What It's Like to Be Catholic... and Depressed

I can proudly say that I am a Catholic. Though I have had my fair share of ups and downs with my faith growing up, it wasn't until getting to high school that I was really able to embrace it and share it. It has become much easier now to share with others that I am Catholic without feeling shy about it.

However, being opening up about depression is a different story altogether. It wasn't until recently that I began to open up about my struggles through different pathways such as this blog and the Speak Out Blog, for which I contribute to.

I have begun to talk to more and more people about mental illness and other things that surround the topic. I'm not really sure what came over me, but I guess the biggest thing is that I wanted to stop finding excuses to validate my depression.

We don't need reasons to be happy, because sometimes we just are. In the same way, we shouldn't need reasons to explain why we are down or depressed or anxious.

But there was just one, tiny problem. I remember talking with other Christians about the whole issue of depression and suicide. It is through those conversations that I opened myself up and talked a little bit about my past experiences - namely, I've been depressed for a while and had thoughts of suicide in high school.

The people I talked to would look back at me in disbelief. "But you're Catholic, you aren't allowed to be depressed. God said so."

Now before I go on, I would just like to pause and say that this is not me having beef with other Christians, nor am I ragging on them for their seemingly narrow-minded ways. I am open to other Christians - I have friends who are Christians and non-Catholics. And while there are minor differences in certain practices, the God is still the same. The paths are different, but the end goal is the same.

Okay, push play.

In conversations that followed, I got more or less the same reaction, along with sprinklings of "you need to be baptized ASAP" and "you're going straight to hell". It made me question all my feelings, but it also made me somewhat fearful. Was I really going to hell because I had thought about suicide a couple times?

But the hardest hitting one, and the one that sparked this post, was this one:

"Why are you acting so selfish? Are you not grateful for what God has given you?"

Whoa, okay.

(umm... from giphy.com)

Let me be clear of one thing: I am not just grateful, I am EXTREMELY grateful. I know how lucky I am to be born in this part of the world and to be in a family that loves me. I have access to a home, to food, to education, and I am healthy. I'm lucky that I wake up every day so that I can write more pointless words so that people can read them (though I really hope that they aren't pointless).

Having depression, or any other mental illness, does not make you selfish. Wanting to commit suicide is not selfish, and committing suicide is not selfish.

Any person who has suffered from depression will know that we have very heavy hearts. We feel more than sad - we feel down on life, like the world's odds are stacked against us. On top of that, we feel like we are burdening everyone - family, friends, and others - with our depression.

So we don't talk about it, in part because we don't want to burden people, but also because 1) we don't want to admit that we need help and 2) we don't want to be shunned or thought of as "problematic" or "different". But as we all know, not talking about any kind of problem perpetuates more problems, and suffering alone sucks. It absolutely sucks.

Being a Catholic was an extreme clash inside of me. On the one hand, I know exactly what the Church teaches on life and death - we value from conception to it's natural end. So that's why we care so much about abortion and euthanasia - not because we want future babies and terminally ill people to suffer, but because we don't dictate the value of life and we don't decide who's life ends because of our socially constructed "life value". Similarly, by taking our own lives prematurely, we would be going against the same Creed we recite every Sunday.

However, God is good. He knows that we make mistakes, that we all fall down, and that sometimes, life is hard. Feeling depressed does not make you ungrateful. Committing suicide does not make you selfish.

Hearing these conflicting ideas, I think, ultimately kept me from going through with anything serious. There were many points when I wanted to end it all, but in those quiet moments where I felt something that had some semblance of sanity, I weighed the pros and cons. Sure, my pain and suffering would be over, but I would rot in hell. This logic ran through my head over and over, and I felt incredibly guilty for it. I didn't want my family to grieve, and I didn't want to be labelled as selfish, as a failure, or as someone who just couldn't suck it up.

(http://nedhardy.com/2013/09/24/24-comics-that-capture-the-true-essence-of-depression/)

Admittedly, despite the fact that I have met some incredibly supportive friends and have done more research on the topic, I have always felt guilty of my depression and thoughts of suicide. But it wasn't until a few months ago, when I watched this video about Kevin Hines, a man who attempted suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. He is one of the very small percentage of people that survived the fall, and now shares his story with others in hopes of bringing more awareness to the topic of mental illness.

You can watch the video here - and I encourage you to take 5 minutes to do so:

Regardless of your faith, know that you are not being "selfish" or "ungrateful" if you are depressed, anxious, or suffer from any other mental illness.

You are still human. You don't need reasons to feel this way - and you shouldn't have to provide reasons either.

Sorry for ranting,

x R

                                 

Ignorance Makes You Look Bad

Amidst all the rain we had lately, we experienced a gorgeous day today!

I honestly can't stand the rain. It's so wet and soggy and it just gets everywhere: your shoes, your clothes, your hair, your eyes.. it's so disgusting. I question those that say that rain has a romantic element to it.

