Category: Poems {Going Quietly Sane}

I am Not Ashamed

 

 

 

At the end before I quit completely, I was a messy drunk because by then I had to drink a lot to be messed up.   More than I want to admit I had occasions of being a mess, stumbling to bed.  And many, many Sundays I sat through church with the world’s worst hangover.  My faith was shot.

I don’t really know why I was in church, except that I was still keening inside for God to help me.  I am glad I was there, in the end.  Thankful!

Those days were vile, don’t misunderstand.  But I do not feel ashamed.  I’ll tell you why in a minute.  Anyone who regularly reads my blog also knows I also suffer from major depression and that too wrecked my life.  You’re basically non-functioning when it is at its worst.

But I’m talking about why I am not ashamed of suffering from depression or of being a recovering alcoholic.

Why should I be ashamed?

I recently told a group of new friends (They are perhaps more like close acquaintances that I believe will become friends eventually) about my years of depression.  I told them quite matter-of-fact, asking for prayer for the process of slowly stepping down from the anti-depressant I take.  Afterwords, one of them came up to me and whispered out of the side of their mouth, full of embarrassment and clearly full of fear, “I struggle with depression too!”

In that moment I saw how frightening and risky it was for them to tell me.  And I realized all of a sudden that I did not feel that self-consciousness or shame.  I quite accept my lot in life.   Should I feel ashamed?  Am I supposed to be, because I’m a Christ-follower, perfect? I think too often people feel that same reticence.  They fear judgment.

This is the real deal.  Life is not perfect.  Life is what happens when you’re making other plans right?  I don’t know who said that?  But don’t get me wrong, I have not always felt this way — free and unashamed.

I have been there — Where I could not say these words in one sentence: I– am– an– alcoholic.  That four-word sentence took me five years to say out loud and two more to another human being. (Yes, I talk to myself.)  And now that I have, I am not going back to live in that shame.  So, no I don’t look at the person who shared with me in any judgmental way.  I understand the fear.

It took me almost two months to admit to anyone, including Tom for five weeks, that I was depressed.  There is an incredible bias or self-conscious reluctance (for Christians especially) to admit to the illness of depression.  I run into people all the time.  Well forget it.  I am not ashamed.

I’ve talked a lot here about alcoholism and family history.  Depression runs in families too.  Both of these things are simply my Thing.  My challenge.  My opportunity.  Other people have other Things.

As a Christian, what I hope people will hear the WOW in my story— the thing is that God is healing me! Yes, that is what I said.  That is what I believe.  There’s a psychological aspect to getting past/through/beyond these things, of course.  Doctors have played an important part.  Medication.  Finding balance.   But it came down to believing this simple statement:

You are the one Jesus loves.

My father sent me a postcard with this written on it, when I had the first episode of major depression eight years ago.  It was framed when I got it and clearly very important to him.  He had taken it right off his desk, stuck it in a padded envelope, wrote on a post-it that he loved me, and mailed it off to me.  The glass didn’t survive the journey, but the postcard did.  And over the years that statement has stayed with me.

When I read that day that “You are the one Jesus loves” I recoiled.  My stomach lurched.  Because, at that time in my life, I did not believe in the claims of Jesus I don’t think. I believed in the historical figure and in most of what the Bible said.  But, as for Jesus, the human and the son of God, who gave up life in a gruesome way FOR ME, well, I did not believe it.  I never believed I was loved growing up.  Not by God, not by my parents.  And definitely I hated myself.

So the healing that came in discovering how much Jesus actually loved me, well … as you can imagine that changed me.  Changed my life.  Changed my belief system.  Changed how I interacted with and treated others.  Changed my priorities.

I am a different person.

I not only like myself, but today I believe I am loveable.  I guess psychiatrists would say that my “self-esteem” is stronger.  Yay!  It’s true.  No wonder my mood is better.  But in all seriousness, knowing — believing — that Jesus would have given his life for me, and me alone, only me, well, that’s incredible!

[This wasn’t one of those miracles that happened quickly.  It took lot a of Bible study, times of prayer, listening to and working hard with my Shrink, giving up shit (drinking, smoking, being mean to people, compulsive spending, obsessive self-centeredness, … still working on perfectionism and a lot of other things.)

What I mean to say is this process took years. Deep times in the word of God (ie. Bible).  Time with friends in long conversations.  Opening my heart to love from others – especially Tom.]

So, no I am not ashamed of my ills, damn it! (Yeah, Tom thinks I should give up cussing for Jesus too.  It’s the last cheap drug to go aside from caffeine.)

You see, all of these thing they are a “weakness” of a sort that humble me and help me stay connected to the true source of everything.  And for that, I am oh — so — grateful!

Related Articles

I Traveled to a Dreamland [A Poem]

It was a long week.  I traveled to a Dreamland.

And in that magical place where I know Everything,
I am Powerful.
My prayers are Answered.
I am Whole.
The future holds no surprises, for I am filled with
Visions telling me All.

As I walk the streets of Perfect Knowledge I asked
what’s left?
After Total Acceptance
Complete Understanding,
Perfection and Glory
what’s left?
I have no Need.
No Confession.
No Sorrows.
No Desire.
No Curiosity.
No Thirst.

