My Thorn

I have anxiety.  And I hate it.  I really do.  I hate how my brain is sometimes my enemy.  How I can’t always trust the feelings coursing through me because they could be lies.  I hate how it makes me feel, how it makes me talk and act, and react to people. I hate it. 

I got diagnosed when I was 19.  And it opened up a whole new level of “world” to me.  I was now learning about hormones and SSRI Intake inhibitors and triggers and self evaluation the hard way, the “I have to survive this and learn to live” way.  And I fought it.  I fought the diagnosis.  I fought the “treatment”.  I fought getting on medicine.  And then I fought getting on medicine again.  I fought other people finding out about it. 

Because it does change how someone looks at you.  Not necessarily for the worse but definitely differently.  And you can always tell when that person isn’t really a ‘believer’ in mental health and the struggles that can be out of a person’s hands. 

They’ll nod but get really silent, normally ducking their head so they don’t have to make eye contact.  Cutting down on the chance that you’ll notice their eyes and see they think its bunk.  Or see that now you can’t be fully trusted to handle high tension situations or risky emotions.  Because you have anxiety.  You aren’t tough enough to handle what the world throws at you, so you give it a name and use it as your excuse. 

And if you’re a Christian, well then, you should just hand it over to the Lord.

 I have.  Multiple times.  I’ve begged for it to be taken from me.  But I’ve still got it.  And it can still really screw up my thoughts.  And my days.  And my life. 

Recently I’ve been seeing on Facebook lots of posts about “normalizing” mental health.  Whether that is depression or anxiety or bipolar, etc, it should be made to be common place.  I agree and at the same time really don’t. 

I disagree because I dislike the idea of anyone’s struggle becoming common or too familiar.  That kind of attitude tends to swing the pendulum back toward complacency or even disbelief.  It can also become a buzz word or a trendy “problem”. 

“Guys, I’m just a little OCD so if you could put everything in the right spot it would be great.” 

“I felt so nervous!  Just my anxiety kicking in again!”

The terms have already become familiar enough that we think we know what it’s like to live with it.  That we understand the symptoms.  That we can empathize with them.  And then when someone with a diagnosed condition is honest about it, that revelation can be swept under the rug because “me too!”

This shouldn’t be normalized.  A person with a headache can sympathize with a person who suffers from migraines but they do not get to claim true understanding.  When a person who suffers from depression meets another person with depression, that shared information is like a shared cup of water while carrying a heavy load.  It doesn’t leave you needing to explain anything or fake it.  You know that they know, and you don’t have to pretend. 

Which is why I also do agree with “normalizing” it. 

The Bible is pretty clear about sharing and caring for our brothers and sisters.  That we should be able to run to one another and cry and laugh and even complain.  (Although the Bible is also pretty clear on that topic too.  Good thing there’s grace.)  We should be real with each other so that we can support and encourage each other. 

I am not shy about sharing my anxiety. It is important to me that you can put a face to it instead of just being a problem that “someone” could have. But it’s also important that someone is dealing with it too know that they are now alone. And they are not crazy. Maybe they’ll hear something I say or read something I write and know that I’m ‘safe’ to ask. Because it hits really close to home.

But even then, with striving to be honest and open, there is a select group of women that I will text when I am having a BAD DAY.  The ones that, even if they don’t understand, will pour love over me and pray that the storm will pass.  And that hopefully I’ll be able to see the sun tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Or the next.  A couple might ask for specifics to see if they can take away some of my everyday loads to make this anxiety fight easier. 

And it helps.  It doesn’t make it go away, but it helps.  Because I’m not hiding.  I don’t have to pretend to be doing well when my mind and emotions are screaming at me that there’s a problem.  That you’ve made everyone angry.  That the world is going to stop turning if you drop one of the plates you’ve got spinning.  That you’re just WRONG.  Everything about you is WRONG.  You’re place in the world is WRONG.  The love that people have for you?  WRONG.  Your appearance? WRONG. Any accomplishments?  Compliments?  Dreams?  Nope, all wrong.  The carousel is spinning without stopping and you just want OFF. 

…it’s a terrible thing to go through life not able to always believe the emotions that you’re feeling.  Because that is what my anxiety is.  A lie of an emotion racing through me.  And it’s always the bad ones!

I started this by saying how much I hated it.  And while I do, I know I shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t hate anything about myself.  This thorn in my side has made it possible for me to talk to people that felt alone and outcast because nobody understood or because nobody was safe to talk to about it.  God used my struggle and pain for His purposes.  And I shouldn’t hate that. 

…even if I do so wish that Lord would take it from me.

I will have bad days again.  I know I will.  I will probably need to get on medication again.   I will need to reach out and ask for help and cry at the foot of my Lord.  And, AND, it will be used again to encourage a fellow sufferer.  It will be used again as a lesson for someone that has never considered that mental health issues are REAL and not just weak mindfulness.  It will be used again by the Creator to show that a thorn doesn’t stop someone from being loved or working for the kingdom.  

Unfortunately, I can’t wrap this one up with a pithy aphorism or inspiring last word.  Because my struggle with this isn’t going to end.  It’s going to keep going.  And it’s not pretty.  And it’s not positive.  It can be used for positive, good things because that is the amazing God that we serve.  He can take the sludge and use it to heal another’s wounds.  Or at least provide a comfort to them.