Our society in general has a serious problem. Whenever we have a conversation with someone, we ask "How are you?" when 95% of the time we don't actually care. It's one of my greatest pet peeves. With every person in my life that I actually liked, I used to be completely honest in my answer to this question; as a person who's dealt with social anxiety most of my life which led to depression by the time that I hit high school (neither of which were treated until halfway through my college career), my response was usually negative. The thing about social anxiety is that you feel that every single person you come into contact with sees every little mistake you make 100% of the time and thinks the worst of you for it; the thing about depression is that once you fall down that dark hole, you can't even see a glimmer of light that might lead to a way out. So if I hadn't slept well the night before and felt like crap as a result and you asked me how I was doing, I was going to tell you about how I felt crappy because I didn't sleep well the night before. It may not have been positive, but at least it was truthful. Which leads me to another serious societal problem: We don't want to deal with people who can't manage to be happy all the time. Which I get on some level. But if you open the door by asking someone how they are, you ought to at least have the decency to listen and share some sympathy whether or not you think they have a right to feel that way or not (also, newsflash, everyone has a right to their feelings and emotions whether you agree with them or not). Though amongst our friends and family members we have slightly more patience for people's unhappiness, we still expect them to get over it in the time we think as adequate rather than in whatever time they actually need to work through and heal from the situation. After realizing that all but a handful of my "friends" in college had ditched me due to my highly visible depression, I got to a point where my parents are the only ones I ever reach out when I'm so depressed or anxious that I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel because I know they'll still love me when I can't see the ray of hope at the end of the tunnel, and I know for a fact that I'm not the only person who's felt this way. Okay, end of semi-tangent rant. The point? I think that we've lost a piece of humanity when we stop caring about people who are hurting, whether we're in the mood to deal with it or not.
I say this because, particularly after my own life experiences, when people ask me how I'm doing, I don't tell the truth most of the time anymore. If in the past few years you've asked me how I am and I've told you that I've been crappy and then elaborated why, you can count yourself among the privileged few that I actually trust anymore. I wear a mask daily. Everyone else seems to have their life together, so I try to act like mine is too. I try to act like life is great. Whenever I run into a situation that upsets me, I stuff all my emotions. I can hold it in anywhere from minutes to hours to days to weeks. I wait either until I'm alone or until I can't hold it in anymore; and then I cry for hours, sometimes including a panic attack, other times just tears. And when it's done, I start bottling up my negative emotions all over again. But unless someone happens to walk in on the emotional outburst, I rarely tell anyone about it.
I no longer share much on Facebook because I feel like the stuff that makes me happy others will think is dumb (because who cares about the $30 I saved on groceries when they could be looking at pictures of other people's engagements, weddings, and newborns) and sharing anything negative that has happened in my life just makes people think I'm a horrible person. So I don't share. Except sometimes I do.
A part of social anxiety for me is being afraid that I'll say or do something that will make people think that I'm stupid or annoying or worthless to a point that they won't want me in their lives anymore. Which is the reason that when I have many people who have specifically told me to call them when I'm having extreme bouts of anxiety or depression, I always chicken out for fear of losing them, or at least the type of relationship I have with them. My alternative? I send out red flags via Facebook status or blog post. Particularly these days, if I post something online about how crappy and/or hopeless and/or lonely I feel, it means I'm desperate for a friend and don't know where to turn. And I wait for people to reach out from there. Because I'm much less likely to lose a friend when they've made the choice to reach out to me when I'm hurting.
Most of the time this works the way that I need it too. But, conveniently [sarcasm], it's happened that in some of my deepest depressions, my red flags backfire. People decide that they don't want to deal with the fact that I'm hurting and lash out as a result. The first time I recall happened when I was in college. The second time happened just in the last few days. And, given my intense feelings of worthlessness lately (because I seriously feel like a failure in every aspect of my life from the big things like my career all the way down to the time I forgot to bring a doggie bag with me when walking my dog), for the first time in my life I actually wondered if the world would be better off without me. It was a fleeting moment that finally dropped me to the rock bottom I've been approaching for the last couple of months. I say fleeting because the mere thought of "Stained Glass Masquerade" somehow managed to bounce me back out almost immediately afterwards.