No Need and All Knowledge is in fact Unbearable.
In that Dream Land, I found myself
Longing to Wake Up
to My Life, where my days and nights are Full of Questions.
Where I wonder about Almost Everything and every day
still hope for Perfection.

Sure, I shake my fist at God because I remember that Place Without
Hate, Pain or Suffering.
Here Without Complete Understanding, I cannot imagine how
it will come again.
I can only
Rest in Him.
And be grateful for the Absoluteness of My Unknowing.

re|think everything

(re|think)

noun

Pronunciation:/ˈriːθɪŋk/

[in singular] a reassessment, especially one that results in changes being made.

I am thinking about many things including the future of this blog.  I was particularly challenged by a conversation this weekend.  My sister questioned why I “live so much in the past?”  She was wishing for me that I would be able to “get on with my life.”

Long before that conversation, I have asked for a clear insight about what is next for me.  I have been seeking — praying — listening.

Rethinking What I Know about Myself.

  • I need to know  that my life contributes to a grander and larger story than simply my own.
  • I have certain passions — God-given, I believe.  Most notable photography.  biblical studies.  women.  any injustice.
  • One spiritual gift I have seems to be Mercy. My heart breaks over the corruption and greed in some that leads to poverty and pain for others.  Over persecuted people groups.  Over homophobia, racism, sexism.  Over anyone being homeless.
  • My voice, in writing, is loud and clear and sometimes even challenging.  Out loud I am meek and unclear, which I experienced this weekend to my dismay.

Rethinking Biblical Translation & Interpretation.

I have a hunger to understand scripture for myself.  Dare I say this?  It frightens me that so much of (most or all) biblical interpretation throughout history was done by men.  It gnaws at me from inside out.

I am not a raging neofeminist or even a strong proponent of a feminist or liberation theology.  (I guess I don’t know enough about them to say one way or another.)  Simply put, things have been stacked against us:women. 

  • A patriarchal society& culture brought us the message of the scriptures that we live our lives by. 
  • Another group of men translated it into the language for “everyone.”
  • And, then in most churches today men stand up and interpret scripture every Sunday and all week long.

“The Bible has shaped the life of the church in a way that nothing else has done and Christians today are the product of the history of its interpretation.” 1

Why should I trust their translations and interpretations categorically without question?  This is simply foolish, in my opinion.  And still I pray for a spirit of humility — that I would be a fertile ground.  I ask why do I think these things and if my motives are wrong or I am simply being foolish in my thinking, that this thinking would change.  And, I have thought of many responses to this conundrum, from applying to be an unpaid intern at my church in biblical hermeneutics, I would hope, to bring a feminine voice to the teaching being done, to going to seminary.

Rethinking My Role.

As I seriously consider the perception of being a “woman of leisure” which I wrote about recently, I get mired in my own frustrations and can’t pull together clear thoughts.  Because it is emotional for me!  I don’t care about the money (perhaps I should) but I want respect.  And I know if I don’t respect women who stay home, then how can I expect others to respect me?

And before you email me about the value of being at home with kids, know that I’ve had more than ten years to ponder this subject.  I don’t need “encouragement” in that regard.  It is an incredibly complicated personal decision for every women and I do respect the difficult place women (so much more than men) are in.  So if you are a man, butt out. No one can make this choice for a woman or explain away her doubt, fear, aspirations, goals, or desire for “accomplishment” or get why she cries to be away from her babies.

Recently, First Lady Michelle Obama was named Most Powerful Woman of the Year, beating out heads of state, chief executives and celebrities in Forbes magazine’s annual listing.  Some women came out saying Ms. Obama talks about herself as a wife and mother and were questioning how that makes her influential?   Gr…..

But I digressed into an issue that is only a side story in my search for a place to make an impact and contribution.

And I am still left thinking at this point, is this blog much ado about nothing?  Is it time to stop?”

Rethink Everything.

It is difficult for me, at times, to look back over the last decade of my life.  In human terms — quitting  a meaningful, challenging job, succumbing to clinical depression, becoming addicted to alcohol, and straying far away from the LORD — it was all failure on my part. And yet, it was through those experiences, as mortifying as they are and were to me, that I have come to recognize many things.

I am actually grateful to have been brought so low.  I can only hope that I am still learning and am becoming a person useful to the LORD.  I had to trudge through the violence of my childhood and my feeling of betrayal and disappointment towards my parents — and forgive them.  This has opened me up to a new life.

Christ’s broken body for me was real and meaningful in a new way never understood until my humiliation.  And gratefully I can say, this drove me to my knees.  I went from someone who felt she was competent, powerful, knowledgeable and puffed up with my importance to a broken reed, hardly knowing up from down.  Alcohol devastated me — became the thing that I lived for.  The passion, the dreaming, the hoping, the living stopped.

I am so grateful to not have lost everything. It is humbling to sit here in the comfort of my home knowing that I am loved by my husband and adored by my children.  Undeserved, as I know how close I came to losing  all that I now hold dear and even my life.

As I consider what the future holds for me I want to be fertile ground.  Looking back, mostly glad to have fallen.  To have learned.  As I look ahead there is no perfect plan.  I must trust while serving, not knowing the future.  Trust that I have a contribution to make, but if that “thing” the “plan” never happens, hope that I will continue to be grateful and if I am never made whole, still I will ask for it.  And hope.  And stay open.

