When I was a very young boy, I would occasionally go shopping with my mother. And like most kids would, I had much fun hiding in the middle of the clothes racks. I would push the clothes aside and step into a strange and forbidden new territory. Sure, Mom might become a little annoyed, but it was worth it to test my boundaries a little and to have some fun at least for as long as she would put up with it. The circular racks were my favorite because there was a hole in the center that was just my size where no one could see me.

Sometimes, I would emerge from my hidey hole only to find that my mother was gone, and I didn’t know where she was. I remember feeling a sudden tinge of panic, a bitter, acidic feeling in my gut, and my mind snapping to attention. I would look for her in haste and become upset if I couldn’t find her. Sometimes when I couldn’t find her, I honestly feared that she had forgotten about me and left without me. I might even have cried once or twice, which would result in a caring stranger helping me to find my mother. A few times, the store even paged her to come to the customer service desk and claim her lost child.

Looking back, I wonder about that fear of being forgotten. In truth, it’s more like being forsaken by those I depended upon the most. My mother did not forsake me. Let’s get that right. It was only my fear, but that did not stop my mind nor my heart from thinking and feeling so. At that point in my life, I truly believed I could easily be forgotten by the people closest to me, simply left behind and never thought of again. In my heart, I completely understood that I was totally dependent on my mother and at the same time I worried that she would not be there for me. I haven’t completely outgrown that mindset. I recognize my dependence on many people in my life like my mom, family, friends, my spouse, my boss, etc… but I frequently fear that I will not be able to count on them when needed because in my mind, whether it is true or not, I am not well-liked and can easily be overlooked, forgotten, and disregarded. Not to mention the fact that everyone has their own struggles to deal with, and so why would anyone also bother with mine?

I am highly introverted and generally do not share my needs or feelings with people. I have been that way for as long as I can remember. When it comes to being around others, I don’t think I even acknowledge my feelings or give my feelings any space. I fear that it would be wrong of me to lay my burdens or to lean on anyone. I also fear that no one else would understand my feelings. In that regard, it is indeed easy for people to overlook me. I am usually quiet, don’t share much, and avoid interacting with people. I am one of the most unassertive people on the planet and just keep things to myself. As you can probably imagine, I also suffer from low self-esteem.

Naturally, this mindset strongly affects my relationship with God. The fact is that God loves people, all of us including me, enormously. His concern for each of us is intimate and personal, so much so that Jesus tells us to consider our relationship with God as that between a loving father and a child. God is there for us always. Yet, I regularly have this worry that God might actually forget about me, or that I will be forsaken. There I am hiding within the clothes racks of life, keeping to myself, and absent from the larger world. When I emerge, will God still be there? Will I fear and panic again if I can’t find him? I understand God’s promises and plan of salvation extend to all of his people, but I sometimes have this nagging feeling that I am not worth noticing, unlike everyone else, and may be left out.
 

I have always been captivated by snowfall. Countless, fluffy white flakes falling slowly to the ground. Each one taking its own path and time to get there. It’s mesmerizing to me and feels like the world stops for a moment as the flakes almost hang in the air. It is absolutely one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. As I was watching the snow this morning, the beauty and purity of each flake impressed upon me, and I thought how each flake was a brilliant example of God’s creative power and awesomeness. God had somehow touched or was even in each snowflake. Then my thoughts turned to myself, and I became very uncomfortable with the thought that God has somehow touched or is within me. A snowflake? Sure, but not me! I just couldn’t accept that thought because it is unnatural and uncomfortable for me to think of myself in a positive way.

Many people with depression have great difficulty accepting the notion that they are themselves good or worthy. Actually, it is much deeper than that. For me, it feels like a conviction, a deeply held belief, that one is just no good at all and unredeemable, separate from everyone else because you don’t have value like others do. Incessant thoughts assail the depressed individual saying things like: “You are horrible”, “You are no good”, “You’re a piece of crap”, “Everybody hates you”, “It would be better if you didn’t exist”, etc… It is relentless, and at times you can even feel the self-hatred in those seemingly uncontrollable thoughts. It keeps you down and from embracing goodness outside of yourself and is at times nearly impossible to stop on your own.

