Pay it Forward, God does

Today, I am very tired. Not enough sleep and a little juggling of my meds was a mistake. I just thought I would see if I could take less now and still sleep. The correct response to that is, “No, I cannot.” I must take more to sleep through the night. It’s only my second full day home, and yet I had to be at the hospital at 5:00 AM for more ECT treatments. Tonight I will not skimp on sleep meds. I paid a high price for doing so.

I don’t even want to know how much this is going to cost me. Of course I have insurance, but there will be some bills to pay. All the time off with no pay, the restricted hours of work, and the tendency to feel useless could creep back in quickly. I need to be busy and to be here sitting in “recovery” mode is not something I like. I know I am probably not ready to go back just yet, but I feel like I make a difference in the lives of others, helping them when I am working. I get a total charge out of finding information for people that is exactly what they are looking for. Awesome feeling.

But I am sitting at home and writing this. I could write about some of the interesting patients I encountered while there, but as funny as some of the anecdotes might be, I don’t like using mental illness as a joke. I will laugh about my own stuff, well, maybe not yet the recent bout. But too many people laugh at the actions and words of mentally ill people, who cannot help it. No one decides as a child that they are going to have sick mind when they grow up. No one says they want to grow up to be a crack head or an alcoholic. But some indeed become slaves to addictions. And some people develop mental illness.

The stigma and stereotypes of those who are mentally ill break my heart. Yes, some are dangerous who have reached a point of total disconnect with other people and reality. But even then, they are more likely to be just be wandering the streets, homeless, nameless people. I had chosen to keep my struggle for a constant hold on reality a secret from my family. Only my husband and a few very close people knew for years. My church has even been in the dark, those not long before I went back into the hospital. I finally said something, and no one came up to me after church, with the exception of one woman who also has Bipolar Disorder, which was good. Now she knows she’s not alone and might count me as a possible sounding board.

But the fact that among a room full of people, no one else said one word to me after prayers and church was over. I am very grateful for those who did gather around me and prayed for me, but others stayed away. No hugs, no questions or comments, no one saying they would continue the prayer for me. Two weeks later I was falling apart. (This blog has meandered to the point that the first couple paragraphs seem out of place, but I shall leave them nevertheless. Felt I had to say that so no one thought I was on too many drugs.)

I guess I am writing to say my mental illness doesn’t define who I am. It does shape my life in some ways, but I am a perfectly acceptable soul in the sight of God, who knows what I go through and doesn’t label me as defective. Unless God, in his plan for my life chooses to heal me, I will go through occasional bouts of mania or depression. In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.” (2:10)

God doesn’t make mistakes. I cannot say in all honesty that he made me like this, but here I am, formed in the image of God and good works are everywhere if I will just open my eyes to them. Maybe my hamstrings have been cut, but I can still make a difference in the life of another weary traveler on the narrow path.

In some ways, I am grateful for the creativity and passion that are hallmarks of this disorder. Maybe I wouldn’t be writing the way I do if I had my head on straight. I don’t know, and probably never will. I am 59 years old, and this disorder has progressed some. But God can be counted on to carry me and lead me. He is utterly trustworthy. And I want to go on record as saying I love him.

Well, I thought I had another entry in mind, but this is how it has turned out. To the reader, God loves you more than you can possibly understand. He is thrilled you are his, through Christ Jesus. He dances over you with delight. His joy cannot be contained, and I truly hope you are feeling it as it overflows and rains down on you.  We are his children and he will lead us and care for us more than our earthly fathers ever could. Praise be to God, our rock and our Redeemer.