Treasures of darkness

I am not a doctor, a psychologist or psychiatrist, but I have been a patient. What I share is simply one person’s journey with depression.

I do not pretend to be a medical expert or to understand the working of the mind. However, like every other individual, including medical workers themselves, I battle against human frailty of one sort or another. For some people that may mean the limitation of physical weakness, for others it can be emotional or mental hurdles that may seem insurmountable.

I understand depression to be when the inward mental and emotional structure that normally supports our human existence, weakens, crumbles, or becomes distorted. Levels of depression vary from mild mood changes, to clinical depression or bipolar (formerly known as manic depression) with its ‘ups’ and its ‘downs’. Depression can be triggered by a crisis, or develop in the mind of someone who otherwise appears to be well and in control of life. When I was depressed it was hard to remember what it felt like to be well, and now I am well, it is difficult to recall just how it felt to be sick. What I have been through is a terrible experience, but it is nothing compared with that of those who suffer from bipolar.

Personal experience

I have always regarded myself as a fairly cheerful character. At the age of 15 I became a follower of Christ. Just one year later, while involved in a summer mission, I remember talking with a pastor concerning depression. Clearly, there has been an issue with depression within me for a long time. As well, from teenage years, I have been an intermittent insomniac, who works late nights, but then finds it difficult to sleep. I love my work as an evangelist, and can be a workaholic. I don’t find it easy to ‘switch off’ or rest, and rarely have a break. And then, personally speaking, I can be a sensitive soul who feels deeply for the hurts of others, and it is not easy to shake off thoughts of what others are suffering. I take these things to heart, and they remain there, gnawing away at me.

A few years ago, I began to find certain aspects of my work overwhelming. Every phone call (and we have three lines coming into our home), seemed too much for me. It became increasingly hard for me to stay in other people’s homes when away on missions. I couldn’t cope with inconsequential chatter, or even the laughter of others. I became annoyed even when people asked me to preach somewhere (which is my life’s work!), wishing people would just leave me alone.

Searching my heart

I searched my heart to see if there was any sin to which I was clinging that was coming between the Lord and me. While I don’t claim to be sinless by any means, I sincerely believed that all my sins were covered by Christ’s death and resurrection, and that there was nothing hindering my relationship with him. Jesus had died, paying the penalty for my wrong, and I was trusting in the crucified and now risen Christ, as my Lord and my Saviour. I loved him with all my heart, and longed to see others coming to a saving faith in Jesus too.

A doctor friend talked with me, and advised me to take a sabbatical, and so I set about cancelling various future appointments to give myself a four-month break. (Looking back, that period became sick leave rather than a sabbatical.) By the time that the four-month period had arrived, my state of mind had deteriorated. I was beginning to sink into a depth of great, inward darkness. I did not want to talk with anyone. I continued to have my devotions and go to church, but avoided meeting with people at the end of services.

My mind was telling me things that were not true. For some time, I had thought I would collapse while preaching. I believed nobody cared whether I lived or died. I went to bed each evening hoping I would die in the night, and woke up the next day feeling I could not face the hours ahead. However, I never doubted God, even in my lowest moments. I was convinced that God was in control of all that was going on, and that he would not waste any experience I was having.

As well as talking with my understanding GP, I went to a psychologist, who felt that if I could learn to breathe more slowly and take life more gently I would be better. My GP was keen for me to see a professional counsellor, but I did not want to talk to anyone else. To suffer alone was itself too much for me, without the added burden of speaking to someone I did not know.

Suicide?

Many people wrote or sent cards assuring me of their prayers, each of which was appreciated. Two friends in particular, wrote at length, and one (helpfully) insisted on visiting me. Both assured me that I would eventually come through the depression. Although I felt there was no future, the fact that two people wrote the same thing, giving a more positive view of the future was encouraging. I had yet to learn that today is not forever. I remember how on one occasion my son simply put his arm around me when he found me crying in my study. It was a moment of great comfort to me. Being hugged is part of being healed.

There were other Christians who hurt with their glib comments such as ‘snap out of it’ (I would have given my right arm to have been able to do that!), or ‘been there, done that’. Each one hurt, but no doubt they meant well. For me their comments led to more tears. God never spoke to my heart through them, or in that way.

Thoughts of dying dominated my mind. There was a craving for death. I knew that suicide is always wrong. It is a breaking of God’s commandment — for God, who is the giver of life, says we are not to take life, even our own. As well, it transfers the pain to the innocent family who are left. However, I also knew it is not the unforgiveable sin, and at one time, I meticulously planned my ‘accidental death’. I didn’t want to cause God’s enemies to blaspheme his name, so I planned a suicide that I was sure would be recorded as accidental death. I cannot tell you how near I was to taking my own life, but refrained from doing so, because I felt it would scar the life of my wife, Dot, and our four children until their dying day. Perversely, minutes before the dreadful moment of ‘death’, I was sharing the gospel with an unsaved man and longing that he would trust in Christ.

Although I basically don’t drink alcohol, I wanted to get drunk. I thought that if I was drunk, for at least an evening, I would not feel the tangible, emotional pain that was within.

Medical help

With the passage of many months I was beginning to recover. However, I took the opportunity to see a Christian psychiatrist in London. I had already tried three different types of drugs, two of which proved of no help, and one of which did strange things to my mind. I foolishly stopped taking it, which caused further traumas to my mind. The psychiatrist said that I was sick, but that he could help me. He put me on an older type of drug, and gradually this seemed to work as it drew me out of my depression. As a Christian, I am sure it is not wrong to be on medication. The fall has wrecked our beings, and we can be affected physically and mentally. As I would not hesitate to take medication if I was physically sick, so I was relaxed to take medication for my mind.

Eventually … slowly … erratically … I came out of depression.

In 1 Peter and elsewhere in the Bible we read that both suffering and glory characterise the Christian life. We like to think that if there is suffering there will be no glory, or vice versa, but both are promised in the Christian life. The Christian is not immune from normal sicknesses. We can be sure that God’s grace is sufficient for us in every situation, and he is well able to heal, if that is his purpose. God never wastes any tears. He never wastes any pain.

So what have I learnt?

First, I learnt afresh to trust God in the darkness. Because my mind was telling me things that were not true, I sought to speak to my innermost being and remind myself of ‘true truth’. That is what the Psalmist does in Psalm 42. For example, in verse 5, we read: ‘Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.’

The Psalmist spoke truth to his soul, and questioned its disturbed state. I had to remind myself of God’s love toward me, of how he had blessed and helped in the past, and what he promises in the future. It was good to know that God cared and could cope.

Secondly, in Isaiah 45.3 we read that God says: ‘I will give you the treasure of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.’

In the darkness and despair of depression, as I felt I was sinking ever deeper, God gave ‘treasures’. I experienced God’s love and tender, therapeutic care. I am certainly aware of my own vulnerability in a way I had not recognised before. I also believe I have a more compassionate view towards those who suffer mental illness — before I was quite dispassionate towards those who suffer mental weakness. Don’t we all need to learn to have Christ-like compassion to those whose physical or mental strength has collapsed?

I am aware that depression could recur in me. Frankly, I would fear it happening and would not wish the inward darkness on anyone, but I am also aware that God works all things together for my good and his glory. He is God and in control, and though the ‘inward man may perish’, God can renew and keep me.

Days of darkness still may meet me
Sorrow’s path I oft may tread;
But his presence still is with me,
By his guiding hand I’m led.

Depression - a personal point of view

Personal experience

Searching my heart

Suicide?

Medical help

So what have I learnt?

Roger Carswell

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