I wish I didn’t have to write this blog. I wish there was no need for it. But this subject has been heavy on my heart, and as much as I try to forget it or think of something else to write about, I can’t.
I read a story last week about a 17-year-old girl who had chosen to be euthanized because she felt that the trauma and mental illness she was suffering from had become too much for her to bear. I researched the story and discovered that many of the details weren’t true. But this part is—in the Netherlands, euthanasia is legal for those as young as twelve if they are suffering from mental illness. According to Dutch law, a doctor must agree with a patient that their “suffering has been deemed unbearable with no prospect of improvement.”
To say I have issues with this law is a massive understatement. But I’m not going to focus on the law tonight. My focus is on the words the doctor uses, namely these: “unbearable” and “no prospect of improvement.” To someone who is suffering from trauma and mental illness, those words may sound believable. They aren’t. If you’re reading this and thinking that it’s easy for me to say that, my answer is that it’s not easy for me to say.
I know what it is to suffer from trauma, anxiety, and depression. I’ve been agoraphobic and unable to leave my house for months at a time. I’ve had panic disorder so severe that my days were marathons of panic attacks, a few minutes of exhaustion, then another round of panic attacks. I’ve suffered from depression so dark that I believed life was unbearable and that I had no prospect of improvement. I’ve been so submerged in darkness that nothing and no one could reach me. I’ve lived my life from bed to the couch because it was all I could manage. And I’ve gotten to the point where I could no longer even get out of bed. I’ve watched life going on around me. I’ve seen the faces of people I love become unrecognizable. I’ve listened to their well-meaning words and been completely unmoved because I knew they didn’t understand. I’ve known what it feels like to just exist—to keep living only because your body somehow keeps going. And I’ve felt the fear of realizing that thoughts of suicide have become comforting.
If you’re feeling that way now, then I’m writing straight to you tonight. If you were sitting next to me on my couch, I’d look you in the eyes, put my hand on yours, and speak these words to you. I’d speak them with compassion, but I’d also speak with urgency. Here’s what I’d say:
Take the word “unbearable” out of your vocabulary. When you say that your suffering is unbearable, you’re lying to yourself. It may feel unbearable. But with every breath you take, you’re proving that you are indeed bearing it, no matter how hard it is. Day after day, you’re bearing it. You’re listening to another lie if you believe that there’s no prospect for improvement—that there’s no hope that someone like you will ever get better. No one—not a doctor and most definitely not you—has the right to make such a broad statement about your future. You have no idea what the future holds.
I believed that my life was unbearable because I had tried to get help for years. I had gone to psychiatrists and counselors. I’d tried lists of antidepressants. I had a psychiatrist who, after months of trying unsuccessfully to treat me, sat back at his desk, looked at me, and said, “I just don’t know, Renee. There’s nothing left to try.” And I’d gone home, no longer capable even of crying, and decided his prognosis was right. I began to think about suicide—not abstractly but in real, tangible terms. I told myself I’d try one more doctor to pacify the people who were telling me not to give up. I had no hope that this doctor could help me. But on my first visit to him, he prescribed an antidepressant for me that every other doctor had missed. Within two weeks, some part of me that had been deeply asleep for years woke up. I started to see colors where I’d only seen black and white. I felt a spark of interest in the world and in other people. And one day, something strange and unfamiliar stirred within me—hope. I began to believe that I had a future and a purpose. And that belief propelled me to grasp onto my faith and find every other possible avenue of help I could.
So when I say this to you, I say it from experience. The only way you’ll ever get better is to get help. Keep trying. Keep seeking help. Even if you’ve tried many times before. Even if you’ve tried lists of medications. Even if you’ve gone to every kind of doctor there is. I know it’s hard. I know you’ll have to dig deeper than you ever have for one last shred of strength to propel you to the next counselor, medication, or doctor. Find the thread that tethers you to this life, no matter how tenuous you think it is, and grab it and hold on. If you’re a person of faith, as I am, hold on to God. Hold on for the next medical advancement in the treatment of mental illness. Hold on for the next person that might be able to help you. Hold on, and keep trying. Now is not the time to surrender to the voices in your head that lie to you. It’s not the time to follow the path of least resistance and let yourself drift until you die someday. And it’s most definitely not the time to let go. Don’t wait until you have a treatment plan worked out. Don’t go over and over it in your mind, wondering if you’ll regret asking for help because you’ll have to follow through with it. Get help. Again. And again. I am living proof that there’s help and hope. That life can be not only bearable but beautiful—that hopelessness can become an occasional battle, not a way of life. So fight for it. Fight for the beautiful. And don’t stop. I’m fighting with you, here, in my heart.
The Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 offers 24/7 free, confidential support. Or text CONNECT to 741741 at any time of day or night; a trained crisis professional will respond and help you.
