Underwater

I’ve been pretty transparent to Instagram, to Facebook, and even on stage to a thousand dark faces (twice), but there’s something extra vulnerable about talking about depression on the broad web, because it’s forever, and there is no worth in being enigmatic or short like in a 50 word post on Insta.

Since July when we got some hard medical news, I have felt like my brain “broke”, and I didn’t quite know how to go back to normal. There were days where I felt like my head was, quite literally, plunged underwater. I knew that there were dozens of amazing people around me every day who cared and loved me, but all I saw was black. There was a deep hopelessness that made me feel like the person who I had once been was melting away, and in its place was something empty and hollow. Gone was the girl who loved working a large crowd, wearing head-to-toe blush pink, and finding a way to make people laugh. In her place was a person who was lucky to get out of bed, approached her closest friends with heightened levels of suspicion and doubt, and felt panic at the thought of being in a room with 5 people she knew.  Not only did I have this inner pain, but the suffering began to majorly manifest physically. I felt like my jaw was going to rust off my face. I stopped eating. I stopped wearing color or make up because it felt fake and grotesque.

The worst part was that, despite my faith and existing hope that Jesus had come to redeem me, I didn’t know how I could bear to suffer the pain much longer. In the past, I had met other believers who had talked about suffering with depression and thoughts of suicide, and while I acknowledged that I could not see or feel from their perspective, I truly didn’t understand how they could have these thoughts and still maintain their beliefs. I understand now. And some of you might be reading this and not understand, and that is ok. What is important for you to know is that it is possible- and God shows grace- for people who struggle through mental illness and suicidal ideation and still love and believe in the redeeming hope of Jesus.

This all went on in waves of severity for about 5 months, and in the last four weeks I have felt the fog beginning to lift. I’ve joked to friends and my counselor that “old Carly is dead” and it doesn’t feel like she’ll ever come back. I still don’t like wearing bright colors (except on my face), and I ABHOR the color blush pink. I’ve had emotional experiences that have reformed my world and self view, and that is ok. There have been days that in my prayer time I have cried and raged my fists at God for allowing this level of pain to happen without explanation. What I’m beginning to see as the fog clears is that I have the ability to discern a greater range of joy because I’ve seen such a broad compass of suffering. I understand in a way what Paul says in Romans 5 when he explains:

 “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

I have journaled through these months, and for the first time, I went back last night and read through every entry. I cried tears of sadness and joy knowing the dark place I have been, and the maturity, strength of character, and wisdom that this season has brought me. Paul is right in so many ways, but if I were to rewrite my own 5:3-5, this is what my own personal version would say:

“I celebrate my suffering, knowing that my pain made me stronger than steel, and this strength produced character: maturity, wisdom, thinking before I speak, and having gratitude for others; this new character produced an expectation and joy for what’s to come, and this doesn’t bring me shame, because God’s love is in my heart through the Holy Spirit which I have engrained in me.”

Depression and anxiety looks different for everyone. Each person finds healing in different ways. For me, it was finding the right medications (it was difficult for me to even admit that I needed medication) and going to consistent counseling (which was also difficult for me to admit I needed, but it is still ongoing today because of how valuable I have found it to be). If you are suffering on any level with depression, anxiety, OCD behaviors, or any kind of mental health, I want you to know that you’re not alone.  And it doesn’t mean that your faith is weak, it means you’re human. Don’t let the enemy destroy what God has meant for your good- even when it feels like a dark, empty well.

I wrote lyrics to a song and we put it to music with the help of two talented friends, Elle Traweek and Dobsy Hogg. If you’d like to give it a listen, click here.

  By Carly Cartmill
Email: carlyecartmill@gmail.com