"Stained Glass Masquerade" is significant because, for whatever reason, I think Christians are the worst when it comes to not being willing to put up with people who are hurting. I don't say this as a someone who's standing on a political soapbox talking about the big social justice issues that Christians continually get bashed for these days. I'm talking about the everyday, run-of-the-mill hurt that so many people deal with on a daily basis.
It wasn't being out in the world that taught me I had to wear a mask to be accepted; it was in the church. It was in the times that I felt forced to act like I was okay with the status quo because the opinion of someone as young as me didn't matter. It was in the times I felt forced to act like my faith was as strong as ever, even when it was faltering, because I was a model church-going teen. When I learned to wear my mask of "I'm always happy" in the outside world, I soon learned to wear it at church too, because too many times the people that didn't want to hear about my life struggles outside of church were the ones I saw when I was inside the church. This is where my allusion to the Casting Crowns song breaks down - the song is hopeful that the need for a mask is imagined, but to me, it's always been a reality.
Lately the mask I wear is that my faith is unchanged though I feel like it's falling apart. Because, let me tell you, the church still has a lot to learn in dealing with people with mental illness. And I'm not even in an environment that tells me that mental illness is a demon or a punishment or a result of my faith being too weak or of my lack of diligence in prayer or scripture study or devotion. Because for the hundreds of sites that support people and churches dealing with those things, not one exists that talks about how my depression has become so overwhelming that my faith no longer brings me hope. You see, my faith isn't falling apart because my beliefs have changed. It just brings me more pain than it does comfort. I tried starting each day with a devotional that I got from a family friend, and I wound up running late those mornings because I would burst into tears and not be able to stop crying. I dreaded starting each day of vacation bible school with a devotion with the other leaders because the one time I actually started paying attention, I nearly fell apart, tears flowing down my face and nearly having a panic attack because I couldn't hold it together; the week's theme was about how God helps us "stand strong," but every time I've tried turning to God for nearly a year I fall apart - at least when I handle things on my own I can function when necessary. It all makes me feel like there must be something wrong with me because everyone who ever speaks about or writes about the relationship between their faith and mental illness says that it gives them hope and strength. Lately when I try turning to my own faith it leaves me just as hopeless as I felt before and in so much pain that I fall apart below a level of functioning. But none of these things are the way they're supposed to be. So I join the stained glass masquerade. But I don't have the strength to keep it up anymore. I avoid attending worship services anymore; most of the time merely entering the building on Sunday morning sends me straight into a panic attack. Most places, I'd hide in the bathroom, but hiding doesn't work to well when there are only two stalls and usually a line of people waiting. There's no escape. No escape from the people who expect me to be the church-loving model Christian that I was growing up. No escape from the people who expect me to pretend like my life is perfect and I'm always happy. No escape from the people who try to show they care by way of advice that makes me feel worse than I already do. So I avoid the place entirely. And, though I've considered the possibility of going somewhere where I'm unknown so that I'm at least going to church on a weekly basis, Minnesotans have this way of finding visitors and wanting to make them feel welcome; I don't want any attention - I just want to disappear. There's a reason I can still function at church when I'm able to do my own thing rather than in situations when my appearance and behavior are supposed to live up to particular expectations. I am calmest and happiest when I can take off the mask. It's just that I don't often get the chance to do that anymore.
To anyone who managed to make it through that whole thing, props to you as it was kind of a jumble of thoughts that have all been a long time in coming; it just took hitting crisis mode for me to be able to actually write any of it down. It's hopefully the tail-end of my latest string of red flags. And partially one of my many mental illness related messages. So what do I hope you take out of it? If you're going to ask how someone is doing, be willing to listen to their full answer whether you want to hear it or not. If someone has the courage to tell you that they're hurting and struggling in life, it means they need someone to support them not someone to tell them to get over it because their negativity is raining on your parade. And to all the Christ-followers out there, in an ideal world, I'd like to think we could actually put an end to the stained-glass masquerade.
Would your arms be open
Or would you walk away
Would the love of Jesus
Be enough to make you stay
~Casting Crowns, "Stained Glass Masquerade"
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