===================================

I have more than fifty poems I have written here.  This one, is called addict.


Being an addict catches me by surprise.  Today,

seemingly innocent things — a drink, a smoke, a purchase, food, even exercise can become

urgent

need.

In the time that it takes to feel a flash of happiness, sadness or regret;

less than 60 seconds of my life

and I remember,

I am an addict.  How could I have forgotten?

Today I must ask what brought this on?

For tomorrow I must fill the need

with OTHER.

As for yesterday, I can only look back and remember

I am an addict, but I am stronger than my need.

And as for this moment — I know I am an addict;

I am. I was. I always will be, always will be

an addict.

ADDICT written april 9, 2009 by melody harrison hanson

Those that have no background in addiction look at the word ADDICT and the word alcoholic as kind of wicked and weak.  Face it, our culture doesn’t understand.  But if you’ve been there, if you live there, if you love someone who does or has you know exactly what I mean.  And I thank you for understanding.

1 Bray, Gerald.  Biblical Interpretation: Past & Present, 1996, IVP

why must winter come? (a poem)

why must winter come?

it’s fall and yet i walk about the yard in shorts, constantly aware of the heat.  cool enough.  gorgeous leaves, made of reds, yellows, browns chewed into smaller pieces, set aside for the spring.  the grass is still green and growing, fighting.   for it has something more to show for itself.  as i blow the remaining sticks and other fall debris i wonder if it is tomorrow that will bring the cold?

it’s fall and yet the windows are open, as i sip a cold clausthaler and listen to the neighbors’ rowdy party music, i long hop the fence.  i’m not finished with summer yet.  somehow the heat makes it linger on.  the nights are starry and the moon was bright last night.  with the windows open a perfect sleep comes.  down comforters likely out too soon but feel anticipatory.  as i put the fire pit aside to mow, perhaps the last of the fall, i hope we use it again!

one last fire, outside before the morning dew on the lawn freezes and i wish again for a heated garage.  i blow the leaves out of the garage — again — and again as they seem to fight me. wondering how it got this way, again.  the indiscriminate pile-up of bikes, discarded furniture, forgotten projects, and garage sale finds all manage to keep it something other than what it was supposed to be.

and as i sweep the summer’s storm of activity away i think of winter wishing, wondering, what will it hold?  if summers are for friendship, and water toys, laughter, smoky grills, and cold beer what does winter’s promise hold?  for those of us who hold on tight to the warm weather and outdoor chores, the possibilities and hope that come from growing things.  Somehow, i must allow winter to come.

then i will settle in to short nights and freezing toes in the morning.  pull out the wool sweaters, accepting that summer is fully gone.

There’s no cute title for writing about Clinical Depression.

And isolation breeds isolation which creates the stigma and discrimination we need to eliminate. The brain is an organ — just like the heart, liver and kidneys — and we need to encourage everyone to treat it as such from both a medical and social perspective.

Joe Pantoliano, Founder of “No Kidding, Me Too.”

If are new to my blog, I have clinical depression.  The first time I experienced the REAL, genuine, gut-wrenching, debilitating, life altering, horrible, sink hole depression started in the Spring or early Summer of 2002.

Each person has a birthright of joy to reclaim. — Foust

What I didn’t know.

When I fell into my worst (and first) case of clinical depression eight years ago, neither Tom or I knew a thing about real depression.  What I mean by real is not that there is “fake’ but clinical depression is different than mood swings or melancholy.   I have since studied and I could give you an ear full on the topic. But I won’t.  This is some of what I have learned over the last eight years.

One of the most impressive things I learned over the years is that you have to fight it. And it’s a fight lemme tell you, at certain points for your own life.  Sometimes it’s fight someone who loves you takes on as well.  You have to want something better.  That’s difficult when you are so depressed that you can’t sleep, eat, talk, move, and lost all pleasure for life — but if you have received  professional help to get out of that place, THEN you have to fight AGAINST the next time.

I have worked hard for the emotional, physical, and spiritual healing that I’ve achieved.  All the while I am confident that this is going to be a lifelong struggle.  I have a propensity toward it, this illness that involves the mind, body and the soul.

That is not true of everyone.  Some lucky people only have situational depression where a life event like a divorce, illness, death, birth of a baby, job loss, or other tragedy occurs and we become depressed in response to it but you don’t have regular episodes for the rest of your life.

Depression affects how you feel.  It changes your thinking in crazy ways.  And it causes you to behave in a way quite unlike yourself.   These can be a clue for a friend or partner that something isn’t right.  If not dealt with it can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems.  And eventually, in scary cases, you may come to feel as if life isn’t worth living.  You most definitely lose sight of the belief that you have a right to joy.

  • Major Depressive Disorder is the leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15-44.
  • Major depressive disorder affects about 14.8 million American adults, or about 6.7 percent of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year.
  • While major depressive disorder can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32.
  • Major depressive disorder is more prevalent in women than in men.

(Stats from Mayo Clinic website)

I will never forget a relative** (changed to protect the ignorant) calling when she heard about my depression, saying,

“I’m sorry that you feel so sad.”

My heart sank.  Depression is not sadness or the blues or even a bad mood.

The Stigma of Getting Help. Let others help you.

