Tag Archives: depression

Relapse really is part of recovery

By Jack Smith

My doctor told me two things the day I left The Menninger Clinic: I may never outgrow bipolar disorder, and relapse is often part of recovery.

My first six weeks or so at home, I felt renewed and refreshed, hopeful and content.

I awoke every day at 5 am, read my Bible, made a gratitude list and enjoyed the silent comfort morning brings. I experienced something that has eluded me for much of life. Serenity.

My naive hope was that my illness was behind me. Maybe I finally had found the right combination of meds and mojo, therapy and attitude.

Yet somehow the train recently came careening off the tracks, and I couldn’t stop it. I pulled the emergency brake, but it didn’t stop. I did all the things I was told to do.

I prayed. I exercised. I mentalized. I took deep breaths. I told myself the paralyzing anxiety that triggered obsessive and ridiculous thoughts would pass, that feelings are just that. They aren’t facts.

Yet the depression came back like a slow-moving, dark cloud, consuming my soul and distorting my thoughts. The stubborn cloud hasn’t moved.

Depression is a liar. It tells me my life is unraveling. It tells me the pain and suffering might never go away. It tells me I’m not worthy of the blessings I’ve been given. Worst of all, it makes me forget how blessed I really am. This disease is cruel and cunning, relentless and unforgiving, exhausting and maddening.

It tells me it’s not even worth the fight. It tells me to fear my emotions, all my emotions, because I might launch into mania or slide down the slippery slope of misery.

Today, I used all the strength I could muster to try and climb out of this dark and dreadful abyss. My fear is slipping into the pit of agony again as I scratch and claw my way out.

As difficult and discouraging as these days have been, I have not given up hope.  I can’t give up hope because it’s all I have.

I do not believe God has forsaken me or left me alone in the bitter cold and darkness of winter. I believe he has a plan for me, a reason for my suffering. I just don’t yet know what it is.

I have asked God to take this burden away from me, but I can accept it if He doesn’t. At least then the suffering will not have been in vain.

 

 

I’m not the man she married, but she loves me anyway

b on wedding dayA lot of things have been hard in my up and down battle with mental illness the past two decades.

I’ve been misunderstood and  misdiagnosed.  I’ve stayed in hospitals for what I hoped and prayed would be the last time. For years, I’ve taken meds that had no chance of helping.

I’ve been so down I forgot what I feels like to be up. I’ve been on top and even over the top only to come crashing down in a heaping mess.

I’ve had my faith tested, and I’ve tested my faith.

My mood has seldom been stable for years, but something far more  important has: My marriage.

I’ve heard stories you wouldn’t believe and seen statistics that are sad and sobering about mental illness and how it can wreck families.

The most troubling one? Ninety percent of marriages in which one person suffers from bipolar disorder end in divorce. That’s a staggering, heart-breaking number.

Most marriages just don’t survive mania or the depression that is the disorder’s evil twin.  I do not judge any who haven’t made it.

My heart aches for all of them, like the lady who recently sent me a direct message after reading this blog. She couldn’t keep her vows because the man she had married became someone she no longer knew and could no longer love.

I met another woman in treatment who never made it to the altar with the love of her life. She had debilitating depression and seizures that required brain surgery. When she woke up, everything she learned in pre-med and her feelings for her fiancee were gone.

It’s not my place to cast judgment, but it is my obligation to thank God for blessing our marriage. We’ve tried to live out our vows…and we’ve been tested on all of them. Richer. Poorer. Sickness. Health. We’ve been far from perfect and we have work to do yet, but we’ve endured, loved, prayed and hoped. It takes all of that—and more.

My wife is pretty awesome all the way around, and I’m not just talking about her hotness.

She is supportive but not enabling. She is patient but not a pushover. She has endured my antics and addictions, my foibles and  fallacies.

Never once has she threatened to leave me. Well, other than that one time—but that’s another blog.

Barclay, I’m writing this post because you need to know how much I love you. You need to know much I appreciate your love and devotion, your endurance and your understanding. I regret that you, too have had to suffer in your own way, ways I probably don’t even know about or understand.

You don’t always give me what I want or tell me what I need to hear.  That’s a good thing. If you did, we’d be broke and I might be dead.

It’s not easy being married to a bipolar man who isn’t what you really signed up for at all. It’s even harder, I can imagine, to love them like you did the day you said “I do.”

You do both, and that has made  mine a life worth living.

 

 

The right words offer hope in battle with depression

By Jack Smith

Bridgette never has a bad day. Her sweet and soothing voice is well known to customers at the Chick-fil-A drive thru in my hometown.  Bridgette always makes me feel better—even when I feel guilty for ordering yet another chocolate milkshake.

Her secret? Bridgette adjusts her emotional level based on her customers’ first words into the drive thru microphone. If they sound grumpy, she dials down the sunshine. If they sound perky, she matches their emotions.

therefore-encourage

It works. I’ve never once had a bad experience in the Chick-fil-A drive thru thanks to Bridgette’s sweet voice.

I think we can all take a cue from Chick-fil-A when it comes to saying the right thing in the right way to those suffering from depression and other mental illness.

Words can help or they can hurt. They can heal or they can harm..

I’ve found almost all people have good intentions, but I’ve also had some tell me they didn’t know what to say to me or someone else struggling with mental illness. Maybe this list will help.

5 good things to say to those with mental illness Continue reading

5 things not to say to folks dealing with depression

 

Words can help those suffering from depression. They can also hurt.

Words can help those suffering from depression. They can also hurt.

By Jack Smith

They stuffed my neighbor’s freezer full of casseroles. They cut our grass and brought candy to our kids. They said prayers, sent notes, posted Facebook messages and shot encouraging texts to my wife and to me.

They sent my wife and children on the trip of a lifetime—just as their dad had to leave them for a far-away clinic. But that wasn’t enough. They sent cash and gift cards and movies to watch on the way.

The extraordinary acts of kindness shown to us by our friends during my darkest hour renewed my faith in people.

Their generosity and my family’s support made it far easier to leave home for three weeks. It helped me focus on my illness and tackle my treatment like a determined linebacker.

Their encouragement made me realize I’m a lucky man. I’m from a great town and I live in a great town today. I couldn’t possibly ask for more.

Yet as I learned in treatment from others who aren’t so fortunate, people can say the darndest things. Even our families. Continue reading