Waking up to the extent of my mental illness

Alan Reader
Aug 24, 2017 · 4 min read

This week I’m going to my doctor to discuss something that has been a long time coming… I’m finally planning to start on medication to manage my anxiety and depression.

I don’t really know what I thought the extent of my struggles with mental illness were, but for a number of years I’ve assumed that I can and should do better, I should have greater motivation than I do, I should have a higher capacity than I have, that my actions should better align with my values and that I just have to try harder.

But talking to my psychologist this past week I found myself admitting that I have just purely run out of energy to move forward —

Earlier this year I dropped from 100% study load right back to 25%. I assumed that doing this would free me up to get my life in order, to get organised, to see a significant improvement toward being a better student, and to be a better available husband and friend. All this I thought I could achieve with A. the sage advice of my psychologist and B. time. None of this has happened. Instead, I’ve found myself almost immobile as I’m waking up to just how much mental illness actually impacts my life, and how stress-driven action was the only reason I was achieving much at all.

— my shrink described it as trying to run with a giant parachute attached to my back.

That finally clicked with me this week.

I’ve always been able to describe my situation, and given the space, been able to reflect on and realise the kind of self-talk and situational responses I’ve exhibited. Given the right environment I have always been able to abstract my true self from my struggles, even if only for a conversation. I suppose that is like being able to observe the landscape behind me, and the path ahead of me. Being strangely optimistic when discussing challenges, I’ve always been able to suggest to a boss/friend/medical practitioner helpful and wise routes forward. For me, mental illness seemed a challenge of the will. Can I win the fight between action and paralysis, enthusiasm and exhaustion?

But the illustration of the parachute finally made me realise that it’s not enough to be able to describe, not enough to be able to reflect, not enough to be making plans, but I actually needed some sort of help to cut the cables and make some progress.

When I turned 10, my parents bought me a mountain-bike. My brother (20) already had a fantastic bike and I looked forward to the day that I could have my own, because he was the coolest and I wanted to be like him in virtually every way possible. Eventually I got one, but to begin with I was actually too small for that bike. My first ride of it, my dad had to give me a massive push to get the momentum going, as I was simply not strong enough to turn those pedals myself without losing my balance and falling off. And not just that first ride, but many rides. It took a lot of external help and a lot of practice to be strong enough to be able to ride it. It’s funny how the analogy of the bike parallels my mental struggles, because once I was able to ride autonomously, months later I collided with a street sign riding down hill. There are just some things that one needs help to do, and help to recover from.

As a Christian this should not have been surprising to me. My life is predicated on a theological commitment to grace. As I express faith in Jesus, I am acutely aware that there are areas of my life that I need help to succeed (or stay afloat), and its only through the grace of God and the ministry of the Holy Spirit that I can expect to make progress in holiness and love of God. But in the matter of the will, and in the day to day — cleaning the dishes, answering emails, talking to others at lunch, answering the phone, writing assignments — I expected far more from myself than, in the sovereignty of God, I have had the capacity to do.

So this week I’m increasing the extent of external help.

Drugs aren’t the solution. They bring their own set of challenges. Tackling mental health as a Christian necessarily assumes prayerfulness, acknowledging gospel truths, and seeking the support of church family. This is making the most of the resources already granted to me by the grace of God. But medication is part of a strategy that tips the scales of physiology in my favour, because the battle is not just logical like I’ve been living, but also in my chemical make up.

The plan is to release the parachute and slowly but surely make some steps forward. Rebuilding capacity for relationships, study and service is the goal.

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Alan Reader

Written by

Moore Theological College student, follower of Jesus, Sydney sojourner, sometimes classical composer. Loves coffee too much, enjoys English Football.

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