How Hard
It Really Is
A Short, Honest Book
About Depression
Copyright 2017 by J.S. Park
Publisher: TWE Media
Published July 2017, Edited December 2018
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or study/presentation material.
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Cover art by Rob Connelly. http://heyitsrob.com
Editor's note: This publication is an informative guide on the subject matter. It is not intended to replace or countermand the advice of your physician. If expert assistance or counseling is needed, the services of a competent professional should be sought.
Park, J.S., author.
How hard it really is: a short, honest book about depression / J.S. Park.First edition.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-0692910368
1. Depression, Mental. 2. Cognitive Therapy. 3. Depression, MentalReligious aspectsChristianity 4. Mental health 5. HealingReligious AspectsChristianity
Printed in the United States of America.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Citation Information:
J.S. Park, How Hard It Really Is (Florida: TWE Media, July 2017) p. _
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Table of Contents
"At the moment what I heard was God saying, 'Put down your gun and we'll talk.'"
C.S. Lewis
Disclaimer
I am not a licensed therapist.
This book is about the conversation around depression. It should not replace the advice of your physician.
This book is also about my experiences with depression.
I majored in Psychology for my bachelor's and I have a Master's degree in Divinity (MDiv). I was a pastor for seven years in two different churches, mostly dealing with youth and college students and their families. I've been a hospital chaplain for three years (which requires intense accredited training). My chaplaincy work includes: attending every death, attending every Code Blue, next-of-kin notification, advising patients on end-of-life decisions, and grief and crisis counseling. Many of the patients I've visited are dealing with grief or depression or both.
In January of 2004, I attempted to kill myself by ingesting half a bottle of acetaminophen. I was placed under the Baker Act, an involuntary hold by the state for those who have harmful thoughts towards themselves or others, and after two nights in a hospital, I was sent to a care facility for another two nights. I've been diagnosed with clinical depression, and my only experience with antidepressants is that I tried them for two days before quitting (I should've tried longer). I struggle with depression to this day.
My family has a history of depression and suicidal ideation. My late maternal grandmother suffered from dementia (and possibly Parkinson's disease), and my uncle has schizophrenia. They both lived in the house until my parents divorced when I was fourteen.
In the following pages, any technical information regarding depression has been carefully cited. I highly recommend further research on your own, as new studies constantly emerge and can contradict one another. There's also not a single consensus in the medical community about the causes and treatments of depression; the "experts" are still learning how to navigate through it.
Please know: I am a big advocate of medicine and therapy. Please see the appendix for other kinds of treatments.
This book is filled with triggers. While I have tried my best not to be overly gratuitous, the subject matter necessarily entails that I do not shy from its depths.
Whenever I insert my own opinion, I start with the phrase, "I believe," "I think," "I have a theory," or similar self-referential phrases. Please feel free to disagree or to engage in dialogue with me.
There have been many good books on depression, including Andrew Solomon's magnum opus The Noonday Demon and Dr. David Martyn Lloyd-Jones' Spiritual Depression . They cover much more ground than I could, and I recommend them to you.
Any identities and identifying markers in the book are altered for privacy of the individuals.
Preface Sneak Attack Phantom
Depression is a rumor, until it is reality, and then it's as if nothing else was ever real. Still, no one will believe you. I find it hard to believe it myself. I wrote this book for those who believe, and for those who want to.
Depression is, when you're in it, absolutely ridiculous, because it seems to be the most important thing in the world when it's happening. At the same time, it robs the world of any importance, as if nothing could ever happen again. It is a nightmare of infinity wrapped in cellophane.
The whole thing sneaks up with a dreadful, creeping stealth, "like feeling your clothing slowly turn into wood on your body." It is remarkably invasive, a highly honed, weaponized virus of the mind.
Whenever I describe it happening, it sounds absurd. And it is.
At the grocery store I'm thinking about how to grill this salmon, and my chest folds inward, a curled up canvas of wax paper in a cruel, gnarled fist. It's the familiar feeling of drowning, of disappearing in frothing acid. I fight back both tears and laughter, and I tell myself, Everything's fine, everything's fine, a cognitive trick to pull myself out of the falling, but nothing is fine, nothing is fine. There's nothing I can do. My basket full of trinkets is weightless and a wrecking ball. I see people rushing to somewhere, but the illusion of significance slips away in a long, defeated sigh. I hate this part. My shoulders crumple because I've stopped holding them up. I can barely look at the cashier and I don't remember paying when he hands me the receipt. I can't turn on music in the car; it's unbearable to turn the wheel. I'm someone else's ghost in someone else's body.
I wish I could say it gets easier each time, but I never know how long it's going to be.
I never know when the colors will come back.
I never know if this will be the one that wins.
Clinical depression will often do whatever it wants with you. It has no rules or code or fairness or dignity.
I have every reason to be fine , but depression is a dirty sneak attack that leaves me completely naked and debilitated. It's a liar that sells truth: a false reality that says how-I-feel is who-I-really-am. And when a grafted lie overruns the truth, it doesn't matter that I have "every reason" to be fine: the lie has switched every goalpost and sunk the baseline.
Depression is the worst kind of lie, in that it not only attacks your self-worth and value, but steals the meaning out of words like "self-worth" and "value." It is cold inertia, slowing down worlds in orbit. It leaves you carved open, constantly bleeding out, unable to retain the vital stuff that makes life. There's spiritual discombobulation; every emotion is a phantom limb, and no amount of affirmation about "life-gets-better" can reach me there.
The thing is, when I'm hit with depression, I already know what to do. I know I have to fight for air. I know I have to crawl for every inch of territory that's stolen. I know I cannot make decisions unless I talk with someone first. I must reach for my phone. I must reach for every scrap of surface to escape this tunnel. I must remind myself that there's so much worse in the world, and that the war inside cannot compare.
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