Contrary to what many people believe, depression it is not personal weakness that you can “snap out of.”  Depression is a chronic illness that may require the treatment of a Psychiatrist and the counseling from a Psychologist.  A medical doctor should not be diagnosing it, unless it is to send you to psychiatrist.  I would not (now) trust a Medical Doctor to treat depression with medication.  I have learned that the medications are so unique in their effects on each person, that it takes someone specially trained to help you called a Psychiatrist.

Some liken it to diseases like diabetes or high blood pressure that are serious but treatable.  For me it feels more like a cancer in remission, life threatening but you can fight it.  But it is true that most depression is treatable.

It is easy to get discouraged with the diagnosis.  Easy to begin to feel you will never be free of the stigma of depression.  You will never be happy.  That is I thought for a long time, when I was in weekly therapy working my ass off in counseling.  That is some of the hardest mental work I’ve ever done, not to mention emotional and even physical.  You have to be committed and even when I was there were lengths of time when I had to take a break from weekly therapy.  I simply wanted to enjoy a month or so of feeling okay.  Then something would trigger, and I’d be back at it.  My work was on the past, learning to rewrite the negative tapes in my head, attacking the lies.  Waking up grateful.  On taking risks and daring to succeed.

As I mentioned I have received a lot of help from psychological counseling and eventually at a dangerous point, began to take medication.

I do not want this to be a life sentence.  I have worked hard.   But there’s also a spiritual aspect that cannot be overlooked.  And as a person who believes in the message of Jesus, I have disciplined myself to be open to  the Holy Spirit and I have quit a few bad habits because of that including admitting that I am an alcoholic July 17, 2008.  My last alcoholic stupor… (that’s it’s own story. Check the TAGS.)

Through writing poetry I have made inroads into my Life Story and discovered how it made me who I am.  I have discovered a lot, admitted to anger that I didn’t know was there.  The opposite side of the coin of depression is anger, but I thought I didn’t have any anger.  Perhaps most important, I worked on forgiveness and on being a more honest person.

Over the years I have had a lot of help and support.  Number one being my husband Tom who not only carried the load of a full-time job but during those very difficult times he did everything else. I have a number of incredible friends who are always right there when things are really bad.

So many people tell me how amazing it is that I am so frank and all I can do is thank them.  Alcoholics are liars.  Addicts are liars.  Whether you lie to yourself or to everyone else, you convince yourself of many things that are untrue.  I protect myself from that by being brutally honest.   I have worked very hard to give up the destructive things that were impacting my body for the worse.  I will always be an alcoholic. I’m not ashamed of that.  I’m strong enough to have quit and let me tell you, there are a lot of people out there who struggle with drinking habits but are unwilling to consider giving it up.  I get that.  It took me about five years to admit it finally.

What I’ve learned.

So beyond what I’ve already said I came up with a list of eight things that I have learned along the way.  If you don’t suffer from depression, you  likely know someone who does and it is hard to know what to do.  Perhaps these thoughts will offer some help and hope.

1]  Each person must find the healing path for themselves.

(with the help of professionals, family and friends.)

Because I’m a curious person and I want to help myself, I read a lot and have learned there are many, many opinions for how to get help or to help yourself.  There are new things to try all the time and you have to keep working until you find what works for you.  New to me is Yoga something that I have never done.  Up until hearing about Amy Weintraub (see below) I had not heard Yoga described as a practice for healing from depression. I have tried an eight week class in Mindfulness and found it to be terrific, but like any discipline it must be maintained for it ongoing benefits.  Exercise of any sort is the same way.   Research shows that exercise is equal to or more effective than medications for treating depression. Both exercise or medication must be combined with the therapy work of a counselor.

What I do know is that I do not want this struggle my whole life.  But I accept that I may never be free of depressive episodes.  I know this.  If this is the case then my ability to work on being healthy will be important.   My commitment to managing the pain also important.  Perhaps I will have to work on acceptance of it so that I don’t get resentful or bitter.  I think it is important to prepare either way.

2]  You can learn to feel it coming.

Though you can’t pull yourself up by your bootstraps when clinically depressed, YOU CAN LEARN TO FEEL IT COMING. And before it completely takes over, you can fight back.  But how does one fight back?  Keep reading.

3]  You should listen to your body and take care of it.  Also, listen to your mind.

  • Get back to counseling.  Sometimes just a check-in with your Psychologist can help get back on track.  For me the voice of reason asking me “What’s the worst that can happen?”  or “And you believed that, why?” is good!  Logical questioning helps me immensely.  Tom is also able to do this for me now, but not at first.  I’m stronger now so I “hear” him differently.
  • Make sure you are exercising regularly.
  • Make sure you are eating regularly and well (fruits & veggies, protein, whole grains.)  I crave sugar and it’s the absolute worst for my moods.  I stop eating meals and binge on bad things.  It’s true.  When those habits pop up again it’s a sure sign something is up.

4]  Take care of our soul —  whatever that means for you.

  • Get back to church (if you go) no matter what it takes.
  • Pick up the phone.  Get together with a  friend; one on one is best.
  • Learn to be a friend even when you aren’t well.  I was completely knocked out recently by the realization that my good friend was also suffering and in my complete focus on myself I didn’t even know it.  We got together and laughed, cried and hugged, and listened to one another.  It was a profound lesson for me that one can heal by giving and receiving.

