Mental Health

I believe in synchronicity.  Here is Carl Jung's definition to help you understand what I mean: "Synchronicity is the coming together of inner and outer events in a way that cannot be explained by cause and effect and that is meaningful to the observer."  I believe in it because it has happened to me several time over the course of the last few years.  When it happens -- and you'll know what I mean if it has ever happened to you -- I have to sit back for a moment and marvel.

Today's post is not about synchronicity.  Sometime I will have to do a whole post about synchronistic experiences I have had. Not today.  I bring up synchronicity because what I have to say on my topic is vastly different than I would have said last week, and it was a synchronistic experience that changed my mind.

I try to get a post up once a week, every Saturday morning.  I missed last week's post because I was in the behavior health hospital on suicide watch.  It's a pretty good reason, I think, to miss a week.

Don't get alarmed.  I'm not suicidal anymore.  In fact, I'm very glad I went to the hospital.  I was at the end of my rope and needed help.  My Angel and some good friends encouraged me to go.  I got the help I needed, which was this: I learned that I have a mental illness or two.  Their names are dysthymic disorder (low-grade depression) and generalized anxiety disorder (pretty self-explanatory). 

Up until this point, I had been told that my depression and inability to stop worrying were my fault.  I didn't trust God enough...I needed to change my thinking and my emotions would change too...blah, blah, blah.  Let me tell you, I tried with every ounce of strength in me to do all of that.  Even after I left the IFB, changing my thinking was still a huge focus.

I've been searching for several years now for someone to tell me it's not my fault.  Yes, changing my thinking when I have a mistaken idea in my head does help.  To a point.  Then I was left with no idea how to handle the days of waking up feeling hopeless, depressed, and fearful.  Nothing had changed about my life circumstances.  I hadn't changed how I thought about them, so I had nothing to fight against.

I thought I was the problem.  I had a flaw, a shadow side, that would not be happy despite my best efforts.  I hated myself: hated looking in the mirror, because no matter how good I thought I felt, the reflection in the mirror told me otherwise.  Its face was sad, full of hopelessness and fear.  For a few weeks prior to my hospitalization, I fought this shadow side, becoming more angry at myself and more self destructive.  Simply put, I reached the end of my rope...had nothing more to fight with.  I planned to drive out into the countryside and abandon my car.  To give myself up to the swirling snow, lay down, and let the bitter cold take me.

In spite of my intentions, I drove home, angry at myself the whole way.  I couldn't fight the shadow side anymore.  Going home meant I had to give myself up to it, which would make my life and Angel's a living hell.  I hated myself for not sparing Angel the pain of living with me.
Thankfully, Angel and several other people encouraged me to go to the hospital for an assessment.  I was admitted, and that is when my tale of hope began.

The next day, a doctor spoke to me of mental illness and his diagnosis: dysthymic disorder and generalized anxiety disorder.  I had heard the terms before from my psychiatrist, but they sounded like indictments to me at the time.  "You did this to yourself."  If they had been more *serious* disorders, I would have been able to feel okay about saying that having a mental illness was not my fault.  These?  Were too mild to qualify.  I felt they were psychobabble for "you make yourself depressed" and "worry-wart syndrome".

As this new doctor talked to me, however, he used the words *hereditary* and *real mental illness*.  It took a while for these to sink in: that I really hadn't made myself sick for all these years.  Instead, the childhood sadness and adult depression were merely indications that the illnesses were already active during those times.

Can I convey to you how like a balm those words were to me?  I don't have a shadow side: I have an illness.  Rather than being a depressed person, I am a person with depression.  Rather than being a fearful person, I am a person with anxiety.  (Much like "person with cancer" versus "cancer patient")

And best of all were the words that the doctor said next: *highly treatable*.  Sure, I have to take medicine and continue psychiatric therapy for a while, but I can and will get better by learning to manage the symptoms.