Withdrawal is a huge part of depression. Self-negative thoughts and feelings make you feel alone and isolated. As a result, our world becomes small as we pull away from relationships, interests, and interactions seemingly to make things more manageable, simpler, and to get a grip on things. However, in being small and insignificant you stop caring about the world around you, and it perpetuates the problem by reinforcing the self-negative attacks. “See how worthless you are?” “See how no one wants anything to do with you?” It reaffirms all of the negative feelings we had about ourselves and becomes difficult to escape.

I guess that the purpose of the self-negative thoughts and self-criticisms is to push oneself into isolation. They very effectively reaffirm my belief in my own worthlessness, deepen depression, and stifle any desire to connect with anyone else. They are an enemy. In fact, a friend of mine who also has major depression firmly believes the negative self-thoughts are a personal attack from the devil and must be resisted. Yet, I also view those thoughts as a protector of sorts. The push to isolation is a survival instinct in that the purpose is to avoid hurt and pain by getting out of those situations that cause it. As my therapist has often reminded me, the self-negative thoughts are a survival instinct I developed long ago in dealing with traumatic childhood experiences.

So, why do I feel that I am no better than a snowflake? Of course, I know it is irrational. Obviously, no one, including myself, is less worthy than a snowflake, right? Doesn’t Luke 12:6-7 tell us, “Don’t worry. You are worth more than many sparrows.” (Admittedly, I aways had trouble relating to that verse.) The withdrawal and self-negative abasements are not rational. It is not a conscious decision by someone with depression to be this way, at least I don’t believe so. The persistent, self-condemning feelings are simply a part of the disease. Realizing one’s own worth and place in God’s kingdom is hard because it is contrary to how the disease makes you feel and what to believe about yourself.
 

Imagine that You Fall: Katie's Story

By: Katie H. 
 

You sit there, at the bottom of the abyss, enveloped by darkness; the only thing you have now is your thoughts. You notice that there are people above you, yelling down to you; they lower a rope. This is the only chance you have to get out – pure willpower. You clench your jaw and muster up all the strength you have, and you start climbing. You get halfway up, and you fall again. You do this for hours. Your hands are bloody and throbbing – you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You are weak and exhausted; your hope wears thin. Days have passed now. You lie in the fetal position and all you can feel is the darkness surrounding you. You hear the voices above. They tell you to get up, to keep going, to not lose hope. But how could they possibly know what it feels like? They are above, and I am below.

Listen to an excerpt read by Katie 

Read More

Nearly three decades after graduation, I visited my high school for Homecoming Day in Japan. I asked my husband to join me because I wanted to share the story about a pendulum wall clock donated by the family of my classmate. I was glad that the clock was still playing the march of time. My classmate, and the family's beloved son and brother, was the first loss of the Class of 83.

I paused and listened to the tick-tock of the clock, beating like a heart. Shadows of thousands of students, their teenage dreams, the ebb and flow of their hopes, crossed my mind. My husband asked, "Is this in memory of someone or in honour of something?" I answered, "Neither. No one told us the truth..." My husband looked puzzled.

On an early day in our senior year, teachers announced that a boy in our grade had died in a local hospital due to unexpected complications from a ruptured appendix. The news silenced our classrooms. He was not a close friend. But I attended his funeral because his mother had been my fifth grade teacher. The hollow-eyed expression of my previously lively teacher conveyed her deep despair, pain and defeat. She looked like a ghost. A few days after the funeral I accidentally learned from a family friend, who had chatted with the boy in the hospital while he was recovering from a heart attack, that the boy had killed himself while on a suicide watch. I started putting together puzzles. It was not a burst appendix.

Time passed quickly that year. College entrance exams, a major rite of passage in Japan, were our individual and collective goals. We marched on like soldiers on a mission. After a rather brief mourning period, no one talked about him for the remainder of the year. His parents donated the clock several months after his passing. Every time I walked by the clock, I experienced survivor guilt. I kept the truth to myself. He did not graduate with us. His pictures survived in the Yearbook. The Class of 83 parted that year without knowing the true cause of his death.

More suicides followed throughout my adult life. My heart sank every time I saw a "sudden passing" in the obituaries in newspapers. I developed a ritual that I would say a prayer to their crafted obituaries. I never stopped wondering if the first lost friend of the Class of 83 could have been found and saved.

Today I flip the Yearbook again. I put the pictures from the teenage years and a reunion dinner from ten years ago side-by-side. My classmates had aged. They went to good schools, found good jobs and built careers, started families and businesses, and became leaders in their respective fields. Few took a sabbatical from life. We all kept on marching, as wounded soldiers would do. We had been on an unspoken mission: to keep living. I salute the Class of 83 from afar, praying that we will not lose to suicide any more classmates or friends, siblings, children, grandchildren, or parents.