Perhaps the next suggestion should be first, underlined and italicized.

5]  Don’t be afraid to admit that you are depressed.

  • Tell a trusted person what’s really going on.  This is sometimes the first and most difficult step.  My pride, my fear,  my feelings of failure and personal responsibility for “allowing” it to come back — the lies that crowd in — are hard to overcome, but when I finally admit what’s going on it is such a relief.  A trusted person will help you walk through getting help.  I guarantee you will get to a point where it gets more and more difficult the longer you wait.  Once you start to fight back against what is happening to you, you will get better.  And fighting is good and necessary.  Do talk to your spouse, partner or a parent.  Anyone who has walked with you through life’s challenges.
  • It isn’t wise to tell an acquaintance or a friend on the periphery of your life because you will be disappointed by their inability to stick with you.  It is not because they are bad people or even that they don’t care, but because they just cannot be there.
  • Don’t let pride get in the way.  Need is humbling.  But it may come down to a  life or a death.
  • Your friends cannot help you if you are unwilling to tell them.  People live busy fractured lives.  Good, caring people rush from one activity to the next, especially in the Christian community.  So busing doing, slowing down to notice you is difficult.  It’s simple a fact of American culture.  Tell a friend.
  • If someone tells you they plan to take their own life, no matter who they are to you ALWAYS believe them.  Get them help.

6]  Repeat after me.

I have intentionally written this in the first person.  (Tom always has to remind me.  Yep, every single time…)  Say it with me now:

  1. I am not responsible for my depression coming or returning.
  2. Depression is an illness, not a weakness or character flaw or sin.  It is not a spiritual mistake.
  3. I will be “happy” some day!

7]  Work on your relationships when you are not struggling.

Life brings all sorts of people to us.  The ones that will stick with you when you are at your lowest  or “worst” are the ones that we can be investing in when we are at our best. Never forget that the people in your life need you as much as you need them.  Remember the corny phrase “You have to be a friend to have a friend.”  Well, as silly as that sounds it is true.

I hope my life will include months and  some day years where I am healthy and my depression is in “remission.” I want to pour myself into the people I love.

Depression has given me a sense for people that I never had before, or at least an empathetic ear.  I never ask “how are you?” unless I have time to hear how they are doing.   Once the answer took three hours.  Sometimes it is just a hug.

People are hurting all around us.  They have physical trials and pain.  They live most of their lives alone or lonely.   They hurt and I will never know that if I don’t ask.  You will never know unless you ask, and mean it.  Unless you notice the people in your life and push back when they say “I’m fine” you won’t be able to show them that you heard them.

8]  It is important to have a creative outlet or a hobby that you love.

There is a woman in my neighborhood that I don’t know well, but I enjoy very much.  She has Multiple Sclerosis.  She uses her blog to chart her illness’ progress and to write about something that she loves, which also nourishes and heals, which is FOOD.  It arose out of her wish to pay attention to her body and her healing. She says on her blog:

“I am working with what I am given, trudging through difficulties without turning away.”

I love that.  That’s why I write about my depression.  That’s why I blog.  I want to encourage others and I need to be continuously learning and reminding myself of the progress.  By writing I make discoveries about myself.  I can celebrate the journey I am on and not turn away from it.  I can tell the truth.

But I also have my photography which has been an incredible place to express myself, even on the worst days.  When I feel so badly that I don’t pick up the camera, that’s an alert.

My Complete Honesty Now.

When the clinical depression is at its worst, it is hell — It saps your energy, your self-esteem, your passion for life, your decision-making ability and steals everything that makes you unique.  It is a liar and a thief.   A betrayer. (I have some powerful poems about it.)  Here’s a powerful one .

I Am Destruction

I wake with the familiar headache.
Deeply tired.  My bones in protest.
Emotions already chafing; dazzling, fluorescent, raw. Ablaze.
Coffee the first panacea of the day.
Sip by sip, its power over me if not to heal, then to awaken.

Slowly flooded by familiar disappointment.
Weary, I begin to See myself.
I am Destruction.
I am Broken Promises wielding their power.
The surge of rage,  justified.
It hurts.
My body adjusting to an awareness
of this old enemy within.
Destruction’s impact yet unknown.
Fury toward the innocent who contribute to the chaos
of my life and toward, the hell inside me.

10/27/08

But I have learned, over the years, how to live with depression and “manage” it.  I do believe this strategy is the only hope for me and perhaps something here will help you or someone else.  That is my hope.

Be well, friends.

Melody

  • I recently learned about Amy Weintraub who worked to cure her own clinical depression over time by practicing yoga.  She tells her story in her book Yoga for Depression.   I can’t wait to read it.    The thought that I might be free from depression some day; I do not believe it if I am completely honest with you.  I am a realist when it comes to dealing with pain.  Pain just is.  And so I  have imagined the diagnosis of clinical depression as a life sentence from which there is no long-term cure.  Unless I can find something more to help or experience a modern-day miracle life will be challenging to manage.  Who knows, perhaps yoga.  As I said, search until you find what works.

Can depression lead to a richer spiritual life?

Our tears so blind our eyes that we cannot see our mercies.
               -- John Flavel (1627-1691)

The thoughts by Dr. Parker Palmer below are beautifully expressed and echo my experience with clinical depression.  If you’ve never suffered, it may enlighten or expand your notions and ability to empathize.  Reading it was a comfort to me and perhaps it will be to you, as well, if you have suffered.

