Depression // the Don'ts

Recently, I had someone hang up on me when I was trying to explain to them that I was in a depressed low, beginning stages of a panic attack, and really really really shouldn’t be left alone. They were stressed and simply couldn’t comprehend why I would not be able to pull myself up by my bootstraps and take care of myself like a big girl and “get over it.” The frustration over my blubbering crying self saying “no I can’t” led this person to simply hang up the phone. Disengage. Remove.

Also known as we say in French, le dick move.

But these are some of the many common misconceptions people have about depression and other mental illnesses: that it doesn’t really involve or affect them yet that they have all the solutions…in fact, they can be outside or inside the situation whenever they like. One minute someone can say “Oh, I COMPLETELY understand” and the next minute they can choose to hang up on you. 

Well, my friends, this hot or cold response we people with depression receive is quite frankly draining and often inexcusable. The truth is that you are going to come across someone who is depressed within this next week—not just a handle of whack jobs you may or may not encounter within your lifetime. And they are *very* unlikely to tell you whether you are being an uncompassionate jerk, an overly sympathetic insulter, an ignorant bless-your-hearter, etc. They are more likely to stuff their words and give you a well practiced lying smile. So let’s have an open discussion, shall we?

Editor's note: It is absolutely terrifying for me to come out ballz blazing, megaphone raging as the way that I introduce my depression to my blog. But hey, yolo.

So here is a short list of please-Lord-no-do-not-do to someone who has depression (and for those of you with depression?...well, enjoy a good lol):

1)      Telling someone to "just stop being sad” or that they “have the will power to just get better”. Your intention may be to model yourself into some sort of gung-ho peppy cheerleader, but all I hear is “your brain sucks and will never work right; you are an epic failure.” Look, depression is caused by the chemicals in your brain not properly producing/functioning at healthy levels. We do not need to go into the scientific details, but it is suffice to say that I cannot just stop in the midst of being terrified and lonely and go, “Oh hey, silly brain, make this chemical for me so I don't think I'm dying. K thanks, dude!” A person can exercise, eat healthy, drink less, stand in the sunshine, watch Parks and Rec, hold a golden retriever puppy, and get a manicure and STILL have a terrible low or panic attack that very same day. Some of the most beautiful seasons of my life have also coincided with the darkest times of my depression. Most of it is out of your control—even with medication. Can you please empathize and understand how PETRIFYING that is? To live in a world where you never know when you are suddenly going to plummet into the cavern of the loneliest, evilest thoughts of your life and be completely trapped in your brain alone with them? Sometimes I’m amazed that depressed people even smile and function at all! So kudos to ya’ll who to deal with it every day. You’re champions. And to those who are lucky enough to not have it, simply listening and telling someone, “I’ll be here for you to do anything that takes your mind away from these thoughts or maybe let’s do some activities your therapist recommends—I love you” is all they need.

2)      Telling someone they are “selfish” or “needy” because they are depressed or suicidal. I’m really watching my sailor’s mouth on this one. As stated above, this is a mental imbalance and health issue that is out of a person’s control. They can do some preventative means and can do coping as best as possible in the aftermath, but the actual time being caught up in a depressed low is often uncontrollable. And do you honestly think ANYONE in their right mind would choose this path??? I’ve already communicated how absolutely scary it is to go day to day never knowing when I might get a panic attack or simply cease to have emotions. Why would I willingly choose that life for myself? Because yes, I’m oh so selfish as to put my family and friends through all this? That’s a bogus statement. That’s certainly some stinky pile of BS. Do not tolerate someone talking to you that way for one second if you have depression. If you don’t and are the actual person saying these things, check yourself before you wreck yourself. Try to be a more empathetic. Try to be more humane and mature. Consider what it would be like to have a disease that robs you of all things that once brought you joy—even to the point of robbing you of your own personality. THEN consider if that person is selfish when they ask for help or when they can’t just get over it by themselves. (Side note: little bit of logic here. If a person has such dark lonely thoughts that often lead to suicidal tendencies WHO in their right mind is going to tell them to just be alone and stop being selfish?)

3)      Telling someone “I completely understand” or “I’ve been there” when you do not have depression or never have had it. This may upset some people to hear, but your kindness has overstepped its bounds. Look, I know you want to make me happy again and you’re scared of all the Robin Williams stuff you’ve heard on the news and you just want to feed me a lemon Bundt cake, but please do NOT pretend you know what this is like. Depression is not being sad. It’s not even just being extra sad. Depression is an extreme state of poor mental health that has continued for a minimum of 6 months—often more (in my case, 4 years). It is a state of being far more empty than sadness, far more abandoned than loneliness, far more unreachable than hurt.  Audrey Hepburn described it the most beautifully in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” as the mean reds. There’s only one truly evil bitch I’ve ever met in my life, and she lives right behind my forehead in the midst of my depressed lows. After those periods of tears and panic attacks, you eventually bottom out and the scariest stage of all happens—feeling nothing. You even wish for the times of extreme sadness because at least then you felt something. The days and weeks where you are apathetic and cannot remember what emotions used to be like are the ones that are truly dangerous, if not suicidal. So to hear you say that you’ve been there when you haven’t? It’s hurtful and ignorant. Instead, please tell us “I’m here for you. I will listen if you need to talk. Or we can be just silent. Just know you have so much to live for and so many people who love you.”