The narrative of suicide has been the same: Silence. Shame. Stigma. Scars. It is our collective duty to change the narrative. Today I share the story behind the pendulum clock and the ruptured appendix after almost four decades of silence. It still hurts. I speak today on a new mission: to accompany those who can be found and saved and those who lost their classmates or friends, siblings, children, grandchildren, or parents to suicide.

A Field Hospital for the Traumatised
By Annemarie Paulin-Campbell, Jesuit Institute South Africa

The Department of Health recently reported that more than 6.5 million people in South Africa need professional mental health care. Of this, they said, 1.3 million people need help for severe psychiatric conditions. However, we only have facilities and personnel to cater for 0.3 percent of people who need help. In the annual mental state of the world report from Sapien Labs, South Africa scored the lowest average score on the mental health wellbeing scale.

The intergenerational legacy of apartheid, violent crime, alarming rates of gender-based violence, as well as crises like the Covid pandemic, the July 2021 riots and the floods in KZN have all contributed to high levels of trauma.

Even those of us who have been fortunate to not have had a seriously traumatic experience may be vicariously traumatised because we are close to others who have. We all carry the burden of living in a traumatised society.

The impact of trauma can make it difficult to function. One may experience flashbacks, nightmares, an inability to focus, difficulty sleeping and physical illnesses. Trauma can result in chronic anxiety or depression. It can also lead to escaping the pain through alcohol or substance abuse addictions.

Trauma can impact our relationships with others and our ability to relate to God. We may feel that God is powerless or has abandoned us. It can be difficult to pray because in times of silence we may battle with intrusive memories of our trauma. We might be aggressive and irritable ­– and that can alienate others around us when we most need their support.

There should be easily accessible counselling for all, and we need to advocate for more resources in the area of mental health. We also need to address the root causes of many of the societal problems that result in trauma.

While all of this is critical, the church should be a safe place for healing to take place.  Pope Francis’ image of the church as a “field hospital” is powerful. He says: “the thing the church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful… and you have to start from the ground up. Instead”, he says, “the church has sometimes locked itself up in small things, in small-minded rules.” [1]

This misplaced focus on rules is evident in the experience of people I accompany who have left the church because they have felt misunderstood, judged and unwelcome at moments in their lives when they were most pained and vulnerable.

All too often our churches are places where people can experience additional trauma because they feel excluded or judged. Our church community should be a place of loving welcome, safety and healing for traumatised people and many who are battling under the weight of life’s burdens.
Ultimately the church should be a place where God’s healing touch can be experienced through the ministry of the attentive presence of each one of us. We are the church and it is up to us to create that safely for each other. How will you help your church community to become the “field hospital” Pope Francis urges us to be?

By Richard Collyer from the Archdiocese of San Franciso

The Christmas season can intensify the lows of our emotional and spiritual struggles.

So, how do we navigate if we are experiencing anxiety and despair in our lives? How can we move from feeling helpless to hopeful?

These are important questions that need to be addressed. Like most of you, I have suffered many ups and downs in life and struggled at times with the feeling of complete helplessness. The only thing, I believe, that got me through those times is the grace of God. Certainly, the COVID-19 pandemic has added significantly to our mental health challenges in simply dealing with everyday life.

Our faith is surely being tested; however, faith untested is unreliable. We don’t really know how strong we are until we face those challenges in our lives that push us to the limit.

So, let me ask you – Are you stuck in despair? Are you falling into addictions? Do you feel helpless? Are you overwhelmed by the impact of COVID? Don’t know where to turn for help? As we fast approach the end of 2021, you may be stuck in the mud. You just can’t make any progress and are feeling completely overwhelmed. Let’s explore some ways of getting us to a better place. Remember a new beginning is coming soon – the birth of Jesus.

Holy toolbox

We as Catholics have many tools available to us, tools other Christian denominations don’t have. In addition to the healing power of the Mass, I would like to focus on three others that you might think of as a “holy toolbox.”

The first is adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. When is the last time you just sat in front of Jesus with an open heart to listen and hear what the Holy Spirit has to say to you? During the Christmas season we are surrounded with so much activity and distractions. Try just being quiet with the Lord. There are no formulas; just bring a loving heart. You will not be disappointed.