I also have a poem I wrote a while back about being in the middle of clinical depression titled “Sink Hole.”

How could depression lead to a richer spiritual life?

“I can answer this question only after the fact, because in the midst of severe clinical depression I have never felt anything redeeming about it, spiritually or otherwise. But when I emerge back into life, several things become clear.

* One is that the darkness did not kill me, which makes all darknesses more bearable—and since darkness is an inevitable part of the cycle of spiritual life (as it is in the cycle of natural life) this is valuable knowledge.

* Two, depression has taught me that there is something in me far deeper and stronger and truer than my ego, my emotions, my intellect, or my will. All of these faculties have failed me in depression, and if they were all I had, I do not believe I would still be here to talk about the experience. Deeper down there is a soul, or true self, or “that of God in every person” that helps explain (for me, at least) where the real power of life resides.

* Three, the experience of emerging from a living hell makes the rest of one’s life more precious, no matter how “ordinary” it may be. To know that life is a gift, and to be grateful for that gift, are keys to a spiritual life, keys that one is handed as depression yields to new life.

Sinkhole

the woman thought to herself,
what’s really important?

[some days I wake up so lost I can’t remember
why I got up the day before;
what mattered enough to make
me want to get up?]

the woman told herself
breathe, just breathe in.
exhale, do it because you can.

[I haven’t had a day like this in a long time.
such a long time that it almost hurts worse
than before when the bad days
were constant.]

the woman laid down, her skin hurt
she gave in, just for a moment, an hour.
thinking perhaps if I sleep
this feeling will flee, and it will almost be
as if it never happened.

[I know from experience
you can NEVER give in to it.
depression is like a Sink Hole.
FIGHT,  get up.  Don’t let it win.]

the woman thought to herself
and took a breath.
and another, and accepted
again,
that this was a fight, but it was her fight.
and one that she wanted to win.

Ack Americans! Is it time to head for the border?

from Smithsonian :Folio from a Koran :9th-10th...
Image via Wikipedia

Seriously, the lack of compassion for and understanding of Muslim culture and the Koran by your every day American has me thinking.

Although I kind of take pride in the fact that I am an open-minded person (not like the Crazies), I really don’t know anything about Muslim culture. Like, is it the Koran or the Qur’an?  I don’t know.  So I picked up a copy at Borders the other day.

Like the Bible, there are  many and varied translations and I had no idea which was better than another.  So I based my decision on two things.  First chose a trusted publisher so that they will at least treat the translation like literature.  And second, the price.  I’m a practical person.

$12 for the Koran published by PENGUIN CLASSICS and translated by N.J. Dawood born in Baghdad.  He published the first book of the Koran in contemporary English.   It is also available in a parallel English-Arabic edition but I decided I should stick to my native language. From the back:

N.J. Dawood’s masterly translation is the result of his lifelong study of the Koran’s language and style, and presents the English reader with a fluent and authoritative rendering, while reflecting the flavour and rhythm of the original.

“Across the language barrier Dawood captures the thunder and poetry of the original.” THE TIMES

And so, against the advice of the introduction, I proceeded to read the first chapter, called a surah. The introduction said that a beginner should start with one of the shorter (easier) chapters.  I’ve never been one for listening to advice like this.  Don’t think my brain is meaty enough, huh?  Stubbornly I ventured into the beautiful and poetic verse.

But reading the Koran got me thinking.

How many Christians not only have never read the Koran but have never read their own Holy Bible through?  You don’t have to raise your hand, but I will.  Never.  Not straight through.  I mean, c’mon, some of it is freaking boring and it is downright disturbing in places.

I consider myself to have studied a fair amount.  Taken many classes and done many studies of books of the Bible.  But it hasn’t been since high school that I took a survey of the Old Testament.  So I’m going to also put myself on a plan for reading through the Bible.

Not wanting to be overly aggressive and make goals that you and I both know I will fail to carry out, I found one on-line by Margie Haack which she calls ‘The Bible Reading Plan for Slackers and Shirkers because you don’t have to do it within a timeframe and it has variety with a focus on genres not books.

I have a confession to make (please do not tell my husband*) but I love ORDER.

I love the tradition and stability of the high church.  My soul kind of craves knowing that over a period of one to three years the church would present the full picture.  Obviously that renders the opposite, where churches pick and choose and seem to flit about based on the whim or indigestion of the pastor or whether he had a fight with his wife, scares the shit out of me!  My church seems to find a balance though it could lean a bit more toward the liturgical calendar for me, but then it’s not about me is it?

*You see, though I crave order I am rather ADHD in my life — Books I am reading, housekeeping, relationships, in my writing, in my heart & mind!  I would love to see a flow chart of my brain.  No I wouldn’t that would be crazy!  Anyhow, my brain wants order.  And so when I set my alarm every night to wake at 5:30 am and I get up, make my coffee, take my pills and then sit down and take my reading  from A Guide to Prayer for Ministers & Other Servants (that’s me, Other) I feel grounded.  I usually have an hour before anyone in the house is awake to follow my plan for the week of reading and prayer.   In this structure I find a peace.  A tranquility. A sense of order to my chaos.

