Tag Archives: depression

Hope Deferred

07 Sunday Apr 2013

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Still life with Bible, by Vincent Van Gogh

Still life with Bible, by Vincent Van Gogh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Haven’t written lately;  life has not been cooperating with all of my good intentions.  And my heart just isn’t in it anymore.

I have given up on the whole mental health/counseling thing.  It just does not work.  Not the way I believe that it should.  Over the years I have been through countless sessions, in and out of church, survived two exorcisms (don’t ask) and,  most recently, a psychologist insisted that I work my way through the alphabet during a panic attack.  Except that I don’t have panic attacks;  have never had one in my entire life, and therefore don’t feel an urgent need to treat them.  At least, not my own.  But, the session was ending, and she had boxes to check, and I know that ‘give client homework’ is one of them, so I politely said okay.  The next time I have a panic attack in Wegman’s, I’ll stand in the middle of the aisle saying “A, apple.  B, ball…”  And she was happy with that.

We won’t be going there again.

I got in the car thinking This is why people drink.  This, the way I feel right now.  This ‘nobody is hearing me’ feeling.  It is the most horrible painful, twisting feeling, in the very innermost parts of your being.  Like having your insides pulled up and out through your heart.  Depression doesn’t begin to describe it.

What I am is sad.  And tired.  I’m grieving, not panicking.  And I’m tired of talking to strangers, and doctors, and counselors, trying to explain things they don’t understand, about a situation they can’t fix, and didn’t have anything to do with in the first place. All I get from the church is silence, and all I get from the world is “it sounds like you should maybe just not go to church anymore”.  Neither one is right.

Good counseling takes time.  I don’t believe in ‘short-term therapy’ for long-term problems.  Not for real growth, healing, and a changed life.  It’s a combination of discipleship, mentoring, teaching, and sometimes parenting.  We are hurt in the context of relationship, and so are healed in relationship.

Nor do I believe in changing therapists, or constantly starting over, or trying different ones like so many different pairs of shoes.  I don’t bounce from person to person in my personal life, and don’t care to in my counseling.  Many, many clients have told me the same thing.  They establish a relationship, begin to build trust, open up, (or wake up) and suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under them, whether because of insurance, or mandated treatment, or the high turn-over rate in agencies.  It makes it impossible to learn how to trust anybody, or get any sense of stability and safety.

There is no box for ‘client gives up’ so they get checked off as non-compliant.

I think life was easier when all I had was God, my Bible and my kitchen table.  So I will go back to waiting.  And praying.  Waiting for God to move in my life, for healing to come, and things to be resolved, and the whole mess to be untangled.  To be able finally, once and forever, to put the whole thing behind me and not carry it around anymore.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”    Proverbs 13:12

Walking Through the Wilderness

23 Saturday Feb 2013

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img013 San Pedro River

Photo credit: gem66)

I cried, this week, in the doctor’s office.  Quite hard, actually.  In the waiting room.  In front of everybody.  Got lost on the way there, ran out of gas and was twenty minutes late for my appointment.  Desperately needed prescriptions filled, as they ran out a while ago, but I haven’t been able to get an appointment anywhere.  (I lost most of my medical care when I lost my job.)

‘I’m sorry ma’am, but we will have to reschedule you for later in March.  No one can see you today.”  “Yes, I heard you.”  Cried harder.  Once the flood gates are open, it’s hard to stop.                                                                              “Ma’am, nobody can see you.”                                                                          “Yes, but I need help today.”  “Would you like to reschedule?”  No, thank you, I really just want to die.  I did reschedule, made it out to the hallway, sat down on the stairs and cried harder.

“My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.”  (Exodus 33:14)

I hate being on Medicaid, I hate being stuck in a system that probably sounds good on paper, but doesn’t work in reality.  Hate being a single parent, and not having a husband to help with all of this. How in the world do people do this?

