Humble Healing: My Battle to Overcome Depression

This was different. I no longer had any anticipation of the future. Within myself I found no spark of life. My mind felt like a dark void working to pull my very essence away from all hope. I was overwhelmed by an inexplicable dissatisfaction that cast long shadows over everything I loved. I was consumed by horrible cold and dominating grey. Winter ran in chills through my thoughts as tears of fiery despair flowed in seemingly endless streams down the contours of my shallowing face. A face softly, unnaturally coiled in diligently hidden pain recognizable only to those who loved me. Lost without direction in the thicket of my own darkness, I fell further and further into a cycle of self-deprecating, perspective shattering, miserable contemplation that yielded only deeper discontentment. Tangled in a web of emotion and confusion, I thrashed violently against the world. Fists raised and hope abandoned, I was losing, drowning, concaving, and quickly. I lost even the desire to escape my own anguish.

It was loss of health that started my march of painful depression, and life’s gentle prods that stoked that destructive blaze for far too long.

On the morning of December 17th, 2015, sitting on an examination table in a lifeless examination room I was diagnosed Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Suddenly and entirely my perspective on life was transformed. To my own surprise, this diagnosis did not immediately flood my mind with worry. There was not yet any fear in my heart. The shock of “it’s cancer” had failed to sink in and lift the dam of tears. Emotionless in the moment, I was numb to everything except a palpable evisceration of my preconceived imperviousness. Youthful assumptions of health and certainty were stolen from my psyche. I was afraid. Countless consultations, three weeks, and one surgery later the impossible was confirmed; there was no trace of cancer. A medical mystery with the only the symptomology of my original prognosis left me with just an incision scar, and minor persisting anxiety.

Less than a year later, kneeling on all fours, blood running down my forehead, over my eyes, and down into a dizzying puddle on the ground I once again had my hopes of health and control ruined. Seconds beforehand I had collided with another cyclist during the collegiate nationals points race qualifiers. He had fallen immediately in front of me and I was sent spinning through the air in twisting somersaults. Still attached to my bicycle traveling at speeds in excess of 30mph I came crashing to the ground. I landed hard on my hip, and felt my spine contort to the point of a sickening “pop”.

Being back-boarded and carried to the ambulance surrounded by family, teammates and friends I was trapped staring straight up at a maddeningly blue sky as agonizing pains overcame my body. First responders were not optimistic about my condition. I listened to them talk in the ambulance; it seemed likely I had broken my pelvis, if not my back. My toes were tingling. Laying on the emergency x-ray table in a hive of doctors and nurses I came to grips with the reality that I may never be able to jump for joy again. They began to cut away my clothes to access and clean my bloodied limbs. I closed my eyes, clamped my jaw, and let loose silent tears in too much pain to even breathe.

Miraculously, I was spared. Though massive abrasions, impairing bruising, and black patches where my racesuit had melted into my skin covered my body, I was free of any broken bones or nerve damage. But an unexpected and enduring injury plagued my mind: PTSD and ravaging depression. In wake of this plight is a trail of losses, difficulties, and despairing moments too sensitive to share. The world went truly dark. The “me” I had known was unreachable. A sobbing, morbid, aggressive, and jaded animal of emotion had taken my place.

This monster lived to destroy, first me, and then deeply, irrevocably, hurt the ones I cared for most. Depression is not something you can set to the side, it is not something you can pretend does not exist, it is uncontrollable and indescribably burdensome. Marching into this war I was not aware of my enemy’s power, truthfully, it took months to even recognize his appearance. When finally I saw his ugly head it was almost too late. I needed help.

A parachute preserves your life, but does not stop your falling. You are safe but still exposed, able to determine your direction, but not your destination which is inevitably the ground. Overcoming depression follows an analogous path. If you’re lucky, your treatment saves you, but you’re still blown by winds of emotion. You gain control of your mental direction and take positive steps to preserve your larger interests, but there is a definitive jolt when you come back into contact with the imminent reality of damages done.

I am exceedingly thankful for every person who slaved to save me from myself, especially to those who walked with me through those darkest moments. Family, friends, doctors, counselors, and pastors all sacrificed moments of their own finite existence to save mine. That is a powerful debt of gratitude I owe. Also, I would be remiss if I did not emphatically thank God for the faith, grace, and providential acts he ordained in order that I would not come to reject this life to an irreversible degree.

Now, proverbial parachute deployed, I look at the world floating beneath. I know where I wish to reenter my terrestrial reality. My mind has faded out of the infinite ambiguity of consuming depression. I see new life in the land of the living and it is so exciting. Often, I become enraptured with the prospect of once again feeling as I remember being; happy, fearless, free, and bright with love and life. None of these emotions are static. So, it is only by concerted efforts of mental discipline within my new paradigm of perpetually shifting visceral emotion that I have learned to grasp them more firmly. The most frustrating and paradoxical part of this intense effort is that the work it requires is both active and passive. I must firmly hold to truth, and thoroughly release circumstance. I have found the latter to require a much more substantial strength.

My whole life I have strived after the illusion of control. To hold this cloud of self-deception has cost me dearly. Reality is this: we are free to influence many aspects of our lives, but we posses no such entity as total control. What control does exist is purely internal and philosophical. Each of us is endowed with an ability to choose our outlook on circumstance. But, there is an axiomatic understanding that circumstance is primarily out of our jurisdiction. Atop this understanding I stood rebellious. I would control. I would dictate. I would defy the unstoppable and create my own life after an image of my own ideal preconceptions of happiness. For years I rooted myself in this denial, but no more. My pride led to humiliation. My health, my relationships, my aspirations, and my definitions of what would constitute a successful life were repeatedly thrown into the raging waves of my mind’s storms. This past year especially, I was brought low repeatedly and totally. Much of what I was has been destroyed, and many of my goals have been lost to that endless sea of depression that almost claimed me.

Rebuilding after this hurricane is not a process filled with joy. Memories and aspirations are left in piles of rubble on the streets of a life I loved. There is dread that whatever I may start to rebuild will forever carry painful remembrances of what in my depression I destroyed; those treasures closest to my heart. Despite this sentiment the past is gone, I now must look forward and begin to rebuild. I confess, I don’t want to build over that ruinous lot of what once was. What wouldn't I give to force back the time and billows of wind that wrecked what was most dear? I grieve and accept “what’s done is done”. I am learning to embrace that my life will never be the same, and so trudge through even the most painful of progressions. This task is simple, not easy. I pray that by grace I endure

I have often heard it said that hard lives produce tender people. I can now attest that to be true. Never before has there been within me such a constant welling-up of empathies. With unprecedented confidence I find within myself more kindness, optimism, understanding, and love. After a time of total darkness, I now see the exceeding value of every little light. I’m not who I was, and that is a grace.

This is different. There is behind me deeper pains, more violent turmoil, and greater loss than I had ever known. Yet, there is peace that overcomes these storms, and there are exuberant sparks of life that fill me with vivacity. In my heart I can feel spring thawing away depression’s wintery hold; the frosts are losing their potency. I have learned to face my emotions, and not hide my countenance from the thoughts that may assail me. I feel I am free now to live openly with the world through both my successes and failures. My mind is slowly becoming untangled. I am winning, swimming against the tide, and building again, slowly. I want to fight, I will win.

[3] Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, [4] and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, [5] and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5