Depression: Denial's long time buddy

My sister says denial is undervalued in our culture. We bad-mouth it, and psychobabble about it like we know what we're talking about. But really denial is key to survival. Sometimes really terrible things happen, things we have no control over, and the only way to cope is to pretend it never happened and go on. I think it's God's way of allowing us to survive the terrible brokenness of this world. Of course, it's not healing; it's coping. That's an important difference. Healing is better. But coping has its place.

So what's this got to do with anything?

Well, for me, denial has everything to do with Depression, in the clinical sense. Maybe I should do the AA thing and properly introduce myself, "Hello, my name is Stephanie, and I have a mental illness."

I'm depressed.
It's depressing.
But there you have it.

Now don't be alarmed. I'm properly medicated - or nearly so. And, in theory, after a couple more months on my meds my brain's neurotransmitters should recover from their whacked out state and I should be healed. For now. It's kinda a chronic thing. Any kind of stressors send me into depression. This last bout was triggered by the stress of adding to our family through adoption. But really it could be anything; depression is my default down state.

Denial, and proper medication are how I handle it. Nothing really terrible has happened, but there is a terrible disease that sinks its talons into my back is wants to drag me into a pit. It's name is Depression. The medication helps most days. But some days, some days it barely takes the edge off. And then it's time for my back-up strategy: DENIAL. What I want to do is to crawl back into bed, put the pillow over my head and, if I wake up later, down a latte and a pound of dark chocolate. But I don't. I say to myself, "This depression is not real." I get up, go down stairs, and make breakfast for my kids. I do my mom stuff. But sometimes I just fake it. And denial gets me through the day.

Maybe, on second thought, it's not denial. Maybe it's survival, and a little righteous anger. Maybe it's me saying to this disease, " You cannot have me. You will not control my family. I will not surrender to the havoc you would bring on my life."

However you slice it, whatever you call it, I know this to be true: Healing happens with Jesus. And there will be a day, maybe soon, and maybe not on this side of heaven where I will not have to battle depression. I won't have to cope, or deny. I won't have to medicate.

It'll be glorious.