The second tool is the sacrament of reconciliation. We are all sinners and need to cleanse the messiness and sin out of our lives. Wouldn’t it be great if we prepare for the birth of Christ by allowing God to heal our wounds and cleanse our hearts? Get a new start on life by taking advantage of this wonderful sacrament. There is no better time than right now.

The third tool is a most powerful weapon we have as Catholics, the rosary. As we face the “battles” in our daily lives, why not call on the Blessed Mother to pray for and with us. Remember, she saw her son die on the cross for us. She understands our anxiety, grief, struggles and despair better than anyone. Give yourself the gift of spending time with Our Lady, as she is waiting for us.

Christ in all seasons

In addition to these tools, we have a patron saint for those suffering with anxiety and depression – St. Dymphna. You might be interested in checking out her story and spending time in prayer with her. Her feast day is May 15. (www.ourcatholicprayers.com/prayer-to-st-dymphna.html)

I don’t know about your current situation, but I hope this helps you prepare for the coming of Jesus. Remember, the birth of Jesus is just around the corner; hope is near. We can always count on the Christ Child to lead us to a better place.

I would like to end with a reflection on a homily that my wife and I heard from a priest many years ago. I reflect back on it from time to time to help me see the bigger picture in my own life. He described life as a puzzle full of many pieces and when we look at some they don’t seem to fit. Some pieces have ragged edges while others have smooth edges and fit easily into the picture. But there are some that just seem completely out of place.

If you have ever put a jigsaw puzzle together, you know what I mean. There are always a couple of pieces that you just want to throw away because you can’t see where they will ever fit. Don’t throw them away because you are going to need them someday. That one piece that makes no sense today will eventually complete the whole picture.

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Everything changed that day. I have grappled with my mental illness all of my life, but the struggle ended when I no longer felt like fighting. I quit being me that day – walked out on myself and moved on.

Since then I have lived with emptiness in my heart. I know that I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore, that the person I used to be is no more, and that the illness will not go away. I am deeply sorry that the spirit for life I used to possess has been so tarnished. I wish I could change that.

So now I wonder what path I should take. Going back to who I used to be is not possible. I can’t fight against the illness anymore because I now know that it is part of me, and one cannot fight against oneself.

It makes me feel powerless. I don’t know how to go forward because I don’t know myself anymore and therefore do not believe in myself. In the frustration of it all, my inclination is to simply give up. I can’t steer this ship! So, I go on fulfilling my duties to the best of my ability often times unemotionally, with an empty heart, and regretfully.

My hope lies in my desire. Through it all, I have a strong heartfelt desire to be better than this. I want to live a life that pleases God. I want God’s love, spirit, and life to fill my soul because that way I will be complete and know that my life is as it should be with nothing to fear. I can’t trust in myself anymore. My trust has to be in God, and I pray that little by little I may learn how.
 

by Marilee George
Without your guidance, O Saint Dymphna I would surely be alone
with the disease that plagues me
You give me comfort
You give me hope
You help me see the truth
That I have self-worth
And there is help for me
There is no shame in my condition
And for all who seek compassion
There should be greater understanding Through all your inspiration
For those of us with mental illness Must find the self-esteem
To rid the world of stigma
And be the best we can be.
 

by Michael Barnauskas

PRAY AND BELIEVE
When darkness surrounds you like a storm And you feel alone and worn
When the sky turns all gray
And you can’t find your way
When your heart is weary
Filled with grief and dismay
Do with diligence and sincerity
Seek the Lord and pray
With believing the clouds will break away Sun begin to shine
And brighten up the day
Miracles do happen
This message to you I leave
Don’t give up on God’s answer
Only pray and believe

ETERNITY TRIALS
Greater competition of life’s game is found
In those who must compete against themselves
In drugs, alcohol and loneliness
While spectators watch from linen covered shelves Who is to say they are lost
Or they are ruined
When tossed upon life’s stormy sea
We watch, feet held fast upon dry land
For the test of the strong
Is not on the bleachers arm in arm
Eating popcorn and drinking soda pop
But down there in the bloody area
Where soldiers by the hundreds drop
So let more thought be given
As to just who is the living
For what is life
But that which never dies
’Midst temptations tall and failing tries