But what I find even more disgusting are people that are rude, ignorant, quick to judge, and racist. I'm pretty sure I'm living in the 21st century, but the attitudes and ignorance that I have come across really makes me question our progressiveness and whether or not I am stuck a couple centuries back.

Here is another transit tale for you.

I have had the worst sleep schedule ever since school started. Added to this is my annoying back pain (which may have been worsened by my accident) that keeps me up at night. So in essence, I get really sleepy, and transit is probably one of the best places to sleep. Although I am just realizing now that it may be really unsafe to do so. But I digress.

When I got on at Scott Road, I sat next to a guy who looked to be in his mid 20s, so a few years older than me. I couldn't really tell what ethnicity he was because he was slumped against the window, sleeping. I shrugged it off and took my seat. With the slow rocking of the Skytrain I began to feel myself drifting off to sleep, which was much appreciated since I couldn't sleep the night before.

So I fell asleep.

I wasn't entirely unconscious. I was just asleep enough to feel like my batteries were recharging, but conscious enough to hear everything that was going on around me, including the looming voice that listed off every stop. I kept an ear open for my stop, because it had happened before where I had missed my stop due to my slumber.

About halfway into my journey I could hear shuffling feet come up behind me and beside me. In a language that I could somewhat pick apart, I heard a woman speak to someone else. Without opening my eyes I could already see what was probably happening in front of me: this woman was probably helping an elderly person into the seat in front of me. No big deal, so I shrugged it off again and continued on in my sleep

(Same. http://hilariousgifs.com)

But then came the interesting part.

The woman changed her language from what I realized then was Mandarin (which I can barely understand) to Cantonese (which I can understand pretty well). And what I heard (loosely translated) shocked me.

"Those ______________. So lazy. Doesn't even get up to let the elderly sit. Sleeping and being useless. So lazy."

I slowly opened my eyes to see who was speaking. There before me stood a Chinese woman and her daughter, and the elderly couple that was sitting in the seats in front of me. Next to me, I saw that the sleeping guy was now awake, and clearly seething.

At this point I should tell you that the blank refers to an ethnicity that the (ever so ignorant) Chinese woman used. I don't want to use it because hearing it made me feel super uncomfortable. But clearly, she had (sadly) mistaken me and the other guy for another ethnicity.

The guy looked at me and asked if I was the said ethnicity, and I asked him the same thing. It turned out that he was Chinese too, but he had been asked a number of times. It was a question, he said, that didn't faze him anymore.

He went on to tell me that his girlfriend was at home with his 3 year old son and infant daughter. He was working two jobs to make ends meet, and he was going to work a nighttime shift. He wouldn't be home again until Sunday afternoon. Sheepishly, I didn't any good reason to be passed out, but he laughed and said that at least I wasn't the one going around making ignorant comments.

As we approached Commercial-Broadway, he got up and walked over to the woman and said to her everything that he told me, in perfect Cantonese. He concluded by saying to her in English, "Don't judge a book by it's cover. Don't be so judgmental."

With a stunned look, she looked over at me. I got off at the next stop and didn't really have anything to say to her, so I just smiled.

(k bye!!! http://ladyclever.com/culture/marriage-equality-now-in-all-50-states-as-told-by-gifs/attachment/bye-bye-gif/)

                         

This entire situation made me cringe. As ignorant as she was, this doesn't even begin to count as a serious case of racism. But then again, should we even let it get to be so serious?

This woman made an offensive statement using a stereotype that she may have encountered or heard. It made it explicitly clear to me that she has a very narrow view of the world and is really set in her ways. But this kind of attitude is the type of attitude that can perpetuate into larger issues of hate and racism if ignored.

Every person's situation is unique and everyone is different. What may be the norm for certain groups in society may not always translate to every single member.

I can assure you that when I am awake, I am a good citizen in that when there is an elderly person on a full bus, I will give them my seat. But on an empty Skytrain? Those words weren't warranted. They are never warranted. I'm not using the empty Skytrain to justify the fact that I didn't get up, but regardless of situation, words like those that are hateful and directed against a certain ethnic group are just uncalled for. And for the record, some of these people happen to include some of the hardest workers that I know.

Yes, this is a society in which free speech is the epitome of your democracy and right. So let's be real here: you can totally say whatever the hell you want, and some people will just nod and smile. But at the end of the day, ignorance makes you look bad.

And that's all.

(I love Mindy Lahiri. http://www.collegehumor.com/post/6888857/15-gifs-that-drop-the-mic-and-are-out)

                   

Until next time,

x R

Silently Judging You (Coming Clean pt. 2)

Judgement: it's everywhere. And believe me, we are all doing it. You're even doing it right now while you're reading this.

According to clinical psychologist Linda Blair, on average it takes about seven seconds to judge a person after we meet them. This is even before a firm handshake. It is literally one glance, up and down, and you can make your own assumptions about the person.

