• Kelsey's Posts

    The Silencing of Mental Illness

    April 15, 2020

    Mental illness causes a loss of self. One loses the ability to clearly and rationally think for themselves. Becoming someone so unlike who you truly are is an extreme type of agony. The harder one may try to change their mood or do things that they would normally do, the worse the feelings become and the more impossible simple tasks become. What’s worse is the inability to communicate the pain and agony that one is undergoing when dealing with some type of mental illness.

    “If the pain were readily describable most of the countless sufferers from this ancient affliction would have been able to confidently depict for their friends and loved ones, even their physicians, some of the actual dimensions of their torment, and perhaps elicit a comprehension that has been generally lacking. Such incomprehension has usually been due, not to a failure of sympathy, but to the basic inability of healthy people to imagine a form of torment so alien to everyday experience. For myself, the pain is most closely connected to drowning or suffocation. But even these images are off the mark. Psychologist and philosopher William James, who battled depression for many years gave up the search for an adequate portrayal implying the near impossibility…” – Aaron Kheriaty.

    This inability to communicate the pain that one experiences with mental illness causes a greater sense of loneliness and isolation. “The insidious power of mental illnesses to break down and debilitate the sufferer lies partly in their being simultaneously non-verbal and de-verbalizing, ineffable and silencing. They elude powers of speech even while they rob the person of such powers, making articulation of the pain even more difficult and less likely.” – Emily Stetler. This silencing convinces the person that they are the only ones feeling the way that they do, making them begin to want to blame themselves. Those who haven’t experienced it will assume that they know what it is like, causing them to try to tell those struggling with mental illness what they need to do to get better, when in reality, no one truly knows what it is like until they experience it for themselves.

    People who experience or have experienced some kind of mental illness view the world differently. We can learn from them, for weakness leads to God. In John chapter nine, Jesus says that a man’s disability is not because he or his parents have sinned, “but it is so that the work of God may be manifested in him.”

    The reason I want to advocate for mental health is because typically those experiencing it are unable to effectively advocate for themselves, at least it is extremely difficult. I want to start the conversation about it, because this topic is so often just hushed. I want to be a voice for those who feel like they have lost theirs. I want to shed a little light on the darkness that is mental illness.

    As always, you are all in my prayers, and please don’t hesitate to reach out if you are in need of someone to talk to.

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  • Kelsey's Posts

    Agony In The Garden

    May 9, 2019

    In this post, I want to be very real and transparent about my struggle with mental illness. This has been something that has greatly affected my life and is something that I’m still trying to fully understand and cope with as best I can. This is something that is still very difficult for me to talk about, but I really want to share this struggle, because I feel like this is something that is important for others to hear – whether they suffer from mental illness or not. I always have a hard time talking or writing about this because I never feel that I can find words that are sufficient enough to fully describe this mental illness junk. But I don’t want that to stop me from sharing this – so here it goes:

    The first time I started to question my mental health was in eighth grade. I had been struggling with depression and anxiety even before that time, but I never thought of the day-to-day issues that I was experiencing as any type of mental illness. I just thought it was me – that it was my fault for the way that I was – and this mindset only made my symptoms worse. By the time eighth grade came around though, I was crying multiple times every day and spent most of my days alone in my room. I still remember crying myself to sleep every night and then waking up, crying all morning while getting ready for school, and then having to force myself to stop before I walked out the door. I’d get home from school, and immediately go up to my room and basically cry until I fell asleep, and then repeat it all the next day. This was most of my eighth-grade year. It improved slightly with my shift from public school into homeschooling, but I still cried nearly night. I noticed my mental health really take a turn for the worst after high school. My parents noticed and decided to try to get me help. I started trying different medication and went to counseling weekly. After a period of feeling great on some new medication, it slowly lost its effect, and I hit an all-time low about a year after I graduated. I was currently working full time as a teacher assistant, but it soon became impossible to go to work in the condition that I was in. I had to quit my job, which pushed me deeper into my depression. There was a lot of self-hatred that came with being unable to work and function as a normal adult, and I received a lot of condemnation for it from those who were close to me. There was an inner dissonance in my thoughts, with my therapist telling me that I had severe depression, and others telling me that I was just being lazy and that it was my own fault for being so depressed. Throughout all of this, I was experiencing a spiritual confusion as well. Fighting with knowing I can find hope and joy in Christ, but being completely unable to get rid of the overwhelming hopelessness, fear, and worthlessness that I was experiencing. The worst part of all of this was just how incredibly far away from God I felt. I was in utter desolation and darkness. My prayers turned into pleas, which often times just sent me into panic attacks.

    I was eventually able to find a medication that was extremely helpful, and through various activities, such as solo camping, hiking, spiritual reading, and the love and support of my parents, I found myself able to start making little steps into bettering myself. I wound up at the University of Mary to pursue a degree in theology, with a minor in media production. Even though I was doing mostly well with coping with my mental health throughout this past year at Mary, I realized that I had very deep wounds that were caused by my mental illness. I had been burying and avoiding those wounds, but they soon became too painful to ignore. It was just a couple weeks ago that I felt like I finally got the healing that I needed for those wounds. And I’d like to share that experience with you.