About the Author: Michael Barnauskas, one of seven children, grew up just outside of Scranton, PA. he received his elementary education in a six-grade, two-room school house and graduated from Johnson Trade School. Michael chose to become a carpenter, because Jesus was a carpenter. He found out after all that Jesus is more than just a carpenter. He served in Vietnam with the U.S. Navy Seabees dong construction for the war effort. In civilian life he worked as a carpenter and owned a roofing and siding business. He lost everything due to ill health and ended up in a rooming house for homeless men. There he worked as a desk clerk and maintenance man. During his life he suffered from some mental problems (depression and schizophrenia) , which he triumphed over by faith in God and help offered. He now lives in the old homestead with family and is retired. He spends his spare time enjoying family and friends, reading scripture, faith-inspiring books, writing, and taking in the beauty that surrounds us.

by John
My walk of faith started as a child. My dad had me study the Baltimore Catechism and we rarely missed Sunday Mass. I have always believed in God. And, I have always sought God.

It so happened that alcoholism runs in my family (I have six brothers and sisters and four have had issues). This is not very uncommon with Irish heritage.

I started drinking when I was fifteen years old. My first drunk ended up in a black out and alcohol poisoning. I will never forget that day. That was the year 1982.

I drank intermittently throughout high school. In the second semester of my senior year, I began to smoke marijuana.
I attended a college in Los Angeles and continued to drink and smoke marijuana. It was not that uncommon amongst my colleagues.

In the Spring of 1986, as a sophomore in college, I began to have my first psychotic break. Before I ended up in the psychiatric hospital, I climbed the Hollywood Sign. I began to have strong religious ideation and I thought I was the Second Coming of the Messiah. Well, it turns out my roommate at the hospital was having a manic episode as well, with religious ideation. He, too, thought he was the Return of Jesus. His name was Chris and he was a Catholic priest. We decided that he would be the Messiah and that I was to be John the Baptist. This is a true story.

I was put on a medicine called lithium, which is a common treatment for Bipolar I disorder. I got stabilized and left the hospital to return back to college.

I had to drop out that spring semester because I stopped taking my lithium and began another manic episode. This time I baptized two teenagers at a local beach in Orange County. I was homeless that night. I returned to the hospital, which would be the last of my stays at a psychiatric facility. However, while there, I had an AWOL attempt, but finished my stay. I was placed on an immediate 5150 hold and had a nurse follow me around, a term called a “one on one.”

When I was got out of the hospital, I convalesced at my parent’s home. I had to drop out that semester.
The doctor who treated me at the hospital never once asked if I drank or smoked marijuana. I returned to school and continued to drink and smoke marijuana daily.

I finished college a semester late in the month of December, 1988.

Immediately, I entered an outpatient program for chemical dependency and was introduced to the original 12-step program, Alcoholics Anonymous. I had one relapse on alcohol but today I am blessed to say that my sobriety date is still December 20, 1989. Therefore, I celebrated thirty years of sobriety last year. I forgot to mention that in the spring of 1989, while sober, I had my last psychotic break. I got kicked out of a recovery home and fired from Disneyland in a total of twenty minutes!

On July 20th, 1990, with exactly eight months of sobriety, I got on my knees and welcomed the Holy Spirit into my life. It was a game changer. The experience was electric and I have been praying daily since that Friday night!

The journey has been long and hard. I had the obsession for alcohol twice, but I was able not to drink.

God is a big part of my life today. I believe it is He who has kept me sober all of this time. I take my medication daily and continue my recovery.

Today, I have the privilege to work in a psychiatric hospital, where I can relate and give hope to its residents.
There is no mystery to my success: God is in my life and I am aware of it.

Individuals who struggle with alcoholism or mental health challenges can and do recover. It is very important to have a Higher Power and an informed and supportive community to aid in this effort.

I am so blessed to be where I am right now, and it is by no mistake, that my faith has brought me here
 

I had been a successful businessman for 30 years starting as a field engineer in the electronics manufacturing industry and then rising to sales manager to vice president to president.

It started as a family company. But that was a bug, not a feature. A lot of drama and a lot of trauma. It taught me a lot of lessons. Finally, I was able to escape and came out of it okay.

The company grew and then we hit a meteoric streak. Our sales quadrupled. But there is always a fine line in business. If you do a poor job, you lose. Sometimes, even if you do too good a job you lose as well. Business can be a tightrope and I had been walking that tightrope for 30 years.

