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Wow, y'all! I had quite a few questions about my previous post, specifically how Jesus has helped "heal" my suffering. So, here it is!
First, though, a teensy bit of background.
I received my diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder when I was a freshman in high school. However, I suffered with the illness for as long as I can remember.
In the early nineties, not much at all was understood about anxiety disorders, much less how they affected children. People thought I was just a "nervous Nelly". I was constantly in a state of emotional discomfort and didn't know how to fix it. Family and friends didn't always understand. It can be frustrating and exhausting loving someone with mental illness.
My parents always gave great advice for handling stress and worries. Daddy told me to take long, slow breaths to slow my heart down when I panicked. Momma told me to talk to God when I became scared about a strange thought. So I breathed and prayed. A lot.
They were great ideas. Until the thoughts increased in frequency and intensity. Then, slowing down my breathing didn't always work. And sadly, prayer began to cause greater panic.
I knew, without any doubt, that God loved me. I knew that He was with me at all times. And I knew that He wanted to see me healed. But as my previous post explains, OCD forces a completely rational person to believe irrational things. Because I knew that God is never-changing, I assumed that I must be doing something wrong. I wasn't praying correctly, or I had sinned so terribly that He was punishing me.
Suddenly, I found myself despairing. As these feelings got worse, finding the "right" prayer became its own obsession. Which was a huge problem, because prayer was my go-to compulsion, the one thing that could soothe me.
Well-meaning loved ones tried to help by suggesting scriptures to read or specific prayers to recite. I spend exorbitant amounts of time in prayer. Sounds holy, but I had come to a point where I couldn't function well, so hyper-focused was my obsession. But it still brought me no peace.
I had a bit of a breakdown when I was 14. I was on a Greyhound bus in the parking lot of my high school, heading out on a trip with the marching band. A panic attack had gripped me that morning, and something just snapped. I lost all control of my thoughts, I couldn't breathe. I had to leave, had to get off the bus. I stood, walked to the bus door, and yelled to stop driving. That's the last thing I remember of that day, and the few days that followed.
After an appointment with the family doctor, I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder and began a daily dose of escitalopram. I finally had a diagnosis and a way to control it. Oh my word, it was the first time that I felt normal! I thought I was healed!
Over the next several years, through high school and college, my OCD was pretty well controlled with the meds. Oh, sure, I still had intrusive thoughts and obsessions. But I was better equipped to say "no" to my compulsions. I still had some setback days, particularly in winter time, but I now knew enough about my illness that I could get through the tough times.
I must admit that throughout my life, I questioned God, asking why He would create me with such a huge deficit. Was it because I had done something wrong? Or was it to teach some spiritual lesson? Was it some kind of test, like those Job endured? For years I prayed for the wisdom to learn the answer, telling God that I could handle whatever it was. It was not until just recently that He spoke to me through the Gospel of John.
In mass one Sunday, the Gospel reading was that of the young man who was born blind. A few disciples asked Jesus who had sinned to cause the man's blindness, him or his parents. Jesus said, "No one sinned to cause his blindness. It is so that the works of God might be made visible through him." And then Jesus healed him.
WHACK!
I'd been hit over the head by the Holy Spirit two-by-four.
I realized I am the blind man! I don't suffer through mental illness as a test! My story is meant to show God's mercy and redemption!
As if this epiphany wasn't enough, God revealed my path to true healing. You see, I had it in my head that if only I could discover the right prayer or the correct devotion, then I would be healed of OCD. But now that I understood that God meant for me to tell my story, I realized that healing meant acceptance of my failings, because only then was I truly dependent on God. I had been searching for ways to make myself complete, when the only way to do that is to come to the One who created me!
Absence of mental illness doesn't bring peace, only the presence of Christ can do that.
Healing comes with a change of perspective, and a return to the Ultimate Healer, Christ Jesus.
As tumultuous as my journey has been, I am #grateful for it. It has made me the person I am today and it has brought me closer to Jesus.
And isn't that somethin'?
Amy
Disclaimer: The situation above is a recount of personal experience with obsessive-compulsive disorder and is not meant to be used as a way to self-diagnose. If you or a loved one is suffering with anxiety and/or depression, please seek professional medical attention.