I sit down alone,

Only God is here;

In his presence I open,

I read his books;

And what I thus learn,

I teach.

(I would say “And what I thus learn, I try to live.”)

— John Wesley

So, back to the plan for reading the Bible.  Here’s how it works:

  • Sundays: Poetry
  • Mondays: Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy)
  • Tuesdays: Old Testament history
  • Wednesdays: Old Testament history
  • Thursdays: Old Testament prophets
  • Fridays: New Testament history
  • Saturdays: New Testament epistles (letters)

What’s great is if you do miss a day – just pick up with the next reading the next day.  You get to the end, when ever.  What’s even better, for a big picture person like me, is this plan allows us to see the many interconnections between sections of Scripture.  There’s nothing better than a plan that offers discipline and order that I crave and the grace to accomplish it!

Read on!

Melody

Here’s a  link to where you can download the plan from Ransom Fellowship.

religion scares me :: a reflection

The Faith, sculpted in stone from Badajoz in 1...
Image via Wikipedia

Religion.scares.me.

So quickly turning into actions. Deeds. Just notions. Before you know it you are doing religion. Lost is the element of the supernatural. The unknowable, powerful God.

A loosed grip on what I think I know is an opening for the Spirit. It is something I cannot control, something.Other.than.me.

Religion.scares.me.

With my notions. Deeds. So much acting like a believer. Our hearts are easily deceived. Something is missing there.  I am left with me, believing some days meanwhile disbelief is cloying at me around the edges of my mind.  Wanting proof I do not have. Yes, faith scares me and so I pray, out of my longing & need. I kneel. Partly knowing and equally hoping.beyond.hope.

You.don’t.scare.me.

Desire and awe hammering in my chest.  God of the universe. Far bigger than the galaxies.  Before time.  Outside of time. Why does my frail, faltering faith matter to you?

How.can.that.be? That you care about me? What about all that I misunderstand? Dogmas.Opinions.Deeds Actions. Words, the most hateful of all, words. Judgment. Just frenzy. Not peace beyond understanding. Fear not trust.  Is it belief or unbelief?

People.scare.me.

Adulterous. Pastors. Loving. Lesbians. Faithful. Wives. Controlling. Husbands. Generous. Partners. Fatherless. Children. Molesters.

“In the closet.”  Theologians. Out.  Writers. Wealthy. Community organizers. Greedy. Homeless. PhD. Arrogant. Janitors. Murderous.

Politicians. Drunks. Mothers. Indulgent. Parents. Spoiled. Children. Angry. Fathers. Cutters. Over eaters. Over drinkers. Liars. Sad.

Rebellious. Happy. Up. Musicians. Down. Mechanics. Lecherous. Students. Ignorant. Teachers. Store-clerks. Farmers. Academics.

Doctors. Drug Dealers. Nurses. Young. Old. Middle-aged. Scared. All.

Lost.Without.You.Who am I to choose what separates me.them.us from you?

I am equally confused & scared many days. Until I find that place of belief and then I settle down into my fear. My faith. I hear you saying:  settle down, little one. settle down.

Believe. Experience my Peace. Share my Love.  Hear me.

I do.

Hear you.

And today I believe.  Help me love.

I hope that I am not one of the Crazies.

the Stainned Gless of depicting the Holy Spirit.
Image via Wikipedia

I wake from a recurrent dream.  It unsettles me.  Always

in slumber I am Searching for meaning

to life.  For love,

taking on many forms.  Assurance

of the illusive, improbable God to talk. To me.  Give me some sign.

Speak my LORD, won’t you?  Prove [again] that you are real.

Shake the heavens —   Flood the earth– Heal the sick — Give sight to the blind, yes sight for me.  Today.

I feel ashamed of my doubts.  Fear

that religion is some celestial apothecary, erected by the weak in our need

to silence our spiritual afflictions.  A contrivance.

And yet that very Truth that I seek is a need — So exacting.

Out of my heart comes my deepest longing for God, meaning, Truth. How do I sometimes know

so clearly, so absolutely?  And other days I feel a universal, colossal Absence. And I am terrified

of the possibility — Are the heavens vacant?

Ashamed

of my heart, so quick to Doubt — Demand — Need.

So many crazies,  I do not want to be one of them. I want Knowledge.  I Seek Truth.

I Seek absolution and forgiveness.

I Need reassurance that our buildings, our rhetoric, our activities aren’t simply tokens

of our need.

Anne Rice rejects

the bricks and mortar of faith — Stepping

away from judgment and scorn to something else.

A Floridian pastor chatters hollowly about prayer for God’s will to burn a Holy Book, taking a civic stance

against America’s “enemies.” A lesbian cleric challenges us to love our enemies, meaning her.

I try to stay open, loving, faithful — and some challenge the very core of my faith.

Absolutes come with human judgment.  Scriptures wrongly translated

and easily misunderstood.  For thousands of years Men

have held their power over women, crushing spirits, and then questioning

our faith when we stand up against this treatment.

Why would a loving God not give me complete access and authority?

Why would a loving God not accept the prayers of gays and lesbians, dear faithful people

seeking Truth as much as me?  Why do Absolutes bring judgment and misunderstanding, when put in the hands of misguided men and women?

