A Lament

Why, Oh Lord?  Why?

When one's life is already mostly lived a diagnosis of mental illness is not welcome, but at the same time, not so overwhelming. 

But for one whose life is still yet to come such a diagnosis is a burden that will be carried so long.  Why, Oh Lord?

Yet, there is also hope that rather than muddling through life without the help available, such a young person, armed with a diagnosis and empowered with a proper treatment plan will be able to reclaim the potential of their life.  The chemical malfunctions of psychiatric disorders can be addressed, and alleviated.  And yet, such a diagnosis early in life carries with it the burden of a lifetime adjustment, not to mention the expense of a lifetime on medications. 

The tragedy of such an early diagnosis is that at a stage in life when identity is being formed, a diagnosis will take center stage.  Bipolar, OCD, Schizophrenic, paranoid, depressed, whatever-- these are not the pillars around which one wants to establish their identity.  It's different when one has already established that identity and is firmly grounded.  Such a diagnosis later in life is difficult, but it is easier to maintain an identity independent of the disease.  When one is young and just coming to terms with the 'who' of who they are, such a label carries a louder voice.

It presents other challenges.  That quest to find a lifetime partner just became even more challenging.  "Hi, I'm Jane, an Aquarius, I love the beach, and dogs, and have a passion for music and dance.  I'm also a paranoid schizophrenic.  Would you like to hang out and have a cup of coffee?"  In selecting a mate, some will not have a problem with one who is mentally ill.  But if we are honest, many will have a problem with that.  It's like drug addiction.  Many marriages have survived chemical dependency and the subsequent treatment but, given the choice, would you prefer to be with one who will face those challenges or one who is healthy? 

Back to the matter of identity.  Establishing an identity, one's personhood, is such an integral part of adolescence and young adulthood..  Now there is the disease that is part of that.  But there is more.  Medication and its affects.  Is the person I am today really me?  To what extent are my experiences now attributed to a medication as opposed to my true self? 

Is a thought I have my own?  Or is it a symptom of a disease?  Or is it skewed by medication?  Have the medications resulted in my now reconnecting with my true being?  Or have they created an alternative reality with which I now must live?  Who am I?  Can I even claim my own thoughts?

Thief!  Demon!  Who gave you the right to take up residence in my soul?  Was it God?  Or heredity?  Or simply being the wrong place at the wrong time?  What opportunity did you seize Satan?  Be gone.  And whatever happened to the exorcists that we desperately need in the face of these demons?

And vocation.  Choices are now limited.  OCD in small doses makes for good doctors and nurses.  But when the paralysis rooted in fear prevents one from acting, not so much. 

Life goes on.  There is a lot of life left to live.  And with diligence, treatment can be successful.  Opportunities may open up again.  It is not over.  Don't punctuate the end of the sentence just yet.  Let the diagnosis be at best, a comma.  Not a period.

Why are they doing this to me, Oh God.  Why are you allowing this to happen?  Do you even exist?

A roomate, diagnosed with schizophrenia, once observed that there are a high proportion of schizophrenics that are atheist.  It's hard to believe in a God who simply flunked chemistry. 

Or we can believe and bring our lament to the Lord.  We can plead our case before the almighty and hope for grace in the time of our need.  And strain to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Such is the plight of the mentally ill, especially those who are so young.  God be with them.

The Knock at the Door

Just don't answer the door.

Yet the knocking continues.  Persistent.  Recognizable.  Ominous.

It's a familiar caller, been  here before.  But its been a while.

The signs are there.  A heaviness--as though my skull was made of lead.  The weight bearing down from above.  Sleep disturbances.  A growing discontent.  Irritability.

Depression, that lifelong companion, has come calling once again.

And you just don't know why.  Take the irritability.  The strawberries are coming on now.  Last night we had strawberry shortcake.  The other night we had it at the kids, with a pound cake that I loved.  Karla in recent years has been making biscuits of sorts for shortcake.  And she did last night.  Not the pound cake.  "Didn't she hear how much I loved the other?  Doesn't she care?  And now I'm not happy.  I ask so little."  I know its a little thing, and the shortcake was fine, and there is no reason to get irritable.  Except I was not happy.  Depression.  That's not Karla's fault.