    It all started with Lent. I entered into Lent having the expectation of increasing my prayer, along with the daily sacrifices I made. But instead, I found my prayer decrease, until it was almost non existent by the end of Lent. I wound up experiencing a lot of suffering throughout Lent in various different aspects of my life. In my relationships, in my schoolwork, and even in my mental health. Deep wounds in my relationships were being ripped back open, I felt completely overwhelmed with my schoolwork (to the point of questioning my capability and worthiness of the degree I am in), and coping with my depression and anxiety started to become more and more difficult. This is how I entered Holy Week. Completely exhausted, drained, confused, and honestly pretty disheartened. But then came Holy Thursday. I went to Mass that night, and the beauty of the liturgy really struck me. At the end of Mass, we all followed the Eucharist in a procession from out of the main sanctuary into a small chapel down the hall. The priest placed Jesus on the altar, which was surrounded by greenery and flowers that night. I knelt down, and began to cry. I remained kneeling until most people left, and I was alone in the pew. I began to seriously reflect on my Lent. The only thing that came to mind was the word suffering. I then began to think of my semester, and then of my year, and then of the last couple years. My mind began to focus on all of the suffering I experienced, zoning in on the particular times in which depression and anxiety were affecting my life so greatly. I thought about how I felt in those moments, what my heart was feeling, and the desperate pleas and prayers I said to God. I looked up towards the Eucharist, as if to ask for what seemed like the millionth time – “God, why? Why did you abandon me? Why have you put me through all this pain?” I suddenly began to envision Christ at the agony in the garden. My chest experienced a sharp, physical pain as my heart connected with Christ’s in that moment. I heard His pleas to God, saw His body shake, and saw His faced stained with the blood which He was sweating. I was brought back to my most agonizing moments. I remembered how my heart felt, how violently my body would shake, how I couldn’t breathe, and how desperately I would pray… oh how desperately I prayed. How painfully and bitterly I wept. I even thought about how many others feel these same things, and experience this same suffering. I was brought back to the garden – but this time I saw myself there with Him. I united all of those things to Christ’s heart in the garden. I saw what He was about to endure. His passion and death on a cross. I saw how mistreated He would be, not only during His passion, but for years to come, and even still today. Yet He endures it all for love. He was left in darkness, fear, suffering and heartache. He even uttered the words “My God my God, why have you abandoned me?” while dying on the cross.

    I was with Him in the garden, fully feeling this immense heartache… but because I was feeling it as well, I began to console Him. I saw my hands folded tightly together, resting on the same rock right in front of Jesus’ tightly folded hands. We were both shaking violently. Then the Lord opened His hands, and with His palms facing up he extended them towards me. They were still shaking. I unfolded my hands and moved them forward until they were directly above Christ’s, with my palms down. As soon as my hands were above His, Christ’s hands became completely still. He raised His hands until they were nearly touching my still shaking hands. I lowered my hands until they just touched the skin of Christ. The shaking stopped. He then grabbed my hands in His, and He pulled me close to Him until our foreheads were touching. We were both weeping. And then an image that I recently saw came to mind. Jesus was suddenly wearing His crown of thorns, and my forehead was pressing up against it, pushing it further into His head, and piercing mine as well. But He continued to pull me in. I clenched in pain, but Jesus looked up at me with His eyes, surrounded by blood and tears, and He gazed into my eyes. He tightened His hold on my hands and we both just continued to endure the pain, keeping our eyes fixed on each other. I saw God, looking down at His two children like this, Jesus and I. I saw deep, deep sorrow in His eyes, and could see the pain He was experiencing in having to watch two of His beloved suffer and cry to Him. But He knew He could not answer our pleas. He knew what had to be done.

    Sometimes, love is strenuous. It’s painful and causes heartache. But this strenuous love gives the graces needed to love even in extreme suffering, just as Christ did. Sometimes we don’t know the full reason why God allows the suffering that He does. But the truth remains that He can bring beauty and goodness out of anything. I still don’t know the full reason that I have been given this burden, but I can take consolation in knowing that Christ knows exactly what I am feeling and going through. Psalm 22, verse 1 says:

    (1)“My God my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.”

    This verse sounds like a cry of hopelessness and desolation. Yet if you continue to read the rest of the Psalm, the tone changes. It becomes praise to God and His promises. It becomes a passage of hope:

    (24) “For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden His face from him, but has heard, when he cried to Him. From you comes my praise in the great congregation; my vows I will perform before those who fear Him. The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek Him shall praise the Lord! May your hearts live forever!”

    I will end with a quote from Benedict XVI, from his book Spe Salvi (which I highly recommend you all read). This title, Spe Salvi, means saved in hope.

    “Moreover, the individual cannot accept another’s suffering unless he personally is able to find meaning in suffering, a path of purification and growth in maturity, a journey of hope. Indeed, to accept the “other” who suffers, means that I take up his suffering in such a way that it becomes mine also. Because it has now become a shared suffering, though, in which another person is present, this suffering is penetrated by the light of love. The Latin word con-solatio, “consolation”, expresses this beautifully. It suggests being with the other in his solitude, so that it ceases to be solitude. Furthermore, the capacity to accept suffering for the sake of goodness, truth and justice is an essential criterion of humanity, because if my own well-being and safety are ultimately more important than truth and justice, then the power of the stronger prevails, then violence and untruth reign supreme.”

    We can unite all of our suffering to Christ’s suffering, and because of that, we can console Him and be consoled by Him. This Easter has turned out to be one of the most joy-filled Easters I’ve ever experienced. And although suffering is not good in and of itself, it yields compassion, love, and intimacy. How great a God we have, who can make even something like suffering beautiful!

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