A few weeks ago, my trainer and I got to talking about the importance of exercise to mental health. I made the comment that I hate it when people say we can choose to be happy. That is a simplistic load of garbage. Anyone who is able to easily choose their moods should consider themselves fortunate.
Squirrel moment - bear with me. This relates:
On my way into church this morning, I contemplated the high rate of suicide attempt patients in the hospitals. Is it post COVID? The isolation exacerbating what was already lying underneath?
This train of thought made me think of this time last year and a question a CPR student asked me last week about my experience. This time last year, I was taking a six week hiatus after Brad's death. Before I left, the hospital was functioning just as they planned. COVID patients coming to our hospital would be immediately transported to Main Methodist or the special MASH unit set up for COVID. Sure, we had to wear a mask, but it was still relatively controlled. When I returned to work, every hospital in town, including our small hospital, was overrun with COVID patients. We were now required to wear three layers of protection just to be inside the hospital. COVID took over the rest of our lives for the better part of a year. There was no escape for any hospital employee.
So, why do people still insist that COVID was not real? A government conspiracy? Fake?
I assume it is for the same reason people deny the holocaust was real or that racism still exists. These people were fortunate enough to never be touched by the evils which led to the holocaust, slavery, or modern day racism. In 100 years, I'm sure people will deny 9/11 ever happened. "Where were you when the world stopped turning?" (Alan Jackson)
However, just because we have never experienced something does not mean it isn't true or that it does not or never existed. It just means you are lucky - or unlucky as the case may be - Christ exists and to know Him is to be blessed beyond measure. We cannot see God, but, oh, is He real!
Which brings me back to my point - the rise in mental health cases in the hospital.
I described for my trainer what it is like for me to live with a mental illness. Happiness is something I cannot simply turn on or off. It is a constant struggle. I really want to slap anyone who claims it is as simple as choosing to be happy.
I described it like this: you know the cartoons of the good and bad angels on your shoulder trying to coax you into doing either the right or wrong thing? Well, it is as if I have an anxiety angel on one shoulder and a depression angel on the other fighting for control. How I respond to my day truly depends on which angel is winning.
The anxiety angel causes my insides to feel like they are going to burst. My shoulders tense and I cannot relax. Working out is a necessity to help me get that negative energy out, even temporarily, so that I can go about my day. On highly anxious days, getting out of bed to work out is quite easy.
On high anxiety evenings, however, I struggle to wind down to go to sleep. My brain and my body will not stop. I watch too much television, read until I feel like I can sleep, then end up turning the television back on because I am too tired to read, but not tired enough to sleep. When I do fall asleep, I sleep well, but usually not enough, between 5-7 hours. However, I usually have little trouble getting up in the morning to start my day. On days like this, I lay off the caffeine and take my medication before bed.
The depression angel causes me to feel overtly lethargic, as if I have not slept in days. It takes every ounce to find the motivation to accomplish anything. I have little desire to be around anyone.
During days like this, working out is next to impossible. I force myself by constantly reminding myself of how good I will feel, however briefly, after a good workout. I remind myself that I will feel even worse, hating on myself, if I fail to accomplish this simple task.
Sleep, on the other hand, comes easily. I tire easily and am able to go to bed and fall asleep early. I get my 8 hours of sleep. I will not let myself sleep much past 8 hours, but, depending on the day's activities, I may sleep up to 10 hours. I rarely allow myself this luxury.
On depression days, I am anal about my lists. I make lists of tasks that must be completed. On good days, I can knock out a lot of my to-do items early and even get ahead. On depression days, it takes a lot longer to accomplish the same goals. I may read five pages of a text then watch a show on Netflix and repeat the process. I love puzzles anytime, but they are especially therapeutic during seasons of depression. I get angry with myself a lot and have to constantly remind myself that this feeling is temporary. I am not as stupid or incompetent or unlovable or as worthless as I feel in the moment. Puzzles help to table these negative thoughts and emotions.
Most of the time, I live right in the middle between the anxiety and depression angel. They are both there, but neither one has full control. That, for me, is my happy place.
Anxiety usually takes over when an activity disrupts my routine (whether as infrequent and nerve-wracking as knowing I have to prepare to deliver a sermon or as common as working a couple extra hours on my usual day off). That is why I will rarely accept a last-minute invitation. My brain and body do not have ample time to process the request and respond.
Depression strikes less often and comes when emotions disrupt my routine (such as the one year anniversary of Brad's death).
This brings me back, yet again, to the rise in suicide attempts.
Work is one place where anxiety and depression flee. For whatever reason, I am someone else completely while at work - or maybe I am my most authentic self at work. My attention is on the patients and not on myself. I am happy at work. I have come to realize that one of the things I love most about my job is that it gives me purpose - a reason for the situations and emotions I have been through.
Yesterday, I visited with a patient who told me I was a God-send. She said she had been crying just before I walked in, feeling depressed. She had asked God for help and there I appear. The more we talk, the more she begins to smile and laugh. Apparently, I spoke directly to what she was feeling and asking from God. I told her that is my prayer before every shift - for God to send me where I need to go, to do what He needs me to do. On days when I'm feeling my worst, I thank Him that He can still use me and speak through me even though I'm not feeling my best. It is moments like this that remind me why I do what I do and thank God for allowing me to know what that person is feeling and to be able to speak truth from a place of experience.
Toward the end of my shift, I walked by a room. The door was open. The patient had a sitter (patients who cannot safely be left alone - whether physically or mentally - have a staff member sit with them). The patient stared at me and something told me to go inside.
I went inside and introduced myself. She said she needed to talk to me. I sat down and she poured out her heart, telling me about her suicide attempt and what led up to it. We talked for quite some time. I shared with her just enough of my story to make a point that life sucks sometimes, we don't know why things happen, but none of us can get through these tough times alone. We need help - all of us - at some point, and we need to allow others to help us. There is no shame in getting the help we need.
- And - we need hope. Without hope, life is not worth living.
- And - the only true hope - the only reliable and constant and unchanging thing in this life is God and His love for us.
I left her room knowing that visit had been as much for me as it was for her. I needed the reminder that there is purpose to the pain. I have purpose. There is no way I could have been what those two patients truly needed in that moment if I had not experienced it and survived to tell about it.
Some people are fortunate enough to have birds and sunshine on their shoulders. They, too, have a purpose - a glorious and sacred purpose.
The angels on my shoulders are not so bright and bubbly, but they, too, have a glorious and sacred purpose. I may not be able to choose happiness as easily as social media posts tout, but I can and do choose blessings - to receive it and to be it - in this life, and with this personality God has chosen to give to me.
My stories may not be all warm and fuzzy, but I guarantee, they will always have a happy ending.
We all need purpose. We all need hope.
If you need help finding yours, reach out to someone today - right now.
Integral Care National 24/7 Hotline: 512-472-HELP (4357) or 844-398-8252
Crisis Care Center San Antonio 24/7 Hotline: 210-223-SAFE (7233) or 800-316-9241
No comments:
Post a Comment