There truly is no reason to be depressed.  As days went, yesterday was a good enough day.  We'd had a wonderful night at the kids, Friday night.  Tri-tip BBQ.  Our grandson.  On Saturday I got some honey-do projects done.  Nothing major: fix a light, rewire a lamp, hang a blind, and varnish the oars.  Accomplishments.  Something to feel good about, yet I didn't.

Diversion is a good tool.  Dream.  Live in hope.

Jens and Ker are buying a home in Sagle, out of town.  A nice place with a view.  And enough land for a shop, which one day Jens would love.  My mind schemes.  Perhaps I could take out a home equity loan and finance one.  Move the tools out of my garage.  Have space to work.  It makes sense.  In town I can only run a business out of my home.  A detached garage shop isn't allowed.  If I built a shop at Jens' place maybe one day Olson's WoodWorks would be viable again.  Hope.

Nope.  Not enough.  The weight descends as the day goes on.  No reason.  There's never a reason.  Depression just happens.

I check my calendar.  Thursday I see my therapist.  Not scheduled to see my psychiatrist until August.  Might have to change that.

It's been quite a few years since I've had to change meds.  I was hopeful that these would continue working.  Perhaps an adjustment is necessary.  Though with Lamictal there is not generally any adjustment in dose.  Perhaps a change to to Lithium, that old standby.  Or other more contemporary options.  Don't want to think about it, though, and changing meds can be a crap shoot.  Trial and error.  Some work.  Others don't.  The ones I have been on have been working.

What I hope is that the depression I'm feeling is short lived.  Maybe it was just a bad day.  Oh, but it wasn't a bad day at all.

Part of the difficulty is that depression itself is depressing.  Its a vicious cycle.  The thought alone that life's little pleasures may escape me for a while is a downer.  Knowing that in the past cycles of depression have lasted for extended periods of time weighs on one.

Wait.  Do not answer the door.  I feel better this early morning.  Never mind that I woke at 12:30 am and am not sleeping.  Denial has been one way I've fought off depression.  I take humor in some small things.  "Its all just in your head."  Well of course its in my head.  That's the problem.  I also humor myself with the thought that maybe this will help with my weight.  I've noticed my belly becoming more prominent, lately.  Anymore and I might need to name it.  I lose weight when depressed.  Though I don't recommend it as a weight loss program.

Work through it, forcibly if necessary.  I've done that alot.  And with the two jobs I have, losing myself in my work is not hard.  I could use more people contact at church, though.  My little band is a low maintenance group.  A woman lost her husband recently.  She's fine.  He was ready.  Her husband was not part of the church and so no funeral was scheduled.  What might have been a few weeks of intense ministry was greatly reduced.  Ministry is about responding to their needs, though, not mine.  But it would do my soul good if I felt more needed.

Focus on those things that you know give you pleasure.  Jasper is certainly one of them.  "Opa!"  Who can be depressed hearing such a greeting and feeling that embrace?  Well, a depressed person can still feel depressed.  At best such pleasures suspend the mood for a bit.  And then it returns.

I must admit that the one thing that gives me the most hope is simply the knowledge that "this too shall pass."  The merciful side of bipolar disorder is that there are two sides to bipolar disorder.  The depression will not last indefinitely.  And a manic phase is not inevitable.  Though, quite frankly, mania can be preferable, to say the least.  At least one 'feels' good, even if there are pitfalls.

Trust.  Medications and therapy seek to limit the extremes and provide a safety net.  Depression may not be as deep, mania not as out of control.  Even though they continue to be experienced, they likely will not be as intense.  Hope.

And then the dark side.  It doesn't help that prominent people fall prey to such a disease.  Anthony Bourdain, dead.  A reminder of the seriousness of mental health disorders.