For mental health resources, go to http://www.centermh.org/
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Renee,
What a beautifully honest post! I have fought many things in my life. I’ve actually been diagnosed with major medical depression at 17, and was told that if I didn’t take my med’s I would be dead within 2 years from depression. I lived many years past what my psychiatrist said I would, without medicine. But, after contracting Mono at 38, my body changed so that I was supposed to not stress myself. The Dr was concerned I would develop other autoimmune issues from stress, so she put me on a low level anti-anxiety medicine. I have been one of those that couldn’t really understand why people couldn’t just bull their way through a situation, until my body was changed. After going back to college for my Psychology degree, becoming friends with others who suffer from some pretty big mental disorders, and really just thinking about things for some time, I recognize I was misdiagnosed. Although I undeniably have a Seasonal Affective Disorder, which makes winter hard to get through, and I am easily damaged by thoughtless people, I have never entertained thoughts of suicide and rarely had panic attacks. What you fought is way stronger than what I fought. I have witnessed people fighting some pretty tough things I have never had to. My heart goes out to you. You are amazing! God is good! I am very thankful He sent you as an example for those who are lost in their pain to look to. And, you have given me some very specific descriptions of major medical depression to consider. Thank you for being brutally honest. The truth sets you free, and it also sets others free!
Sandra–thank you so much for these beautiful words. Comments like yours are the reason I keep on writing. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer any kind of pain. Thank you for your compassion for me and others like me. You’re right–God is good. And the truth does set me free–time and time again. Thank you so very much for reading and commenting. I so appreciate it.
I can’t tell people suffering with depression that I know how they feel because I have not felt that. But, I have seen people, like you, who have battled it. I think people’s view of depression is better today than say, 20 years ago, but it still feels like there is stigma for anyone who admits to suffering from depression. There seems to still be a lot of “Pick yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality around it and you’re weak if you can’t “get over it”. Someone who gets help, whether from counseling or medication, or both, is not weak at all. It’s quite the opposite, in my opinion, as a person admitting they need help, takes tremendous courage.
Your blog today helps us who have not suffered from depression to understand better what someone who is suffering from it. And, I have seen you suffer in the pit of darkness and them rise out of it and “fight for the beautiful!”
Monty, I hope people read your comment because you’re so right–there still is a stigma around mental illness. And I think many do think someone with mental illness is weak, not sick, and should just “get over it.” You never have thought that. Thank you for that and for always pushing me to try the next thing. When I couldn’t fight for myself, I fought for you. ❤
You are a warrior. You’ve never stopped fighting. For that, and so much more, I am exceedingly grateful.
Thank you so much, my Frister. And thank you for helping me to fight.
Renee, What a beautiful blog from your heart! Your words are so full of love and yes you are proof that there is hope and help out there! Thank you for writing about this. So many suffer from thoughts of suicide and mental illness, they need to hear the truth and find their hope in the God who loves and cares so much for them! I love your transparency and your heart that comes out in your writing. You do have a gift of writing and bringing so much joy and hope to those who read your words. Thanks for using your gift to bring glory to God! I hope all is well with you, my friend. I pray for you daily and know you are in my thoughts. I love you! ❤️
Thank you, Melanie. And thank you for seeing my heart in this. I want so much to offer people hope because people did that for me when I needed it. And I’m so grateful. ❤
Sparrow, once again, a well thought out blog. Due to your own, “Hell”, you are very capable of expressing your thoughts beautifully, powerfully. Th3 girl in the Netherlands, how sad, gut wrenching, Where was her “support team”.I could get in my “pulpit” preach about all the “soncalled experts” in th3 medical, legal, political, sports fields, who’s ideas, they feel are far more “superior” to us “working slugs”. I won’t preach, but one item you omitted, you had Monty, your family, your God by your side. That isxpowerful, along with, th@nk goodness a doctor who prescribed the right medication for You, Saving you, Sparrow, is “Our Gain”. Finally, The Scriptures, as well as. Our experience, tells us that a shroud of ignorance, and evil covers the world, blinding all of us to God’s Love. Selfishness and greed, our self sufficiency, our lust for power, in any form, All. Of these compulsions, obscure our vision, making us to clearly see “the God who, “in perfect faithfulness has done wonderful things. Th3 young lady you speak, your own living hell, was a “cloud of gloom”.God will not leave us hopeless. I will close now, you hav3 once again hit @ “Homerun” with today’s blog. Keep on blogging. ❤️TexGen FF
Thank you, TexGen, for adding your insight to my post. You’re right–I was blessed to have Monty and my family and my faith. But those who don’t have those things can still find the help I found if they keep looking for it. And yes–our vision of God and His faithfulness and love is often obscured, especially when we can’t even see past the next five minutes. I always appreciate your words and insights–thank you. ❤