibility.

My parents were not my responsibility.

Friends were not my responsibility.

I should’ve been carefree and fancy free and my biggest worry should have been only my next semester classes at college. And they weren’t strenuous. I was in my last year.

My parents weren’t divorced. They fought. They were stressed. But they were together.

There were no drugs or abuse stories. Nothing exciting or tawdry there. No soap opera.

Normal boring middle class white kid with a brilliant future ahead of her.

Sure, there was that whole lack of trust, angst, misunderstood thing. First world problems. I should have occupied my time with meaningful activities. I wonder if that would have helped or just delayed the inevitable.

So, why? you’re probably asking. I’m hoping everyone who reads this will wonder and cannot relate. I hope and pray you never reach a breaking point like I did.

Depression and anxiety are very real. And in the midst of it, thinking clearly is seldom an option. Depression sucks the life and hope from your soul. Anxiety is all-encompassing and there is no rationale for those fears and worries. And I was not a Christian then.

I was lost.

In so many ways.

I felt abandoned. I felt stifled.

Helpless. Hopeless. Pointless. Worthless. Less than.

I was right where the devil wanted me.

I don’t feel I need to go into too many details. A bottle of pills. An ambulance. Lots of scary lights and loud voices.

Fear. So much fear. And I gave in to it.

It was a close call. It was a cry for help. I didn’t really receive the kind of help I thought I wanted at the time. My body was saved. The doctors said it was a miracle I didn’t damage any organs. I was perfectly fine after the drugs were removed from my system.

But it would be many years yet before my mind and soul would be fine.

I had to walk down that road. I had to be completely broken to accept true healing.

Essentially, I know God saved me. For a purpose. I didn’t realize anything then.

I really just wanted the pain to stop. It just hurt to be alive. It hurt to see others hurting themselves and each other. It hurt me to witness that. Since I couldn’t stop it, I wanted out. Like gasping for air, or clawing out of a hole, I just wanted freedom.

That kind of freedom isn’t escape. It’s bondage. When we believe those dark lies and spiral down into the pit of despair, it’s not escape. It’s fear. It’s ragged hopelessness that it will ever improve. And being oh, so alone in it.

Only Jesus is Freedom. But I couldn’t accept that yet.

But too many Christians are depressed and are not finding the help they seek within the Church or compassion from Christians. Why is that?

When I search online for depression and Christians, all the articles are shallow and unhelpful. They preach that Christians shouldn’t experience mental health problems because we believe in Jesus! Our experiences are discounted, unvalidated, and we feel even worse, so we shut up those feelings even more inside. We hurt in silence, alone.

Did you know that after a suicide attempt, you are locked up against your will for your own safety? It’s the law.

It felt like more punishment.

I experienced a couple weeks of in-house therapy and meds after my attempt. I lost almost ten pounds and I was only about 125 then! The other patients frightened me too. They seemed really quite ill in a different way than I felt I was. Many had attempted suicide multiple times and had lots of other issues. They were all so kind. I felt so out of place.

The therapists, of course, were not Christian. They were very New Age and humanistic. I got so many mixed messages about following my dreams no matter the cost to others. Please myself and let others go. Grow up and take responsibility for my actions. I was right and everything else was wrong. I was too young and inexperienced and just a lost little girl who needed her parents to guide her because I was too fragile to function on my own.

I think therapists just tell you what you want to hear. I didn’t know what to believe. The staff almost treated me like an adult, but then again, made me feel like a naughty little girl who disobeyed and rebelled against my attentive and loving parents. My parents were just mad at me.

Where was Jesus? He carried me, but I didn’t know.

Where was compassion or any real help? Where was the empathy?

No one understood.

I was eventually released. Too soon. Too little gained. So much lost.

Back to my parents’ house. Where I felt like was a little child again. They tiptoed around me, walking on eggshells, quiet and fearful. Where many rules were enforced and reinforced. No social activity for me. I felt like I was on restriction for a misbehavior. It was surreal.

I had no autonomy. I couldn’t individuate. I couldn’t grow or function normally.

I was medicated on Prozac, that go-to drug at that time, before other, somewhat safer alternatives were known or appreciated.

I did not function well on Prozac. The side effects were horrible. I felt so out of control with overwhelming emotions all the time. One of the weirdest things is that I would sleep exactly eight hours to the minute each night. Physically, I felt great.

I was still lost.

I had nothing to do while I waited for school to start again. No job. No friends. I was an embarrassment. To my family, friends. To myself.

Shortly after returning home, my mom took me to the mall. Retail therapy, I suppose. At the ice cream shop, I waited patiently for the clerk to finish cleaning up something so I could order a cone. Another lady apparently needed an ice cream fix so badly that she rudely shouldered me out of the way to order. I glared at her in frustration. I had been obviously standing there a while and she just walked up! Inside, I really wanted to hurt her. I’ve always been rather passive, letting it go when things like that happen. It’s not worth it. It’s just easier to let it go than confront people over situations like that that don’t really matter. My mind wandered to how I wanted to confront her and I stood there, daydreaming I slapped her. My palm itched almost uncontrollably. I was shaking when I sat down at a table with my ice cream. I could hardly enjoy the treat. I was scared of myself. I was frightened by the level of my anger. Over something so meaningless. That I would ordinarily shrug off.

