The Darkness is Winning

“The Darkness is winning.” That's what I said the other day when this guy asked me how I was doing.

I haven't hidden the fact that I've had struggles with depression and anxiety. They're part of my story, and people who know me well, or who have known me for a while typically know this about me. I guess I also don't exactly advertise this information, but, you know, I haven't hidden it either.

When I do talk about it, I typically talk about it as something from my past, or I talk about “healing.” Now, when I say “healing,” I don't mean that I was magically zapped and I literally don't experience it at all. What I do mean is that I've moved from being compelled to listen to the voice that tells me I'm worthless to being able to hear that voice and with some degree of confidence announce to myself that it's lying. Here's the thing—it's not that the voice goes away completely, but I can go a long time and not hear it at all.

Some people still don't know what to do with this in a Christian context. Some people are so callous as to accuse you of lack of faith if you even experience something like this. Most people just seem to shoot for vaguely comforting, but they're not quite sure what to do with it.

I just went through a period of about five days in which my depression and anxiety were both cranked up to levels I haven't experienced in a long time.

Here are some observations from my experience that I'm hoping will be helpful, whether you're experiencing some of this for yourself, or if you're trying to figure out how to be supportive for someone else--

There aren't always triggers, or at least we may not know what they are. For many adults who deal with these issues, we've actually learned to prepare for many of the triggers that we can predict. The reality is that there are times that it just happens. If you experience this, it's okay. You're not alone. You don't have to be able to explain it to anyone else. If you want to support someone, acknowledge their experience without necessarily asking them to justify it.

I get that my thinking isn't exactly right when I experience this. The problem is that it makes complete sense to me while I'm experiencing it. In the midst of it, you probably can't logic me out of it.

What were the most supportive things I experienced? Honestly, the best people during this experience were those who let me know they were there for me, and then pretty much acted like themselves. Here's the thing—If you express support, I can't always respond to it in a way that will make sense to you. You may even feel helpless in not knowing what to do. Seriously, though, if you express support, let me know you're there, this is a huge deal. For people who deal with depression, one of the lies that the internal monologue tells us is that no one cares. You can actually fight this in a way we can't when we experience this. Tell us you care. This fights the darkness. Even if you don't see a change in our demeanor or we can't express appreciation, or we don't take you up on your offer for a coffee or a meal or a chat, you're helping us win.

If you're dealing with this, make up your mind—on one of your good days—to make sure there's always somebody, even if it's just one person, that you can tell what's happening. When it's a bad day, you won't be able to make the decision at that point. For me, I have one person in the two major contexts in which I spend much of my time—one at church and one at work. These don't have to necessarily be super close friends. They just need to be safe people who can have a plan to help.

Because this time came on without a trigger, I didn't have many of my coping skills at the ready. However, I had one tool left—I had to tell someone. Bringing somebody else inside helps fight the darkness when we can't anymore. The guy I talked to didn't have an over the top reaction. He asked me some straightforward questions, he prayed with me, and he set me on a path to connecting with someone else to help.

What's crazy is the weird stuff we experience as we begin to come out of this. I actually felt a bit guilty about who I talked to. Not in the way you think. I didn't have a problem talking with him, and I don't think he had a problem processing any of what I shared. I started second guessing myself wondering about other people I've had close relationships with, and wondering if they'd somehow feel hurt that I didn't go to them. I've gone back and forth wondering who should know the detailed version of my experience.

Here's the deal—If you're looking to support someone with this struggle, recognize that if the person doesn't choose to share with you, it may be out of a sense of trying to protect you. I'm not necessarily saying that's the best decision, but I'm saying you shouldn't treat this situation as somehow being a rejection of your friendship or support.

(Frankly, everybody around me may in fact be pretty supportive, and the fact that I'm addressing this issue may be a sign that I'm still not thinking all that clearly.)

You may be reading this and thinking, “Isn't this supposed to be a blog about discipleship? Why is this dude talking so much about his own issues?”

Reason #1—I've been accused of sharing posts that are entirely too long on Facebook, so a blog entry seemed like a somewhat more appropriate medium.

Reason #2—If you're in student ministry, or you lead an adult small group, statistically, somebody you do ministry with has this experience. I'm hoping my experience will give you something to work with, that it will help you support the people you love.

We're in this thing called life together. We can't do it on our own. Even a cursory reading of the Bible will show a consistent communal aspect to the spiritual life of ancient Jews and early Christians.

The Apostle Paul, a Jewish extremist who basically hunted down Christians before he became one himself, talks about a “thorn in the flesh” that tormented him. There is no scholarly consensus on what this means. Did Paul have a physical ailment that put him in agony? Did he have desires that weren't pleasing to God that he couldn't quite get rid of? Did he deal with something like depression? At the end of the day, we don't know. When he asked God to take this thing away, whatever it was, God's response wasn't to get rid of it. God's response was to let Paul know that God's grace is enough, because God's strength shows up in human weakness. Paul takes this idea and runs with it, basically saying he wants to see God at work, so he's going to put his own weaknesses right up front, in order to more fully experience living in God's strength.

This same guy, Paul, says that Christians aren't meant to function on their own. Instead, even though we all have different experiences, different skills, and different gifts, that we're meant to function together. It's actually God's design to bring these diverse people with diverse gifts together—because we need each other. Paul says we actually function like the parts of a human body—when one part is in pain, it affects the whole body.

I hope my experience in dealing with this can benefit you, whether you're struggling with the same things I've been dealing with or you're trying to figure out how to support somebody.