None of us are perfect. If you’ve said any of these things, know that I certainly won’t hate you for forever…just maybe for 10 minutes. I’ll have a coffee and get over it.

And people with depression are NOT perfect. I have done and said things I would never dream of when I am in a bad state of the mean reds. But I have been blessed with a community that is gracious and kind; quick to forgive and slow to anger—not unlike the good God who loves us. For those of you with depression and those who know someone with it alike, I encourage you to turn to Him in prayer and in asking for your every single need. He is the only one who is sufficient. Whether we are depressed or not, our every breath comes from Him. Praise be to the God who was and is and is to come—He is my Shepherd even in my darkest hour.

Soon to come: some things the church should and shouldn't say when speaking about depression...

Slut Shaming

I waited nearly 5 months to write this blog. Partly because it always ended in me closing the computer in pure disdain or every sentence came out dripping with piercing passive aggressive insults or simply as a long string of curse words. Last semester, I firsthand experienced what it was like to be slut shamed on a public scale. Luckily I wasn't in attendance for "the event", and I was able to go through the many stages of laughter, mockery, anger, bitterness, and apathy before writing this post. In fact, I reached the point where I wasn't even going to say anything and this memory was to fade into the dusty, unvacuumed corners of my mind alongside scarring memories from my parents divorce and my break ups... At least, that was until I heard Beyonce.

Thanks Queen B. Thank you for 1) making "Flawless" my go to morning jam and 2) exposing me to the unmistakeably profound TED lecture by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

I'm sure you're wondering how the heck Adichie relates to "the event" from 5 months ago and what slut shaming even means. I have directed the gospel choir at my university for three years. I have a deep desire to see people realize joy in Christ no matter their situation or their state of emotions. Gospel music has a robust theology of sorrow and hope and God's future promises. Throughout my university career, leading gospel music worship has LITERALLY been my favorite thing I do. Therefore, this fall after we led worship in an all-student, all-faculty event, I was prepared to hear the usual amount of elated feedback. I looked forward to hearing about encounters with our mighty God via the avenue of gospel music.

So when one of my friends approached me because a professor took the time out of  BOTH his 8am and 11am lectures to have a hearty discussion about gospel choir, my ears perked up. This man did indeed talk long and seriously about the events of that morning... About the slut who led the choir.

How too tight the director's jeans were.
How inappropriate it was for her to lead worship in skinny jeans.
How attention seeking it was for her and choir members to dance during a worship service.
How she was responsible for lustful thoughts in the audience.
How he didn't even know her name, but this was direly important and appropriate to discuss.

He didn't use the word "slut" explicitly--he didn't need to. After all, slut shaming is an implicit intention disguised in cultural concern or moral integrity. Caught up in his self-righteousness, I obviously doubt he considered the amount of students in those classes who knew me...including my roommate, dear friends, coworkers, other student group leaders, and members of my very choir. Groups of people approached him and called out his gross misconduct, and a sincere apology was sent out to his classes several days later. Although, said lament was never spoken in person to me. Nor a note. Nor an email. Nor a blurb.

I processed through the whole affair on my own with the support of family, friends, my choir, my loving God who is faithful to speak in your doubtful dark moments when the lies creep in. But by many I was advised to be silent. To not bring the affair to the dean of students. To not confront this professor. We are taught that this silence should be our response as women, are we not? Shut it out. Stay subdued. Suffer in secret. Bear the shame they smudge upon you without being able to turn said shame in its head. When a woman is sexually molested, she is hidden away and told to bear that cross in shameful secrecy. When a woman is exploited, she is told to keep her chin up and deal with it in counseling--not protest in the public sphere. When a woman is raped, she is asked what she was wearing and what she was doing under the assumption that she caused such an event and that now she must live in quieter existence to avoid further instances.

It's a special kind of suffocation when you cannot speak out against your abusers.