And the world doesn't help.  Knowing that Trump is in power is not good for my soul.  Most depressing is that some support his erratic behavior.  I shudder as I remember the statement of a friend that "he voted for Trump because our nation has become so divided and something needed to change."  As though Trump would be the great uniter.  Depressing.

I do feel better this morning.  Writing does my soul good.  A couple of hours on my blog is as good as a session of psychotherapy.  But I say that with caution.  My cycle when depressed is that as the day goes on the depression worsens.  I have written in the past about the wave of depression that overwhelms me in the late afternoon, rolling in like the San Francisco fog.  That could be where I'm at, feeling good in the morning, overwhelmed by night.

The knocking at the door persists.  This is not a welcome guest.

I formulate a list in my head of things that would make me happy.  Unfortunately, many of those things are on another list, symptoms of mania.  I wonder how much study has been done about that relationship.  The high risk adrenaline pumping adventures of mania are an antidote to the weight and burden of depression.

And so I listen to the knocking at the door.  Part of the solution is to open the door and face the demon.  Call it by name.  Recognize it for what it is.  My own thought is that depression is more likely to be catastrophic when it is not recognized.  It is helpful to recognize that I only 'feel' depressed.  In truth, life is not that bad.  Emotions are real, but they do not define reality.

I will sleep some more.  And then face a new day.  Worship this morning.  Recognizing Jesus.  One of my themes in the sermon today is that we see through a mirror dimly, meaning that our human nature is to see a reflection of ourselves even as we seek to see Jesus.  We cannot see the real Jesus in the mirror, though.  We look to the cross.  And in the breaking of the bread their eyes were opened.

This is my body, this is my blood, given, shed, for you.  Comforting words.  Words that speak of redemption.  Faith sustains during the dark night of the soul.

One of the ministries of the people of God is to believe on behalf of the besieged.  When we, in our weakness are overwhelmed to the point that faith and hope evade us, others maintain that faith and hope on our behalf.  And that is sufficient.

Despair and Hope: The Politics of Today

There is not a day that goes by that I don't experience another deep revulsion at the policies of Donald Trump.  He will never be my president.  Not only is he not making America Great Again, he is attacking in a most haphazard way the very fabric of our country.  In the strangest development today, I find myself in agreement with the Koch brothers.  That takes something.

The detention of immigrant children in, among other places, an abandoned Walmart.  And a senator denied access.  I suppose there is something appropriate about that as Walmart parking lots have long attracted the homeless, living out of their cars, who rely on Walmart for bathrooms and a food supply, not to mention a place to get in out of the cold.

But America, really, did you ever think that our Federal Government would warehouse children in an abandoned Walmart?  Republicans, is this the America you embrace, oh you of 'family values'.  You are responsible for electing this monster.  You.  You are responsible for the plight of those children.  This may be worse than the treatment of Native Americans, the Japanese, etc..  And this is 2018.  We know better.  It is past time that we hold our leaders accountable. 

"I have the absolute right to pardon myself."  I doubt that, as do many others.  But even if you have the constitutional authority to pardon yourself, neither you, Donald Trump, nor those who support you, can absolve yourself of the moral implications of your actions.  And make no mistake about it, every American who acquiesces to this type of behavior is complicent in it. 

I don't give a shit about collusion with the Russians, and the dirt that the Donald tried to dig up regarding Hillary.  I don't really care about the many ways the Trump empire appears to be profiting from his policies.  And I could care less about his opinion of the NFL.

I do care deeply about people, and especially the harm being done to innocent children.  I predict that the day will come that everything comes to light and we will be, or should be, aghast at what we've become. 

And then there is hope.

Each day brings us closer to the next election, and candidates are beginning to line up already.  My hope is that not only Democrats, but Republicans will raise up candidates worthy of the presidency to challenge and defeat Trump.  Democrats obviously will try.  I'm not sure about Republicans. 