It was frightening. The memory is so vivid that it makes me sick to my stomach. My palms still itch when I remember.

After a month or so, my life really fell apart, because nothing was fixed. Nothing was different. Everyone wanted to pretend it all away. But that’s another story for another day.

I think the suicide of Rick Warren’s son is a wake-up call to Christians. That poor boy hurt so badly that he desired to leave this world. It was too much for him. The world wakes up again with Robin Williams’ death. Many celebrities recently have chosen to end their lives, leaving behind devastated spouses and precious children and sad fans. But everyone just wants to argue and be pompous or saddened while nothing changes and no one is compassionate and few are helped. There is no empathy.

It’s not for us to understand or judge. But I think we should help each other more. We should try harder to support one another through trials. I think a lot of depression and anxiety is spiritual warfare. How easy to confuse Christians with a fog of mental darkness. We’re blinded too easily. And have no one and nowhere to turn for help.

Depression is evil.

What can we do?

Pray.

Prayer is powerful to ward off evil forces. Pray for light and protection from evil. Pray for the body’s chemistries to be healed and aligned. Find a prayer partner or group. Pray that our children will not share in this legacy. It’s often not the endall beall to healing, but it’s a beginning. Ask friends, family members, your church to pray. I often journal scripture, poetry, and prayer. Meditation and contemplation is great too.

Read.

Read holy books out loud. Do a Bible concordance search. Many of the prophets suffered from depression. Get a good Bible study. Again, this is often not the only help depression needs to heal. But it’s a great start. Get an accountability partner. Ask your pastor or church leadership for help and prayer. If they scoff at your illness, find a new church. Self-help books are great places to start for answers. Sometimes, I like to read about the struggles of others or just a sappy book.

Fellowship.

I rarely feel like it. It takes a lot of effort for me to be around people and be social. But when I hole up away from people, that’s when the darkness likes to creep in. It’s worse to be alone with it. Connection matters.

Take care of yourself, physically.

When I don’t feel well, then my emotions run down too. Eat right. Exercise. Get out in the sunshine whenever possible. Drink water. Dance. Play with your kids. Take cod liver oil. Diffuse essential oils to help boost your mood. Get a Happy Lampfor those dark days of winter. I know it’s hard.

Occupy your mind.

If your mind has too much free time and it wanders to negative thoughts, occupy it. Write. Start a blog. Read a book. Take up a hobby like art or woodworking. Learn to play music. Do a puzzle. Play a game. Learn something along with your spouse or child, sibling, or friend. Volunteer with children or the elderly. Go to church. Exercise. Take a class. Feed the birds. Get a pet. Create arts and crafts. Do good.

Counseling.

I know there are good counselors out there. You can also turn to trusted friends or family members. It might be hard to open up and be honest with yourself and others. {Do you think writing this post was easy?} Let the Holy Spirit guide you. Don’t be afraid to say no after a meeting or two and find someone else. Some secular therapists might be better to meet your needs. Here’s a good guide and checklist to finding a therapist.

Medication.

I know some people’s bodies just need help leveling out. Like high blood pressure or high cholesterol, you may need meds for your serotonin and/or dopamine levels. (I have never found a med that I could cope with, but you may have great success.)

Depression and anxiety are real illnesses.

Don’t judge people who take a pill for depression because I know you don’t judge those who take a pill for diabetes. Some people need meds just occasionally. Others need it daily for an extended time. Find a physician who can work with you, a therapist, your family, your needs, to find the right combination for your needs. I’ve tried different meds and I didn’t like any of them with their side effects. But I respect those who do need them and find they help.

People have told me that they didn’t know I have issues with depression.

What do I say to that? Should I be glad that it doesn’t show? Should I be proud that I’ve hidden it well? It’s not something people often discuss in polite company. Most shy away from mental illness conversations. There’s a societal stigma that we’ve done something to deserve this or we should be able to “snap out of it.”

I often hear phrases like, “Just smile more. Just be happy. Just imagine you’re in your happy place. What do you have to be sad about?”

And people can experience short-term blues, sure.

That is not depression.

People who have never experienced mental illness can’t possibly understand.

Contact a suicide hotline for help.

Suicide is selfish. It’s a cry for help. It’s a last resort. It’s because we have no voice or feel like no one hears us. We’re so desperate that we have to be that selfish.

I hold on during my darkest days because I have responsibilties to my children and husband. I want to be there for their future.

As Christians, we often think that we can’t or shouldn’t feel that way, ever. How can we love and serve Jesus and still be depressed? But I often am. I know others struggle too. Maybe it’s just our fallen world. Perhaps it’s our thorn we must bear. Maybe some of us are more empathetic than others. We feel everything more.

I think it hurts even more now that I am a Christian. But Jesus helps me bear it, especially when other Christians disappoint or hurt me.

I feel more acutely aware of others’ pain. I think that’s seeing with the eyes of Jesus. And if I hurt like this, what must He feel?

And what can I do about it?

It helps to serve others and take action to ease another’s burden.

There’s always hope.

My friend, Amanda, tells it like it is. She’s not scared. I hope her book helps you like it helped me: Finding Joy in Depression. I highly recommend it and there are some great resource links in it too.

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