Rejoice?
June 12, 2023Surprises and Disappointments
June 15, 2023
Not too long after my husband passed away, I became depressed. It was a more profound depression than I realized then, and to fill the void left by my husband's death, I turned to some harmful coping mechanisms. I started spending, what I consider to be, an excessive amount of money on clothes for myself, turned to alcohol pretty heavily, and developed some unhealthy eating habits. I remember being on the bed in Jamaal and my bedroom and telling God I did not want to live anymore. I was unhappy and lonely and had significant difficulty adjusting to my new circumstances. Life seemed exponentially more challenging now, and few people in my circle of friends fully understood what it's like to lose their spouse and try to live without them. I felt utterly alone despite many friends and family expressing care and concern.
A few days later, not fully coherent due to the amount of alcohol I had consumed, I called my parents, and the events after this were fuzzy - I remember getting in their car, going to the hospital, and they placed me in a triage room. I remember laying in the bed and hearing voices in my head. These voices gave me conflicting instructions; one told me to stay in the hospital and receive treatment, while the other encouraged me to leave. My dad stayed with me in the triage room for as long as he could and encouraged me to stay and get the necessary treatment. Eventually, he had to leave because it was late, and the kids were hungry and tired. After my dad, mom, and the kids went, I tried leaving the hospital because they wanted to admit me. I freaked out and began quickly walking, almost running, around the unit, trying to find the exit and get out of there. They got the security guard to restrain me so they could administer medications to calm me down or sedate me. They admitted me to the psychiatric unit. I honestly don't remember the psychiatric evaluation done at intake; I don't remember saying the things they told me that I said to them on admission. I don't remember being shown to a room, making a bed, or anything like that. I believe that I experienced the longest blackout from drinking that I've ever experienced. One day I was more coherent than I had been and basically "woke up" in the psychiatric unit at the hospital.
I'm not sure how much time had passed between my admission and that particular day, but I was confused, not fully understanding why I was there, and concerned about how long I had been there. It was a roller coaster ride for myself, the kids, and my parents - not to mention other friends, family, and neighbors. When I had a chance to meet with the doctor, I had to ask her how long I'd been in the hospital. She told me it had only been about two weeks since my admission. It felt longer than that to me, though, and that's when I began to work towards my release. I began to read the Bible my parents brought to the hospital for me, and my mind started to clear up; after a few days, I convinced (and possibly badgered) the doctor to discharge me. I was not 100% (or even 50%) back to my semi-old self, so this is kind of amazing, but I also improved from when I showed up in the ER. The doctor was reluctant to release me, but she was also sympathetic to my situation, and for that, I'm grateful. She told me I needed to stay on my medications for at least a year, or I would end up in the hospital again.
Even after leaving the hospital, I still heard voices and was not entirely my old self - just not as depressed. The hospital established aftercare services for me - I had to see a therapist once a week and had monthly medication management appointments with a doctor. Both people were friendly and professional. I was diagnosed with depression with psychotic features and was still out of it when I started meeting with them, but I was determined to get well. When I got home, I threw out any remaining wine and tried to return to normal. I had to figure out what my new normal would be. I knew for sure that I needed to go back to reading my Bible and praying daily. While reading and praying daily, I didn't spend so much time focused on my sorrow - my loss. In prayer, I was able to pour out my heart to God, and in His Word, I found comfort, peace, joy, and understanding, and it reminded me that I'm not alone. All things that I needed and still need.
DISCLAIMER: I want to preface this next paragraph by saying that I'm talking about my personal experience with depression and other psychotropic medications; I am not encouraging anyone diagnosed with depression and taking medications for it to stop. That is a decision that only the patient can make with their doctor, and I'm not here to offer any medical advice as I'm not qualified to do so. All patients should take their medications as prescribed by their doctors.
Shortly after being released from the hospital, I decided to stop taking my medications because I didn't like how they made me feel. Instead, I continued reading my Bible and praying. As time passed, the voices stopped, and I stopped having flashbacks and intrusive thoughts of the moments leading up to my husband's passing and the moment he passed away. I stopped drinking for a while and took time to find more constructive and healthy ways to manage my grief. My condition continued to improve, and I didn't experience depression as profoundly or often. I still don't experience depression to nearly the same degree as right after Jamaal passed on to eternity; I still have my ups and down, as most people do. But I thank God for His grace and mercy; I'm grateful for His love and the hope I have in Him because of Jesus's sacrifice for many. Because of Jesus' death on the cross and resurrection, and because my husband accepted Christ in his life, I have hope that I will see him again once it's my turn to enter eternity. God's promise of eternal life for all who believe in Him is the thing that fuels my hope (John 6:40, 47, and 51). I pray that my walk with grief helps someone else manage their grief and that they find the hope offered through a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Something I've started doing since Jamaal passed away is writing down verses that speak to my situation. While I was recovering from my depression, here are some Scriptures that helped me:
- "Why am I so depressed? Why this turmoil within me? Put your hope in God, for I will still praise Him, my Savior and my God." - Psalms 42:5 HCSB
- "My life is down in the dust; give me life through Your word." - Psalms 119:25 HCSB
- "I am weary from grief; strengthen me through Your word." - Psalms 119:28 HCSB
- "Those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy." - Psalms 126:5 HCSB
- "Those who mourn are blessed, for they will be comforted." - Matthew 5:8 HCSB
- "I have told you these things so that in Me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world." - John 16:33 HCSB
Isn't it great that we receive life and strength through God's word? Isn't it incredible that in Him we have peace? And isn't it wonderful that we can be courageous through our suffering because Jesus has conquered the world?