Confessions

Welcome back to another installment of our “Finding Who We Are” series! If you’re new, FWWA is a collection of stories – your stories – on struggle, loss, coping, finding hope, and finding our identity. Today’s entry comes from Marisa, and we pray you are encouraged by her story.

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“Oh, you are a pastor’s kid?! You are going to become a drug addict.”

Their words rang in my ears as I walked through the halls of my high school. They may have just been joking, but they may have had “factual” grounds for their assumptions about pastors’ kids. Those friends weren’t the first people in my life to predict that I, like other pastors’ kids, would fail, and walk away from all I was taught growing up. 

As the years fade further from high school, this statement rolls through my head from time to time. Before I talk about that, I know that you need some clarification on my life.

I have struggled with depression and anxiety since I was around 13 years old. Spending nights begging God to remove me from this earth. Even to this day, I cannot tell you the exact moment the thought entered my mind, or when I allowed it to take up residence in my life. Like our inability to change the past, much I’ve learned we cannot control when depression turns its ugly head toward us.

Zooming forward to college… Oh, college. A time that holds bittersweet memories. I walked into college broken. Shattered, actually. I let a boy take over my identity, which only led to destruction. On top of that, there were years of heartache and loss from homes to friendships. Walking on campus my sophomore year, I felt confident, yet sad. My grandfather passed away weeks before the semester began. By the end of the fall semester, I felt depression sneaking back in with the clouds of winter. I had no clue what the next seven months would hold. 

“You have what we call major depression.”

The winter came, and went. The sun reappeared, and next thing I knew, I was home. All I can remember is that darkness took over my soul, and before I knew it, I couldn’t eat, sleep, or talk to anyone casually without feeling sick and crying. Getting out of bed in the morning felt like picking up the entire world and placing it on my back. Some days I would wake up crying, other days I would wake up and have the full ability to put on a smile to hide the darkness. 

I needed help, and so I walked into my doctor’s office with little confidence in what was to come. My doctor looked at me and simply stated, “You have what we call major depression.” Well, we all know what she did from there.

Medication.

A couple of months later, the voices went away. I started seeing sunlight again. Not to mention, I began to follow Jesus sincerely. The time came when I was told that I needed to see a therapist to continue on the medication. Cue Kathy… A loving, kind, yet stern woman who I could tell had her own demons to deal with. She was not a believer in Jesus, which should have been a red flag since our beliefs didn’t align, but I was desperate. I was with her for six months. She ended up telling me near the end of our time that my problem was my “spirituality”…

“Your religion is the reason you are in this darkness…”

You can guess how I felt walking out of her office that day. That was my deepest fear. What if God is not who He says He is? What if the one thing that is holding me together is actually tearing me apart? Paul David Tripp says in his book Suffering, 
“As your difficulty looms larger and larger, dominating the vision of the eyes of your heart and controlling the thoughts of your mind, your Lord seems to shrink in size and power”(p. 61).

It’s been about nine years since I was given that medication, among others. I have upped the dosage, then dropped the dosage. I have talked to therapists, biblical counselors, freedom ministers, and friends. Has the darkness lessened? Yes. The medication has been a constant friend. But these days, I have been replaying what my friends spoke over me years ago… 
Am I who they predicted me to be?

I tried coming off the medication recently, which ended in disaster. Mostly because my doctor had no clue what he was doing in my withdrawal “plan”. All I know is that one day I could handle life, and the next I couldn’t. When I wasn’t screaming, I was crying in a fetal position in my bed, and then just staring into oblivion, hoping no one would need me for anything… I felt like an absolute maniac. The rage that I experienced was so abnormal. I called my husband to come home for a few minutes and hug me. That is all that helped. Being held.

Hopelessness is all I felt. Was this who I was now? No longer was I thinking about what the world saw me as…. I only thought about the fear that this is who I am without the medication. I do not like this version of me, but some days I do not like the version of me with medication. The wrestling continues. My doctor told me to go back on the medication ASAP. 

Am I who they predicted me to be?

You see, I know who God says I am. I know that His Word is better than anything life has to offer. I have not, and will not let that go. I know I need to believe who He says I am. I know that Scripture should be rehearsed and meditated on daily. Tripp says, “You and I have to fight for the faith of our hearts” (63). My friends had something wrong… They did not know God. Sheesh… Neither did I. Now I do, but I am still in process, just like all of us.

I pray a lot these days. The Lord knows my heart and my struggle. I have index cards placed around the downstairs of my home, helping to remind me what the Word says about my struggle. I beg a lot these days, too. I have good desires, ones that benefit my family. God, please… remind me constantly of who I am in you. To fight the lies that the enemy is planting in my mind. To believe what you say. To remember you in times of trouble. 

Friends, maybe that’s it. Remembering. In the midst of remembering my friend’s words, I cannot forget to remember God and His Word.  Remembering who God is, where He has pulled us from, and how He sits with us. Remembering what His voice sounded like before the silence. Remembering His goodness, grace, and love. I am going to call my soul to remember… I hope you do too.

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Thank you, Marisa! I hope you all know that you’re not alone in your suffering. I hope that today’s story gives you hope, but if not that, at least the knowledge that you’re seen. Thank you, Marisa, for sharing! Make sure to leave a comment for her below to read.

Do you have a story that you want to tell? No topic, question, or pain is off limits. I’d love to give you a platform and continue raising awareness for Mental Health disorders! You can comment below indicating your interest, or shoot me an email at matthew.bmalin@gmail.com.

You are loved.

You are valued.