I know that it seems pointless to point out something as obvious as the fact that it is now December. No one seems to need that sort of reminder this time of the year, but that doesn’t lessen the itch to scream it at the top of my lungs: “It is now December! A month that should be celebrated with jolly things and festive moments now that Christmas is officially around the corner!”
While there is no doubt that I am with everyone on that view, I also have the desire to not let this Christmas slip away without a year-end reflection, however upsetting it might be. So today, I am taking my time to tell the tale of how monumental this year has been for me. I am honoring this Christmas with the three experiences no words can describe how thankful I am for: battling depression, seeking the Lord, and its massive repercussions in my life.
Based on how generous I have been with unnecessary details in my previous writings and how little I have actually shared in literality, I cannot claim to be sure that it is easy to interpret what I mean to convey. In describing my feelings, I like to talk in metaphors, the vague the better, to protect not only the secrecy of the nature of the affairs, but also to convince myself that anything comparable to something so mundane must not have been very awful... must it?
But now it is all out in the open. And now you know for sure. For the better part of the year, I was battling something I initially didn’t know the name of. I was in a really dark place where time felt like a major trap sucking you into its spiral deep under. I thought I knew the way out, but nothing was that simple. Happiness seemed more like a pipe dream no matter how much I wanted to believe that it would eventually come.
It finally came to the point where I constantly pondered on how meaningless life was. I felt less like myself and more like a robot: I did what I needed for a living, though nothing other than the basic musts. My thoughts spiraled out of control, and I had trouble sleeping at night even though my body was so tired that it basically begged itself to sleep. When I did fall asleep, I often woke up around two or three because my neck was itching.
If you think the itching kept me busy, boy were you wrong. Anxiety didn't just go away whether or not your mind could multitask. Even then, I was still worried about what might happen in the morning, about what might possibly go wrong. I had blamed the lace on my pillowcase before discovering that depression was the actual bad guy. So my take was that I had changed my pillowcase for nothing since the cycle of waking up in the middle of the night caused by the rash still occasionally happened.
During those days, I was not myself either. I became super sensitive. Everything seemed to happen with the sole purpose of irritating me. My counterattack was to cry like it was the only thing I knew. One moment I was telling a story about how exasperating something had been, and the next thing I knew, I was crying like crazy. It became somewhat like a pathetic habit then. The first time I cried in public, I couldn't control myself. My workmates must have thought that there was something wrong with me because I cried for almost two hours non-stop, filling up two empty rubbish bins with tissue papers (they were very kind though—a senior bought me a chocolate drink as an attempt to cheer me up while the other tried to humor me).
Eventually, I came across the most wretched thought conjured up by the lack of appeal in living. Please note that I didn’t exactly become suicidal—I didn’t ever think about committing suicide—but I definitely thought about how being “unalive” wouldn’t feel so different from being alive. "What is the point of living if you feel so... empty?" Not only that, but a memory of the most miserable ride on a Tuesday morning a few months ago was still vivid in my head. It was one of the most wrecked, one where I thought that it would probably be fine if I were about to be in an accident that I couldn’t survive… well, at least I didn’t need to deal with the other stuff anymore.
Writing it down now, I feel so grateful that none of that happened. I talked to my mother, who then set me up to meet a psychiatrist she knew from church. Ms. C, we will call her here, helped me sort out my feelings. We talked for almost three hours per session, much to my mother's surprise. She led me in seeking the root that might be the cause of every anxiety, though I admit, I hadn't been completely open about everything to her, but baby step was definitely something and laying your soul bare to someone was not an easy thing to do.
Up to this day, I do think sessions with her helped—I can't fathom how grateful I am that she listened—but I know that the primary aid came from Jesus Himself. While I always believe that most things happen for a reason, I also know that those things happen because God allows them to happen. With that said, I strongly believe that He had allowed me to hit rock bottom for so many purposes, one of them was to be closer to Him.
I had always believed in Jesus, there was no doubt in that, but it used to be more like a bare minimum practice as I had not felt the significant thirst. Being depressed was probably my turning point. When I felt so weak like my inside was broken and nothing could ever mend it, I came to Him and begged Him to do anything He saw fit for my life. In my prayers, I said, "God, I am lost. Everything is so disorienting and I am broken. Please, God, I cannot go through this alone. I give You my life to do anything You consider best. Anything. Only with Your guidance I know that I am safe."
It was the flicker of hope that had kept me going, the fact that I had surrendered and let Him work His miracle in my life. It has always been like this since I was a kid: every time I need a reminder, the pastor will usually, miraculously, preach about the needed subject during the Sunday service. It was no different then. I looked forward to going to church because I knew the sermon would strengthen me (thank You, Jesus). And I have longed to be closer to Him ever since.
If this post worries you, I thank you for your concern but I assure you there is no need. I am completely fine now. With His help, I have eventually healed while at the same time becoming a stronger daughter as well as a faithful believer. I consider this as the most monumental Christmas present ever: that everything falls into place perfectly well, and I am where I should be right now.
Believing costs you nothing, so let us start doing it with all of our heart. Let this Christmas be more than just an obligatory celebration. I hope you will be interested to do just the same.