I went to church last night.  It was packed;  we’re having a conference, and I really wanted to go, as the speaker was someone who had prayed over me a long time ago;  an amazing, prophetic prayer, when I was going through my divorce.  The whole process of getting a seat in church is a humiliating experience for me.  I miss the ushers at my old church;  always helpful, always respectful, and kind.  Thank God, a friend stepped in to the hallway, and took me to sit with her and her husband.

But, still.

It would be nice, to have someone to go to church with (hide behind?) and have him deal with the ushers, and find a seat for me.  To be protected, cared for, and loved.  I am so grateful for my friend, and her husband, but I want my own husband.

The lobby was packed with people, visiting, laughing, talking.  A lot of noise, lights and motion.  It’s an assault on the senses, and I look for someone familiar to attach to; otherwise it’s an out-of-body experience, but there was no one, so I hid in the bookstore.  And pretended I was having fun, with my coffee, all by myself.  Because this is what divorced women in the church do.

On the way to the car, there was another couple who walked out with me (they never say hi to me, have never, in thirteen years;  my daughter informed me once that the mother can’t stand me)  but they were laughing, and walking together to their car, and I envied her.  Because she had someone to sit with in church, and to go home and do family with.  To do marriage with.  And she has cute clothes.

We claimed a verse this week, one of the women and I did, for the prayer and coffee group that meets in my home.

“See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up;  do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness, and streams in the desert.”  Isaiah 43:19

Thank God.  Because this has been a very long walk.  And I’m tired.

Still Waters

Still Waters (Photo credit: SweetCapture)

The Formative Years

20 Saturday Oct 2012

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Robin againI have been reading James Wilhoits’ book Spiritual Formation as if the Church Mattered this week.  Our private lives matter to God, and to the Great Cloud of Witnesses cheering us along on our journey.  It’s not about being legalistic (God forbid that we should ever do anything out of a sense of “this is right, and good, and needs to be done immediately”) but about bringing stability and order to our lives.  We live from the inside out.  In all of our trials and tribulations, we forget to maintain discipline in our private lives.  A long time ago, one of the ministers at our church told me that he thought I was very strong spiritually, but very fragile emotionally.  I have never heard a more accurate description of me.

Looking back on ten years of therapy, I can honestly say that much of it was a performance.  Not out of any desire to be dishonest, but out of a knowing that saying the wrong thing could result in suddenly being told I can’t come back next week.  Which is, of course, exactly what happened in the end. And just like that, the one constant in my life was upended;  knowing that “This is what I do on Wednesdays”  and looking forward to having a quiet, private place to go and discuss all the things that can’t be discussed with co-workers, fellow students, or other church members was suddenly over.   I don’t have a husband;  counseling replaced that in a way.  Being a single parent is lonely and hard.  I think every woman going through a divorce should have a counselor;  it doesn’t have to be psychotherapy.  I chose pastoral counseling, because that’s what I wanted, and it was important to me.  I wanted someone who was first and foremost a minister, because I knew that more than anything else, I needed healing.  But regardless, without counseling, the tendency for  women after divorce is to treat our children like more like roommates, and expect them to meet emotional needs that should be met by an adult.

I did better in counseling, in that I was able to keep a job, and go to school.  I needed the help with anxiety, and someone to talk to about depression.  Life has been hell for the last two years, and it doesn’t look as if the situation is going to be resolved any time soon, as I had hoped. But I am tired of ‘deleting myself’.  I did that in my marriage, I did that in my counseling, and there doesn’t seem to be any point in doing it any longer, as both ended anyway. Performing to please people doesn’t work.  I heard someone talk once on the difference between being a peacemaker, and being a peacekeeper.  I think I tend to confuse the two.  I like peace;  I’m not fond of chaos, and discord, and noise.  Being a writer suits me;  so does counseling and ministry.  Counseling that honored and encouraged that would have been healing.  But, I tried.  I can honestly say I have never tried harder in my life.  Something to think about, but now I have to go and pick up my daughter so she can go and help her father and his girlfriend paint their new house.

Have a Blessed day, people.

“And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever.”  ~John 14:16