Now, this man did no physical harm to me. His exploitation was of a very different variety. Slut shaming. The act in which someone has you become the responsible party of another person's weakness. The act in which your attitude, your dress, your words, your personality are put under scrutiny regardless of your intentions. The act in which someone else's standard is demanded to be that of your own. The act in which your identity in Christ stripped and your identity in man's eyes is elevated. In my case, the act in which wearing skinny jeans--a standard Western dress that is both unavoidable and perfectly acceptable and absolutely normal--labels me as an attention seeking slut conspiring to trap men while I have my five minutes of fame on stage. Furthermore, this act becomes true slut "shaming" when someone takes it on as their personal crusade to PUBLICLY slander you (i.e. two classes totaling near 100 people). Their moral reaction to your dress or behavior is so visceral that they take it on as a God given mandate to warn others against you and your slutty ways.

This is an exploitation in which a woman is belittled down to her body and her clothing--clothing which is not even immodest but is simply not to a certain man's preference. Her intentions, her intellect, her will, her motives, her beliefs, her desires are all sacrificed on the altar of an outward biased cultural opinion. Slut shaming is sad even more so because it belittles men down to being ravenous minds who cannot control themselves. And who shouldn't be expected to.

So I have one thing to say to this professor: My body is NEVER again to be the subject of your classroom discussion. 

Feel free to tear down my theological views--I am a liturgical, Anglican, arminian, covenant, egalitarian, amillenial, progressive creationist Christian.

Feel free to tear down my political views--I am a conservative Democrat, pro equal marriage rights, social justice enthusiast.

Feel free to tear down my professional pursuits--I am going to be a folk singer for a while before completing seminary to be ordained as a Reverend and then further pursuing a doctorate in English literature.

But you are NEVER again to speak of my ass or what covers it in your classroom. 

You are NEVER again to say that my God who chose me from eternity past does not cause such joy to spring from my fingertips that would inspire me to dance as David did while singing His praise.

You are NEVER again to say that I wake up and dress not with the freedom as a daughter of the Most High but instead with the desire of causing others to lust after me.

You are NEVER again to say that I lead the people of God before the throne of God in musical worship with nonchalant self-seeking motives.

And you are NEVER to slut shame any young woman on this campus again. Or we will not be silent. You will not be able to hide behind the frail throne of your podium and the cowardice of your email and the self-righteousness of your degree.

In closing, here are Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's words that gave me a voice:

Recently a young woman was gang raped in a university in Nigeria. And the response of many young Nigerians, both male and female, was something along the lines of this: “Yes, rape is wrong. But what is a girl doing in a room with four boys?” Now, if we can forget the horrible inhumanity of that response, these Nigerians have been raised to think of women as inherently guilty. And they’ve been raised to expect so little of men that the idea of men as savage beings without any control is somehow acceptable. We teach girls shame. “Close your legs. Cover yourself.” We make them feel as though being born female they’re already guilty of something. And so, girls grow up to be women who cannot say they have desire. They grow up to be women who silence themselves. They grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think. And they grow up — and this is the worst thing we do to girls — they grow up to be women who have turned pretense into an art form.

The Fun of 21

When people ask me what it's like to be 21, my face uncontrollably tends to contract into this expression... Don't get me wrong, being 21 is fan-flippin-tastic. For example, I can still eat all the junk food I want while simultaneously having a cultured affection for documentaries enough to know what meat is doing to my body and why boycotting McDonalds is equivalent to boycotting the plague. I can talk to and give advice to my 16 year old niece and her friends without feeling like a lecturing parent while simultaneously getting to go to a bar and not feel like such an infant.

However, there are a few things that we have to look forward to at this age that are...well...the sort of list to embarrass your future children with whilst you remind your fellow forty year old friends over wine.

1) One day it hits you like a well-planned surprise Russian nuc that you are graduating in a few months and that you have zero of the ideas what to do in life. Or EVEN better, you have a clear and concise and meticulously pursued plan that turns into shambles and ends in a projected summer working again as a nanny...or worse, at H&M...or double worse for your stepdad's lumber company.

2) College has become your Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.You absolutely adore the main professors in your department, but homework and senior projects make you want to develop an elaborate scheme pretending to have mono to skip class for three weeks. You stubbornly, desperately want to be in the "real world" and do away with school, but not having the "I'm a student" scapegoat and not being able to get a student discount at the movie theater terrifies you. You LOVE your friends, but you also can't help but respond in apathetic blinking to EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERSON ON CAMPUS. No, over exuberant freshman, I really don't think that professor is God and every word out of her mouth is some pearl of Christendom wisdom. Also, Taco Tuesday is not going to change your life. It's just going to give you gas. Double also, stop trying to find your husband here. Most boys are trolls. And if they aren't trolls then they are 10 years older than you and graduated.

3) DID I MENTION YOU ARE GOING TO LOSE YOUR STUDENT DISCOUNT IN T-MINUS 6 MONTHS?!? No more free Art Institute days. No more cheap(er) Qudoba. No more student universe airplane tickets. Now everything you wanted to do with your magical card of studentdom must be completed within this last semester. What if I wanted to see Frozen seven days in a row for only $6 each time?!?!?! What if I wanted to spontaneously fly to Spain with my besties with testies for Spring Break?!?!?! What if I wanted to order five burritos for an SVU marathon?!?!?! DO IT ALL NOW.

