who preach the word of God in season and out and never fail to make it a balm instead of a brickbat. Tonight he talked about depression, using the book of Job as his text. Until you’ve experienced deep depression, keep your opinions to yourself. The brain is no less an organ than the pancreas, with associated fallen chemicals/hormones/whatever it is that makes it function. If I were diabetic would I feel compelled to make excuses for needing insulin? Or hormones to tame the menopause beast? Then why is depression treated like an invalid problem? Why is emotional or mental or psychic pain treated as personal weakness? Obviously, making the sufferer feel less-than does nothing to speed up or even encourage recovery. If anything, smug attitudes do more to confirm the depressed person’s perspective that life and certain surrounding humans are painful to deal with and need to be avoided. I am speaking as one who has dealt extensively with depression, caused both by physical illness as well as just plain hypersensitivity. Some close to me call it “over-thinking,” and they may be on to something. For me, it is like living with a large area of skinned tissue, or perhaps a place where the blister bubble has pulled away. Hypersensitive? You bet. Now, cover it with a bandage and take the opportunity for friction away. The pain is less and healing can begin in earnest. For me, this is what antidepressants do, the right ones in the right amounts. They are the protective covering over the emotional sores. Why am I like this? I don’t want to blame anyone. It’s more just the luck of the draw – of the genes, I mean. Again, overly sensitive, overly analytical, overly emotional, not in a dramatic way, just feeling too intensely. As I age it has mellowed somewhat, but the basic tendency is never far away. Prayer and faith in Jesus Christ have been the major balm, but I have to also give thanks for the wisdom that God has put within mankind to develop remedies to help people like me. Oh, yes, besides my basic genetic makeup, I fight with COPD and live on prednisone (a steroid) in order to keep my airway open. Anyone who has been on prednisone can vouch that it is a real mood-breaker. Even on a low dose (10 mg/day), it still affects overall body (and brain?) chemistry. So off I go to the herb/alternative health store and try to counter the side effects as best as I can. My understanding is dim at times, and sometimes my mood is even dimmer, and it is then time to retreat to my bed. My sanctuary, my bedroom. No stimulation, no input, no demands. Except, that is, for Jack, when it is time for breakfast…or supper….or when she decides that no human of hers can sleep her life away. Thank you, God, for my lovely kitty, Jack Stripe, aka Great Stripes, Stripedoodle, Stripe-a-lottamus, Perfesser, my friend. A little chow, a few treats, a dripping faucet and a clean cat box, and she is very happy. And I do love her so.
Tags: psychic pain