I had known this going in and had cautioned our staff to focus on the big picture, on expanding the company in other areas. But the money was good and it is very hard to focus on the hard work when it is so much easier to follow the money. The Great Recession hit.

At the same time at home we could see our son, Max, deteriorating. He was living on the street here or in a tenement in the Tenderloin District in San Francisco. He was deep in his addiction, self-medicating as he experienced more frequent psychotic episodes. He fell into a deep funk and decided to end his life.
He called his mother to say goodbye. Luckily, she was able to talk to him and he told her where he was. I was on the other phone with the San Francisco police and he was found and taken to the hospital again. He was spiraling downwards.

On the business front it was very good until it was not. We had found that our largest supplier had set up an American subsidiary and was restricting our sales. They were cutting out the middleman. The inevitable was happening.

I was experiencing what was happening to Maxwell and what was happening to my life’s work and suddenly realized that I was getting God’s wake up call. I began preparing for a change in course.

I was trying to save my business. I eventually had to close the company and start over with a new venture. But God had other plans. I started the new company but the market changed and our customers had either moved overseas or slowed down. And after getting pounded twice in 18 months, that was it. I was on the street at the age of 59. I was at rock bottom emotionally and psychologically.

As a businessman I realized that behavioral health care is a major part of our economy. It is also one of the most poorly managed parts of the economy. One of the definitions of mental illnesses is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, and yet this was our behavioral health system. I realized that not only were we doing it wrong, but that nothing had changed in 40 years.

Then something else happened. Our local Catholic Bishop and Pastor Rick Warren of Saddleback Church joined together to hold one of the first ever conferences on faith and mental health; The Gathering on Mental Health & The Church.

Speakers and experts from all over the country addressed the issues directly and without varnishing the facts. Serious mental illness can be scary. People with serious mental illnesses can be scary. They act out. They talk to themselves. They discomfort others. But this is not true with 95% of persons with mental illnesses. The Bishop and Pastor Rick realized that we need to change the way we regard mental illnesses and the people who have them and that the faith community has a vital role to play.

The surveys and studies tell us that the first place many individuals and families go to for help when in crisis is their faith community. And yet the faith community has not been educated in working with behavioral disorders. The average faith leader may get a semester of psychology and perhaps a day or two on mental illness or addiction. We as people of faith were unprepared.

It was there that I finally realized that maybe God had other plans for me. After listening to so many voices calling for change I realized that maybe I should be part of that change. The tap on my shoulder was very strong.

The first place to start was at my own church. After all, a large part of faith is community. Very few people are trained training in mental health and the same fears and stigmas exist among congregations as they do anywhere else. This was something we could change. It is these kinds of small steps that change the world.

An announcement was put in the bulletin and several people showed up and we formed a mental health ministry. We weren’t the first. There were plenty of resources on line. Others had prepared a path for us. We found that the most important thing was to get a buy-in from our pastor. Luckily, he had gone to the same conference and was deeply moved. He was wholeheartedly in favor.

We held our first event and over 250 people showed up from all over. On different evenings through the next few years we would address issues such as Teen Health or PTSD or Depression & Anxiety. We found that people had a thirst for knowledge and were joyful that the Church was leading the way. It didn’t matter which church. Now, a lot of congregations across the spectrum of faith are doing similar things, hosting support groups or forums or simply focusing on welcome and acceptance.

I found myself on a completely different path from being a rather self-centered suburbanite to being a teacher and at the same time a student. This was all new to me and still is.

I first took classes and went to events and later I began teaching families and friends on how to understand the illnesses. I was getting a crash course on compassion and hope.

Like our family, for individuals or families in mental health crisis it feels like suddenly being in a very small boat on a very stormy sea. The red lights flash and the ambulance pulls away, or your loved one is in the back of a police car being transported to jail or the hospital.

Lightning crashes down and the waves break over the bow and you become completely disoriented very quickly. The calm and peace of our prior lives has been shattered.

No one expects the major crises of mental illness or addiction; the psychosis or the suicide attempt. Suddenly the world is upside down and you are in an emergency room and your family member is handcuffed to a gurney and no one is saying very much. If you are lucky, someone might direct you to help. Or not.

There is a class taught by the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) called Family to Family. It is transformational for family members.

Entering that classroom, you immediately see others who are in similar crisis, maybe not as bad or maybe worse, but you are all there together and that spark of hope appears that helps us keep going.

