Oh G-d: the Intersection of Depression and Religion

Sorry about my absence last week.  This week I am acually posting something I wrote for my synagogue's newsletter.  I intend to discuss why I chose to write this and the aftermath of it in my next post.

Caveat: this post is not meant to imply in any way, shape or form that having a relationship with a higher power is necessary to better the lives of those who are depressed.  There are significant periods of time when I find it much more comforting to believe there's nothing out there, because at least then there's a reason nothing CARES that I feel like this so much of the time.

That said, to the article:

I am mentally ill.  I suffer from severe clinical depression.  Let me be clear about this: this does not mean I am sad.  This means that, when not properly medicated, I spend most if not all of my time thinking how much I would like to kill myself.  This means the desire to be dead is all I feel in those periods of time.  This means that, I can be on medication that works, but isn't quite right, and think the best I am going to feel—ever—is simply not-suicidal.  For most persons who suffer from mental illness, medication is helpful, if not an absolute necessity.  In many cases, it is the latter.

Medication for mental illness has almost as much stigma attached to it as the illnesses themselves.  People who take psychotropic drugs are weak, we "just want to feel good all the time," we "are not strong enough in our connection to G-d."  That last one is something I learned about from a friend.  Evidently, in certain sects of Christianity, taking medications for mental illness is frowned upon because if the ill person "just believed in Christ enough," they would feel the joy they do not feel.

Judaism, to its credit, does not approach treatment for mental illnesses in precisely this way.  The torah has examples of depression in figures like Saul.  Saul has periods of extreme dejection, jealousy-fueled rage at David, and otherwise irrational melancholy.  The torah tells us that David playing the harp for him helped somewhat with these emotional periods.  In the torah, David's music is the "therapy" Saul needs.  Obviously, in biblical times, the type of drugs we have today weren't even a thought.  There might have been homeopathic remedies for cuts and burns, bruises and infections, and alcohol or the like for self-medication, which is a far different thing than being properly medicated and seen to by a physician. Saul, though, didn't have the option of taking Prozac or Celexa and remembering that, oh, yeah, he was king, and things were pretty good.

From the outside looking in, it's hard not to see Saul's depression, his illness, as the reason David takes the throne instead of Jonathan.  Jonathan essentially comes from tainted blood.  Saul cannot trust in G-d enough, cannot connect to the divine enough, and therefore, David, who can, succeeds to the throne, and leads our nation, becoming a legend.  Saul's legacy is far less brilliant.  Although he is a byword for wisdom, his time as monarch is deeply overshadowed by David.  It is really no wonder persons who suffer from mental illness feel turned away by Judeo-Christian religious communities.

To make more comprehensive what I am trying to get across, telling a person who is depressed to trust in G-d, or be grateful for what G-d has given him or her, is much like telling a deaf person to just listen harder.  Helping a person who has depression (or is manic, or having a panic attack, or in crisis in any other way) to get help, however, is a way to bring him or her back to a place where s/he has the basic ability to trust in G-d, to appreciate what G-d has given to him or her, to do things with what s/he has been given in life.

I am not saying medication is right for everyone.  I am saying that a general reliance on religion has healed absolutely nobody I know who struggles with mental illness, and in many cases has made the illness worse.  I am saying that therapy of some type, or a mix of therapies, be it animal, music, art, physical, talk, medicine, or otherwise, is absolutely necessary for alleviating the worst of the symptoms of mental illness. 

We as Jews pride ourselves on taking care of our own, on tikkun olam, on our compassion.  Let us be leaders in showing compassion to those with mental illness, in helping them to get what they need, instead of judging them for their inability to be who we expect or want them to be.  Let us be leaders in caring enough to help people like me reach a place where a positive relationship with the divine is a possibility, rather than an ever out-of reach desire, another failure on our part, one more reason to leave the community.   