4) The joys of seeing friends get married and act like functioning, mature, Disney fantasy fulfilling adults while you still make out with boys and never talk to them again and "forget" to save their numbers in your phone...

5) Also, a nice educated boy who loves to travel and drink fine red wine loves you; but hey, you're 21! You have the brilliant ability to not like them whatsoever and instead perpetually fall for the unemployed musician on a motorcycle with no billing address. Oh yeah. Sounds like a wise choice to me.

I wear hair bows. Aka often the extent of my good life decisions.

6) Here's the fork in the road when you begin to see that your love life is peculiarly modeling itself after a character on any of the following TV shows: How I Met Your Mother, Girls, Sex in the City, Gilmore Girls, Parks and Rec, or New Girl. Not to mention, you find therapeutic fulfillment watching said shows because honestly you'd rather take that scripted advice over any of the bullshit people have to say to you.

7) You have become allergic to basically all majestic foods in life. Your favorite childhood foods either lean towards frenemy status or full on WWIII with your body. Gluten and dairy seem to have developed a Nazi-like regime determined to obliterate your stomach lining. Strawberries punch you in the face and make you swell up like a fat kid. Tomatoes just can't wait to make your already pasty ass skin erupt in hives. But, hey, at least in a bar your new found 21 year old allergies can be forgotten at the door! Vodka = potatoes. Potatoes = everyone's friend.

8) You are extremely protective of and stake out territory on YOUR spot at one of the following places on your college campus: local coffee shop, neighborhood bar, sushi restaurant, couch hidden in a school lobby corner, best pastrami sammich place, broom closet, under someone's bed, giant bean bag in your friend's apartment, the leftie desk. Any freshman who dares encroach upon that special spot is sure to receive this face from you...

9) Tiny creatures and little children have actually become your friends rather than being annoying or terrifying. Kittens are adorable and fluffy and can only sass you by batting at your ponytail. Puppies just shower you with so much love that you forgot you could be such a cranky bitch. Children are hilarious and genuine and say interesting insightful things; in fact, you'd rather grab your red wine and sit in a corner playing with them than hang out with any of the lame conceited adults at that Christmas party. However, naturally, at the first Great Aunt questioning of when you will posses any of these things you and your happily empty ovaries just want to run away via your youthful tech savey skills pretending you have an urgent phone call.

Kittenz

KITTEEEEENNNNZZZZZZ

BABIIIEEEEEZZZZZZZZZ

 10) My favorite age development of all: the girl you trippin. It's the undeniable talent we have mastered whereby we excel and are super fantastic at the most ridiculous and unnecessary of tasks; yet real life dramatically important or--at least--serious choices are an epic fail and ALWAYS end in our best friend giving us raised eyebrows and saying girl you trippin. For example, you basically are a CHOPPED champion. You can look in your fridge and turn any 5 ingredients into a freakin MASTERPIECE. Peanut butter, canned tuna, wheat bread, ketchup, and coffee creamer?? HA. I. Own. You. However, applying for post graduate jobs so that you don't end up living in your mom's basement come May? Ehhhh I can do that after this Boy Meets World marathon. Pack up your entire life in only 3 hours before your RA has room inspections? Boss. Of. Life. Tell the boy who you've been madly in love with for 6 months about your feelings?? Errrmm maybe I just awkwardly bring up gouda or snails every time he asks about our relationship.

11) Funny pictures with your friends are no longer ironic or for the sake of being cute or trying to get facebook likes from that boy who lives down the hall. They are taken because ya'll are a bunch of freaks and nerds.

12) You feel confident in some very concrete things about yourself. You no longer feel the need to go to every single party or date every single boy who gives you his number or become best friends with every single person who sits down at your lunch table or take notes as if your life depends on it from every single professor dishing out their two-cents. You know parts of your God given personality that are fantastic and you can be super confident in them and can wake up and go all kinds of diva in the mirror and say FLAWLESS. You also are beginning to be *keenly* aware in the areas of life where you suck hard core...the areas that caused that nice person to break up with you, made that dear friend distant, or allowed your pet beta fish to die. It's a nasty wake up call to just how atrocious you can be. And you know what? Cheers to discovering those things because you are going to grow and all that mess is going to be slowly wrung out of you like a dirty sponge.

And being 21 in 2014 is going to be great, miserable, surprising, confusing, joyful, tiring, forgetful, remarkable, intense, elating. So just be ready for that journey God will take you on. He's not going to let you stumble or race through it alone. Cheers to all who are 21--in your heart or in your years!