Over the next weeks the class discusses the illnesses of the mind, about medications and about treatment options. It teaches coping skills, about how to deal with crisis, about self- care, and becoming an advocate for your family member. It helps the participants to rebuild shattered lives and help their ill family member become the best possible version of themselves.

When I took that class, my eyes were opened. Suddenly I began to understand Maxwell’s illness and the torment that he lived in. His hatred for some of the medications that affected his spirit and his physical health. The compromises that he had to make in his fight for meaning and even existence. Back when I surfed I would sometimes get crossways with a wave and get hammered down to the bottom, trying to catch my breath and swim to the surface. This was Maxwell’s world every single day.

I also realized that Mawell’s death had meaning. That he did not die in vain. That maybe I could take my experience and help others through crisis. And maybe even change the system
 

by Matt Holzmann

                              

WHAT DOES DEPRESSION FEEL LIKE
Author:Anonymous
Many people seem to consider depression as feeling excessive sadness, or maybe as feeling deep and prolonged sadness without an appropriate reason. As someone who has chronic major depression, I can attest to the overwhelming and persistent sadness that depression brings.

However, sadness is not really what depression is like for me. More than anything else I live with an almost complete loss of spirit. Depression creates in me the conviction of not caring anymore, defeatism. There are feelings of worthlessness and unworthiness, and being convinced that I am completely separate and apart from all others because I am not worth being cared for.

Sadness is an aspect of what depression feels like for me, but it is the loss of spirit and withdrawal from others that are the dominant traits of depression within me. In fact, I often don’t feel sadness or any other emotion when depression attacks. Rather, I live with the cold hard facts of my unworthiness as an unemotional reality.

In my experience, depression ebbs and flows. Some aspect of it is always residing within me, but I am often unaware of it. At those times, I feel as if there is nothing wrong with me. I feel that I am perfectly fine and do not have any mental health issues. In this state of mind it’s even difficult to imagine or recollect what depression felt like the last time I became stuck in it. At other times, depression peaks and life is very different. I am significantly less able to function in my life during those times.

Mental illness is not obvious or constant. Many times someone who has a mental illness seems, and may actually be at that moment, completely unaffected by it. I have noticed this with other people I know who have a mental illness too. Much of the time it is impossible to tell someone has an illness, which makes understanding and accepting what the person actually deals with more difficult. It’s hard to understand how someone (or oneself) who has the ability to be “just fine” one moment can later be overcome by the mental illness.

The truth is that depression fluctuates with time between mild and extreme, and that one simply does not have the power to choose to not feel the effects of depression when it rises. Living with the ups and the downs of depression is both confusing and frustrating.
 

The Jesus Prayer, Mantras, and Meditation by Richard Murry

Repetition, rhythm, harmony, and beauty are the creative base of music, poetry, and other kinds of art. We are attracted to goodness, beauty, and truth. We are attracted to music and poetry.

A mantra is connected to this reality.
...

The Jesus Prayer is a specifically Christian form of prayer. It is like a mantra (although technically, it’s not a mantra, but it’s own category of prayer). It involves the name of Jesus and a plea for God’s mercy, which is God’s own love that sustains the universe from one moment to the next.

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Other reflections by Richard Murry at "Scripture Finds"

Prepared by Monina Mulleague

Sit in stillness, noticing your breath
and the unique rhythm of your heartbeat.
Read Psalm 139. Enter into prayer. Then, take time to reflect
upon your deepest identity, an identity conceived in God.


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SPIRITUALITY AND MENTAL ILLNESS

A Healing Spirituality for People with Mental Illness and for Those Who Care for People with A Mental Illness

By Deacon Tom Lambert, Chicago Archdiocese Commission on Mental Illness

We are people with a mind, body, and soul/spirit. To become “wholly” human and “holy” human is to be aware of all three and to work at keeping all three healthy. Just as we need to take care of our body and our mind so too, we need to take care of our soul or spiritual side. We need to eat right and keep in good physical condition; we need to keep our minds well by learning and keeping our minds active. When we have an illness, physical or mental, we need to get good treatment for the illness. So too we need to work at growing spiritually. Especially when we feel distant from God. Developing our spirituality comes through prayer and meditation/contemplation in concert with good spiritual advice and caring for each other. These are tools we use to touch that which is deep inside us, at the center of our existence.

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