Thank you, but I’ll take my doubts and questions to scripture.  I’ll stumble my way through original meaning, cultural influences and climate.  I’ll implore the mystical and Holy Spirit of God.  [who on most days I know is active and real]

to teach me, a Woman, but also forgiven

sinner first before a sexual being.  Teach me, I am humanity

with desires and longings unfulfilled over a lifetime.  Teach me, I am humbled.

And I fall prostrate and hope that I am not one of the Crazies.

That God hears Me.

** I use the term “Crazy”  for the lunatic fringe.

What can I say about two years of sobriety?

I am very happy to be sober.  Full of joy all the time?  No.  Of course not.  No-one is, if they are completely honest with themselves.  But being sober equalizes things for me.  Brings me back to the middle.  I still swing toward sorrow and fear at times.  And though still too infrequent I have many, many days of contentment and joy.

I know this for sure, my ability to stabilize the bouts with depression is improved with not drinking, as alcohol is a depressant.  You don’t want to believe that when you are drinking, but it’s true that alcohol exacerbates the bleak moments, dark moods, the feelings of despair.

I don’t work a program, though I believe that some of this would be easier if I did.  There is a sense, when you are an alcoholic that you’re Alone with a capital A. Alone in a room of drinking people.  The world is full of people (my husband is one) that can have a drink or two and stop.  Alone in that others don’t have that “thing” that you do, which makes it impossible — to — stop once you have started.   The inner compass that directs your soul, that moderates your actions and behavior.  That thing is broken when you’re an alcoholic.  During the last two years of drinking I just didn’t want to stop.  Every time I drank, I wanted more.  I was able to control it for a while by not letting myself have access to a lot of alcohol.  One bottle of wine in the house at a time or whatever.  But an open bar, or party, or what not pretty much guaranteed that I would be plastered.

Anyway, that’s all boring.  Being a drunk is sad and boring.

Being sober is beautiful.  I can feel my feelings.  I can see my kids, hear them, and know them.  I appreciate my life, my husband, my blessings.  Friendships are sweeter.  Writing and photography — all the goodness in my life —  is connected to sobriety.

Most of all, I know that being an alcoholic (though at times a real bummer cause I wish I could still drink ) makes me need.  I take that “need” and hand it over to God.

I am helpless.  Hopeless.  Lacking in anything good without God and so grateful to know I am loved.

Tonight in YOGA, I heard God say to me :

B E L O V E D.
Over and over again, BELOVED. 
YOU are deeply loved by me. 
Let go of what others think of you (or what you think they might think.) 
Why do you care. 
The only thing you need to care about now 
is that you are my BELOVED.

That’s all I need for tonight.

Mel

I have written a lot about sobriety both poems and prose.  If you ever want to talk about any of this, I am available. I’m no expert, but I’ve been told I listen well and care deeply.  melhhanson@yahoo.com

Life. It is a humbling (er, humiliating) journey

an update

I appreciate the care and concern.  And thought it would be good to write an update since I fear some may avoid me for my returned melancholia and others will fret and worry for me.

By the time I posted that poem, I was doing somewhat better.  Improvement made it possible to write and think and therefore compose those words, stringing them together one after the other into some semblance of poetry.  At the very least they were a cry for help, as they say.  Ha!?

For days I have looked at my camera and not had the will to pick it up.  The last couple of days I have been able to and that is a sign.  Though yesterday in my ineptitude I spilled water all over my camera and it may be dead.   I am afraid to put in a charged battery and know for certain whether it is gone.  All is not lost.  I have a better camera bought for the business venture.  I don’t know how to use it exactly but I may be forced to learn.

finito

That reminds me.  The business of Imagine Photography LLC is finished.  Although I love working with entrepreneurs (my father was one) I am not one.  And I didn’t enjoy the business of family and wedding photography.   I am hanging up my “professional photographer” hat and picking up my Artist’s.  Closing the “doors” after three years and it’s somewhat of a relief, though I regret not having the personal umphf to “make it.”   Some of my depression may have been triggered by the finality of this admission.

back to the issue

I have certain people for whom I have held on to lack of forgiveness.  I feel hurt by them and so I resent.  Resentment hurts me and is a self-defeating prophesy in a way.  Anxiety, insecurity and fear come in and all of a sudden it is  unbearable.  Figuring out how to forgive, myself and the other person, is the only way to get past this.  This requires time to pray and find the place of openness inside.  Right now, my heart is still full of anxiety, it’s pressing down and creating tension and pain.  I must do this business of forgiveness to move on.

It is no coincidence that this all started right after I wrote the poem about forgiving my parents.  I wanted something powerful from that ‘gift’ of writing it for my church.  My ego wanted it.  And ironically, what has come of it is a humbling (er, humiliating) experience of being battered down by my weakness, frailty and continued inability to be a forgiving person.

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” [Lewis
B. Smedes, The Art of Forgiving.]

This is the journey.  This is only one piece of it but it is imperative that I figure it out.  What a joke to be a follower of Christ and hold on to resentments and pain.  To live held captive.  To live without joy.  To live bound and controlled by our fear and bitterness.

I know this is not right.  I am humbled by my mistakes and want to climb out of this hell hole I’ve sunk into.  That’s only accomplished one fragile experience at a time, as I listen and respond to the nudging of the holy spirit.   I am so relieved to know there is a way out of this.

Feeble though I may be, I respond.  There’s strength to be found in that.