Adrenaline surged through my body at the thought. It had never crossed my mind before and I didn’t know how to respond.  I had never spent much time thinking about suicide, but in this moment one passing thought of it gave me a rush.

As quickly as the thought came, it went away. I would never do it. It was stupid and selfish–but it had given me a wonderful sense of relief. Imagine being done with it all! No more pressure. No more rejection. No more needing to fight the lies. No more needing to read my Bible and pray every day. It would be over and I could relax. The pain would be gone. For me at least. Yet, I would and could never do it.

Growing up, I never thought of myself as the type to get depressed. Even when I was thirteen and my only comforts were my family, The Lord of the Rings, and my addiction to pornography, I didn’t think of myself as depressed. I never once thought about the fact that–two thousand miles from the only home and friends I had ever known–I might be lonely.

When I was a little boy, I used to imagine the moon-shining criminal, Mr. Taylor, from the Christy films peering down at me every night through the small narrow window in our basement room. That’s why I always slept close to the wall (out of sight), telling myself over and over again he wasn’t there.

That’s how depression came: slow and quiet, like Mr. Taylor, with his rifle in hand, peering down at me in the dark.

I lost all zeal for life. The sweet relationship I thought I had with God at fourteen and fifteen withered right before my eyes at seventeen. The Bible became a dull, dry book that frustrated me more every time I opened it. My prayers bounced around the room before evaporating into thin air.

Still, I kept going. Plugging away, trying to get something out of my relationship with God. But the pep and spark and determination I once had was gone.

Here’s what frustrated me the most then and even baffles me when I face depression now: I don’t know where it comes from.

Sure, I could come up with some pretty good ideas. It may have had to do with my Mom’s death in 2012 or with the rejection I felt growing up. It may have been related to an attempt at dating that didn’t work out or it may have just come from the devil. I usually don’t know.

I think that’s how many people experience depression: It just kind of lands on you without warning and you’re left to grapple with where it came from.

Sometimes, the ambiguity of it is more depressing than anything else.

When I first realized I was experiencing depression, my immediate solution was to pray more, read the Bible more, and journal more. That’s not a bad idea and it worked pretty well at first. But after a while, I realized I was just doing the same stuff over and over again and not getting anywhere. I read scripture and prayed more faithfully than ever before, but I couldn’t jump-start that vibrant relationship I longed to have with God.

I tried all the methods. I prayed, I sang, I read, I renounced, I confessed, I got counseling, I prayed the prayers and praised the praise. I recommitted my life, I drove stakes, I got more counseling, I was even baptized a second time.

It felt like someone was strangling me emotionally. Or, as C.S. Lewis described it, like God was slamming the door in my face.

*KNOCK! KNOCK!* “Hey God–” *SLAM!*

I don’t actually believe God was doing this, but that’s what it felt like.

Depression is a strange, elusive thing, yet–holy. God doesn’t allow us to go through those times without good purpose. This idea, this fact of purpose in all things is incredibly hopeful and life giving and comforting to me now.

But “you’re going through this for a purpose” is not always helpful to know when you’re in the middle going through it.

It’s a lot like having the stomach flu.

When you’re throwing your guts up is it helpful to know your stomach is only hurling itself against your chest cavity to protect you? No. Interesting, maybe, but not helpful.

That’s depression and in that moment, the most helpful thing you can do for someone hurling up their supper is to stand by with a napkin and a glass of water.

I read a TIME Magazine article a while back that said three million 12-17 year-olds had a major depressive episode in 2015. And that over six million teens (13-18) have an anxiety disorder. According to the article, something like 25% of American teenagers have an anxiety disorder. That’s one out of four teens.

That’s 6,300,000 teenagers who struggle with major anxiety.

Teenagers.

(Cover article of the November 7, 2016 issue of TIME Magazine written by Susanna Schrobsdorff.)

This is staggering, but I feel like it’s something I can speak into–if only imperfectly through my own stories and fumbling thoughts.

So, over the next several months, I am going to (to the best of my abilities and experience) explore the problem of depression and anxiety, how it feels to be going through it and how, maybe, we can alleviate this modern epidemic.

I have a few theories as to why so many of my peers and a disturbing amount of Gen-Z-ers are experiencing such sharp anxiety. But that’s all for future posts.

Until then…

If you’re facing the smothering of depression or the strangling of anxiety, know you’re not alone and you will make it. Look at how far you’ve already come!

You are a hero.

Until next time,

Chris

P.S. I would also love to hear from you! What’s your story with depression and anxiety? What resources, exercises, or habits have helped you along the way? Let me know in the comments below, or shoot me an email via my contact page.

P.P.S. To continue following my journey through depression, sign up for my emails on the right hand side bar.