Could the former CEO of Starbucks mount a successful campaign?  I don't know.  Perhaps someone like Elizabeth Warren?  I could even thoroughly embrace and support a true Republican like Romney or McCain, though obviously McCain's not available anymore.  Kasich, well that would be a big improvement.  Anybody, as long as they have a conscience, and are willing to make a commitment to the best of their ability, to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

My biggest fear is that having seen four years of the atrocities of Trump's administration voters will embrace it.  Then the United States will have lost its soul.  This is not what our veterans fought to defend.  This is not the country that was the conscience of the world.  Any Republican who can see pictures of children caged like animals and still support this president has simply strayed from Republican values.  This is my cry, not that Democrats will always win, but that Republicans will at least be true to their own heritage as a party.

Do I want him  impeached?  Maybe, but I'd rather see him overwhelmingly defeated at the ballot box as that would demonstrate in my mind that the United States has not lost its soul.

I struggle to not give in to hate.  This can be difficult when one abhors so much of what is happening.  But somewhere in between acquiescence and hate there is a position of strong resistance to the current state of affairs that will not rest until the soul of our nation is restored.

Sacred Vocation or a Fool's Pastime

There is a bipolar nature to ministry itself.  An ebb and flow from the heights to the depths.  At one end of the spectrum is a conviction that this vocation is a most sacred calling.  At the other end of the spectrum is a depressing thought that perhaps ministry itself is but a fool's pastime.  As a sacred calling ministry taps into the manic side of our existence.  As a fool's pastime there is nothing but despair and an overwhelming sense of irrelevance.

And it all hinges on the question of life, truth, and that which is of ultimate importance.  And it is a question of faith.

God either is, or is not.

The Gospel either is a matter of ultimate importance, or it is not.

These questions confront us more and more as the culture in which we live drifts toward an increasingly secular society where faith in God is either non-existent, or a matter of little importance.  "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"  (Luke 18:8)

Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."  (John 6:66-69)

This is the thing about ministry.  We are caught between these two poles.  At one end of the spectrum we are confronted with a world that increasingly has no faith.  At the other are those who cling to our words as the way of eternal life.  The ministry we share as the Church is either the highest of callings, or a pitiful excuse of a way to live.

At times of deep depression, when faith eludes me, I sometimes view myself and my life as that of a modern day medicine man, leading the tribe in the ritual of the Ghost Dance, clothing them in the Ghost Shirts in the vain effort to protect them from all evil, and yet, unable to stop the bullets from penetrating.

At times of deep faith there is a sense of walking with my people from the cradle to the gates of heaven.  In these sacred moments there is a recognition that this ministry we share is an integral part of God's redemptive work for all creation.  That the Word we are called to proclaim has the same power as the Word God spoke at the beginning of time-- the power to call forth life itself.

What is truth?

It is either one or the other.  There is no in between.  The faith we hold dear is not just an icing on the cake, a sweet topping to make life more palatable.  Either God is or is not.  And that makes a difference.  It makes a difference in the way we live.  It makes a difference in what is of ultimate importance.  Or it is a fool's pastime.

What song shall we sing?

Election 2016, Good Medicine

No use belaboring the point.

No need for a well thought out argument.

Sometimes things are just intuitively obvious.

For those such as myself, who have been diagnosed with a mental illness such as bipolar disorder, this election is good medicine.

"Heavens!" you say,  "Pray tell, what could you possibly mean?"

Given the insanity that has been paraded before us throughout this election, I'm convinced that my own insanity is minor.

And a little bit of medicine takes care of my condition.

Would that the country could just take a pill and be restored to sanity.

Alas, that's just wishful thinking.

The first step in the healing process for a bipolar person is the recognition that the condition exists.  

And then, taking the pill, doing the therapy, being cautious and aware of the moods one is experiencing.

And though life continues to have its challenges, it levels out.

A nation that is bipolar.  At one point convinced it can solve every world problem.  At another point, depressed about whether even one problem can be solved.

Would that we could see this.

Would that there was a pill.

A little balance would be good.

Yup, there is a solution to my malady.  

Not so sure about the nation's.