I AM A WHOLE PERSON!!!  I AM STRONG AND CONFIDENT, HAPPY AND LOVING.  WHEN I FEEL OTHERWISE, IT IS JUST SYMPTOMS OF THE ILLNESS AND NOT A REFLECTIONS ON MY MORAL CHARACTER.

I suppose I have strayed from my intended topic and made this post more about mental health.  This post was going to address the authoritarian system my parents followed in raising us kids: how it was harmful - even emotionally and spiritually abusive.  Last week while I was in the hospital, I even began writing the post.  Its tone was angry, and pointedly told my parents that following the IFB doctrine of child discipline is what had landed me in the hospital.

Synchronicity.  After I talked to the doctor and spent several days in the hospital, I learned a few things.  Since the illnesses I have are hereditary, they could have become active even if my childhood had been a happy one.  No one can make me suicidal: it's what I choose to believe.  Changing thinking is still an important part of my therapy, but, this time the premise is different.  Distorted, automatic thoughts are not something I conjure up.  The medicine I take helps keep the symptoms at a manageable level; from there, I have the responsibility to combat distorted thinking when it comes into my head and starts messing up my emotions.  I have a new mantra: "There is always a third option.  Reach for the middle ground."

So when I talk about the authoritarian system Mom and Dad bought into, I can't blame it or them for where I am today.

That being said, it need not keep me from saying how that same system is flawed and, many times, harmful.  Although I thought I would still get into that today, I have decided to save it for next week.  The topic deserves its own post.

Once Saved, Always Saved

My partner (my Angel) and I were talking about baptism a while back.  She was raised Presbyterian, so she was sprinkled as a baby.  She was shocked that I hadn't been sprinkled as a baby too.  "What about if a baby dies?" she asked because Presbyterians believe that baby baptism is necessary for the baby to be able to go to heaven if it dies tragically before confirmation. 

In answer to her question, I tried to explain that Baptists (and I speak from the perspective of the circles in which I was raised) believe that people should only be baptized if they have been saved.  And they believe that, in order for a person to be saved, she has to first understand her desperate situation as a sinner so she will call on Christ to save her.

What about the babies, then?  Well, Baptists believe that the baby is safe in innocence.  As long as he cannot understand that he has a sin nature, then Jesus will certainly take him to heaven if he dies.  There comes a time, however, when a child reaches the age of accountability, that he becomes able to understand his need of a savior.  After that time, if the child has not gotten saved, then he will go to hell (where all the unsaved will spend eternity separated from God).

The problem is that nobody agrees on when exactly a child reaches the age of accountability.  An especially bright child might see himself as a sinner at the age of four.  Others might not "get it" all the way up to the age of twelve.  And the rare mentally handicapped child could be thought of as protected in innocence through her entire life.

So the parents of average children are left with a quandary.  They don't want any child of theirs to slip through the cracks and die a sinner.  The sooner a child makes a profession of salvation, the better -- but it HAS to be genuine, or it won't count.  Young children are so impressionable, they will often make a profession to make someone they love happy.  Great care has to be taken to ensure that a child expressing interest in getting saved *really* understands before leading him through the sinner's prayer.  One wouldn't want to give him a false sense of security if he didn't really mean it.

Because Baptists believe that once you get saved, you are saved for all of time.  It doesn't matter what you do after that point, you will always be saved and are guaranteed to go to heaven when you die. 
Some Baptists use this teaching to justify "easy believism".  They can speed walk a stranger through the plan of salvation in 30 seconds flat.  If the person prays, she is saved!  Chalk one up for the army of Jesus.  It doesn't matter to them if the woman's life ever changes; she's saved now and that is one more soul for Jesus.

Other Baptists are more careful.  They want to see "fruits worthy of salvation".  They slowly and methodically prepare a prospect to understand every aspect of salvation.  That way, if the person chooses to get saved, it is more likely to "stick" and he will want to devote his life to God (ie, get baptized, go to church, tithe, etc).

Papa Preacher is the easy believism type of Baptist.  One, two, three, bow the knee.  My Dad became the careful type, but that's another story for another time much farther down the road.