"It's like...": Talking About Depression Through Similes and Metaphors

As someone who was on Prozac for two years, the thing I still think of immediately upon hearing the word is the commercials they used to have, with a cartoon person under a cloud that followed her around.  I remember thinking, "Yeah...no, it's not like that."

It's not that the single-person-rain cloud is a terrible metaphor, but it's really not a great one, either.  For one thing, we use that particular metaphor to refer to people who bring drama or other things we don't like to a situation, regardless of whether that person is actually mentally ill.  It's specificity, therefore, leaves much to be desired, and  more than that, it lumps those of us who are actively fighting against that "cloud" with persons who embrace it.  Another thing is, while we all might find Pigpen from "Peanuts" cute, we also all think he could go and find himself a bar of soap and some water.  In other words, when we see artistic representations where only one person is being affected by something, we tend to put the onus of dealing with it on that person without much consideration for what that means.

Obviously, metaphors and similes are contextual.  Not every one is going to apply in every situation.  But, here are a few solid and decently transferable ones.

1.  The broken arm:  I cannot take credit for this one, it comes from a friend whose brother is on the Autism spectrum.  Hir mom once told hir that if hir brother had a broken arm, nobody would expect him to pitch a baseball game with that arm.  But because nobody could SEE the Autism out front, people often expected life skills of him that were the equivalent of asking a kid in a cast to pitch that ball.

Depression is the same way.  No, you can't see it.  That doesn't make it less real than a broken arm and it certainly does not make it less debilitating or limiting.  Some people with depression CAN do everything persons without can.  Others cannot, plain and simple.  And even the ones who can?  Are struggling at least ten times as much as a person with normal brain chemistry to complete the same exact task.

2:  The minefield:  Also not mine.  I wish I could remember who I picked this up from.  Living with depression is like walking through a minefield every day, except that only the person with depression knows there are mines.  She spends all day avoiding them, and if she gets to the other side of the field, everybody acts like it's not a big deal, no accomplishment, nothing to give her a shoulder squeeze about and say, "Hey, well done."

HOWEVER, if she accidentally trigger one of those mines, it's huge and ugly, there's a good chance others get hurt and everyone blames her.  She didn't actually SET the mines, she just couldn't avoid one.  Whether she couldn't see it, or it wasn't possible to jump over, or whatever, the triggering was not intentional.  But she gets in trouble for it, all the same, when every other day, hurtling and running and desperately trying to cross that damn field, everyone takes her actions for granted.

3.  The monster:  This one is mine.  Every day I get up and I'm being attacked--think of this in physical terms.  The attacker is up to the person creating the metaphor.  Mine is amorphous and monstrous.

But I'm being attacked.  And I'm struggling against my attacker, throwing kicks and punches, screaming for help, trying all kinds of things, waving my hands.  It's not just that nobody hears me--although many people don't--it's that people hear and walk by anyway.  In my head, I'm always on a busy street, and people know what's happening, but they still walk on by.

The thing is, at the end of every day, the monster resolves itself into me.  Because, as one of my friend with depression once said, "The problem is, my brain is trying to kill me."

I agree, to a certain extent.  But really, my brain is trying to do the maximum amount of harm UNTIL it can kill me.  Which means that, yes, the monster I'm fighting?  Me, and only me.

This is a short post, because I don't want to muddle this issue, it's too important.  Verbal and visual representation of mental illness in a positive way is sorely lacking, and if I can inject just a little bit of it into the common rhetoric, I will be pleased.

To sum up: things to avoid are more broad metaphors and similes--pick something specific, like a broken arm, like a physical attack, a minefield.  Avoid metaphors and similes that are used for sadness, because sadness is different.  Use descriptive terms and EXPLAIN why the two are good comparisons.

And please, if anyone has other good metaphors/similes, leave them in the comments.

ETA:  A comment was left with the World Health Organization's video on depression.  This metaphor did not work for me, because it needed a LOT of narrative explanation, which I try to avoid, and because it's based on a dog, which is something I have positive associations with.  That said, it might work for others, so I am glad to have the resource.  Thanks, Jay!