First, though, a teensy bit of background.
I received my diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder when I was a freshman in high school. However, I suffered with the illness for as long as I can remember.
In the early nineties, not much at all was understood about anxiety disorders, much less how they affected children. People thought I was just a "nervous Nelly". I was constantly in a state of emotional discomfort and didn't know how to fix it. Family and friends didn't always understand. It can be frustrating and exhausting loving someone with mental illness.
My parents always gave great advice for handling stress and worries. Daddy told me to take long, slow breaths to slow my heart down when I panicked. Momma told me to talk to God when I became scared about a strange thought. So I breathed and prayed. A lot.
They were great ideas. Until the thoughts increased in frequency and intensity. Then, slowing down my breathing didn't always work. And sadly, prayer began to cause greater panic.
I knew, without any doubt, that God loved me. I knew that He was with me at all times. And I knew that He wanted to see me healed. But as my previous post explains, OCD forces a completely rational person to believe irrational things. Because I knew that God is never-changing, I assumed that I must be doing something wrong. I wasn't praying correctly, or I had sinned so terribly that He was punishing me.
Suddenly, I found myself despairing. As these feelings got worse, finding the "right" prayer became its own obsession. Which was a huge problem, because prayer was my go-to compulsion, the one thing that could soothe me.
Well-meaning loved ones tried to help by suggesting scriptures to read or specific prayers to recite. I spend exorbitant amounts of time in prayer. Sounds holy, but I had come to a point where I couldn't function well, so hyper-focused was my obsession. But it still brought me no peace.
I had a bit of a breakdown when I was 14. I was on a Greyhound bus in the parking lot of my high school, heading out on a trip with the marching band. A panic attack had gripped me that morning, and something just snapped. I lost all control of my thoughts, I couldn't breathe. I had to leave, had to get off the bus. I stood, walked to the bus door, and yelled to stop driving. That's the last thing I remember of that day, and the few days that followed.
After an appointment with the family doctor, I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder and began a daily dose of escitalopram. I finally had a diagnosis and a way to control it. Oh my word, it was the first time that I felt normal! I thought I was healed!
Over the next several years, through high school and college, my OCD was pretty well controlled with the meds. Oh, sure, I still had intrusive thoughts and obsessions. But I was better equipped to say "no" to my compulsions. I still had some setback days, particularly in winter time, but I now knew enough about my illness that I could get through the tough times.
I must admit that throughout my life, I questioned God, asking why He would create me with such a huge deficit. Was it because I had done something wrong? Or was it to teach some spiritual lesson? Was it some kind of test, like those Job endured? For years I prayed for the wisdom to learn the answer, telling God that I could handle whatever it was. It was not until just recently that He spoke to me through the Gospel of John.
In mass one Sunday, the Gospel reading was that of the young man who was born blind. A few disciples asked Jesus who had sinned to cause the man's blindness, him or his parents. Jesus said, "No one sinned to cause his blindness. It is so that the works of God might be made visible through him." And then Jesus healed him.
WHACK!
I'd been hit over the head by the Holy Spirit two-by-four.
I realized I am the blind man! I don't suffer through mental illness as a test! My story is meant to show God's mercy and redemption!
As if this epiphany wasn't enough, God revealed my path to true healing. You see, I had it in my head that if only I could discover the right prayer or the correct devotion, then I would be healed of OCD. But now that I understood that God meant for me to tell my story, I realized that healing meant acceptance of my failings, because only then was I truly dependent on God. I had been searching for ways to make myself complete, when the only way to do that is to come to the One who created me!
Absence of mental illness doesn't bring peace, only the presence of Christ can do that.
Healing comes with a change of perspective, and a return to the Ultimate Healer, Christ Jesus.
As tumultuous as my journey has been, I am #grateful for it. It has made me the person I am today and it has brought me closer to Jesus.
And isn't that somethin'?
Amy
Disclaimer: The situation above is a recount of personal experience with obsessive-compulsive disorder and is not meant to be used as a way to self-diagnose. If you or a loved one is suffering with anxiety and/or depression, please seek professional medical attention.