When I was a young child, Mom and Dad did their best to help me understand my need for salvation.  Whenever I did something wrong, they told me it was a sin.  From the youngest age (even before a profession of salvation), they taught me to pray for forgiveness for my sins every night.  "Dear God, thank you for this day.  I'm sorry for fighting with Boss today.  Please forgive me.  In Jesus' name, amen."

I had a little picture Bible back then.  I loved looking at the pictures since I had not learned how to read yet.  There was Samson pulling the house down on the Philistines; there was Jonah getting eaten by the whale; there was Daniel in the lions' den; there was Jesus with the little children; and many others.  My favorite picture, though, was the one of Jesus on the cross.  I would squat down against the wall after church with my picture bible on my knees, and I would study and study that picture.
Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so.  Jesus died for my sins; I knew that, and I loved this suffering Jesus so much. 

One Sunday morning, Dad gave the invitation after the junior church lesson that, if anyone wanted to get saved, they should come forward.  I went forward, so Dad took me to a little side room with shag green carpet and little black child-size metal folding chairs.  He showed me the wordless book, which only had pages of different colors and no words.  Black was the color of my heart because I was a sinner.  Red was the color of Jesus' blood when he died on the cross for me.  White was the color that Jesus would make my heart if I asked Him to save me.  And oh! how I wanted my heart to be white.  Then green was for growing by reading my bible and praying, and gold was for heaven, where I could go when I died.

I said I wanted to be saved, so Dad led me through the sinner's prayer.  And I was saved!  I was so excited, I wanted to get baptized right away.  But Papa Preacher said I was too young.  Even he was skeptical that I might not be able to understand everything yet.  But I was FIVE years old and I knew what I wanted.  I pestered Papa Preacher for a whole year and then he finally let me get baptized.  I was so proud that night looking out over the congregation.  Even my kindergarten teacher came to see me get baptized.

Ah, the faith of little children as praised by Jesus in the gospels.  I remember my faith at that age, the purity and certainty of it.  Where is it now when I need it?

Why blog?

My name is Shaye. At least, that's how my friends know me. A couple years back, I went through a dramatic life change; after that, this is how I prefer to be known.

The purpose of this blog is to share my story.  I hope it will bring healing to myself and to you.

In my thirty years of life, I have:

 - Been raised independent fundamental baptist (ifb)

- Been a preacher's kid

- Graduated from seminary with a missions degree

- Interned for 6 weeks with missionaries in africa

- Visited an orphanage in africa with the intent of working there

- Returned to seminary for a 2nd degree and ended up working there on staff

- Been diagnosed with food allergies to milk and seafood

- Gone through depressive periods bordering on suicide

- Lost my faith and turned atheist

- Resigned at the seminary and started a new life in a new city with a new name

- Found sanctuary in a liberal unitarian universalist (uu) church

- Came out as a lesbian

- Met and become hand-fasted with my life partner

- Become heartbreakingly estranged from my parents

- Sought psychic help for what I understand is emotional empathy

- Regained my faith in spirit, if not in god entirely

- And embarked on the experiement of a lifetime to see where spirit takes me

Finding support for my particular background and situation is difficult. For instance, there are support groups for former ifb's who remained christian. There are support groups for former christians turned atheist. There are support groups for allergies and depression and homosexuality. And, somewhere offline, there are support circles for individuals just opening to psychic experiences.

If you have similar difficulties, or you don't know where to find a support group that fits you, I hope that you can connect to experiences that we share.

Feel free to comment or contact me to share how a particular post has connected with you. If you find that you disagree or have had a different experience, I respect that. You too are welcome to comment or contact me; however, please remain kind and respectful. I will delete any comment or email that is hurtful or disrespectful.

The stories shared in this blog are merely my point of view on my life experiences and should not be taken as general statements regarding the ifb, christianity, homosexuality, or any other group or subject.  Names of people and places have been changed to protect privacy.