Case to point - if you were to see someone dressed a little simpler with ripped and tattered clothing and an overall disheveled appearance on the Skytrain, you probably would be heading to another spot ASAP. 

I can't condemn other people for judging, because I know that I do it too. It's something that we don't think about because it just happens. Everyday we make little judgments that lead to poor assumptions and misconstrued beliefs. 

I bring up this point because it somewhat ties into my most recent post about coming clean. I came to realization that the judging that we do on a regular basis in turn makes us self-aware and self-conscious about what other people thing of us. How are other people judging me? What would they say or think if I wore this outfit, did my make up in a certain way, ate a certain amount of food or drank a certain beverage?

Coming clean, as I found, was a lot simpler in writing than in reality. Having my story out there enabled people to read what they wanted to, interpret it how they wanted to, and ask questions. Telling people was a whole other story.

To best explain, my plan was in two parts: one, to just get it out there for people to read at their leisure, but also to physically have conversations with people that I have known for a long time and who deserve to know. Not because I want sympathy of any kind (because I don't), but because I want my friends to know who I am. I want to be able to be truthful and explain the inconsistencies that they may have found in my life without any further lies or stories. I wanted them to know the truth, the whole truth, no matter how ugly it was.

By doing this, I was able to break down a judgement barrier for myself. I have gotten to a stage in life where, despite the occasional feelings of insecurity about my physical appearance, I feel good about myself, physically and emotionally. While the journey was not ideal or perfect it has taught me great things about myself. At this point, I know that my depression doesn't make me less of a person, less of a human, and less of a child of God.

Last night, I began my odyssey into coming clean, beginning with one of my closest friends. We met in kindergarten and have been friends ever since. This year will be going on 14 years of friendship, and yet we never had a evening just for us.

I always found it difficult to share my story with others, but I think it is especially difficult for friends that are so close to me. As I began to tell her the story, I prefaced it by saying that, "I didn't say anything earlier because I didn't want to lose you when I was already losing everyone else."

The story slowly tumbled out, and after my sharing was done, she told me that it gave her the courage to tell her own story, prefacing it also by saying that she didn't want to tell me because she didn't know how I would feel. She didn't know if I would judge her, and she didn't want me to be disappointed in her.

Why are we always so scared with letting our true colours show and letting people see who we really are? Our society tells us to make flawless first impressions with the people we meet. We are expected to come across as perfect in the eyes of strangers.

But the truth of the matter is, I AM NOT PERFECT. I have my moments, my flaws and my insecurities. This is true for all humans, and yet we still break each other down with judgement and negativity. 

My fear of judgement was the reason why I didn't get help sooner, and I truly feel that judgement is preventing others from speaking out and getting the help that they need.

I know I can't stop other people from judging, but I know that I can think twice before I make a generalized and uneducated comment about someone else. Everyone is facing a different and unique battle - one that we may not be able to comprehend or understand. Because of that, we need to be more sympathetic and aware of the situation of others.

And to you, all of you: remember how special and lovely you are. Be confident and take heart.

x R 

No More Pretending: Coming Clean

It's been a while since I have been here, and I do apologize profusely for neglecting you, my blog! With all the changes that has been happening in my life, it's been hard to keep up. My journal entries have been backed up for weeks on end and I always find myself writing for weeks in between to catch up.

Recently deep within me, I have felt a strong sense of untruthfulness. This is not to say that I have been lying through my day to day life per se, but in many ways, I suppose it could be said that I have. I feel that I have been communicating poorly, acting in surprising ways and therefore confusing others and myself. It was not until  I wrote a recent post for Speak Out Blog and a personal hurdle that I decided that I needed to come clean.

In short, I know that I am blessed with good things. I have a family that loves me, good financial and educational situation, friends that care for me and an inkling of a future life. However, being a human that has very human desires, I am bound to fall short and make mistakes. I always want more of myself and the world, and sometimes with my shortcomings I am merciless towards myself.

As a kid, I loved the concept of pretending. You could be who you wanted to be without any pretenses or fears of exposure. As I grew older, I continued to use pretend at great lengths wherever necessary so as to keep my true self from showing.
              

But who was my true self? During high school, I didn't know for sure. I went through careless relationships, pushed away true friends and held onto people and things that didn't care for me. High school, while it was a magical and unique time, it was also a difficult time for me.

My true self was always someone that I wanted to prevent the world from knowing - and who could blame me, considering that I know of my true self as somewhat of a Debbie Downer. I didn't like who I was. I was dissatisfied, jealous and felt so worthless. I went through phases of the D word - depression. I was anxious and angry.

The world, as I knew, didn't want another angry and moody teenager, though sometimes my alter ego slipped through my fingers. People told me to suck it up, buttercup - and I did. I held everything inside of me, pressure building until it couldn't hold it in any longer. And when I got angry, people knew. But they didn't know why.

I spent my evenings planning my own demise. What would it feel like to disappear? What would people think, say, or do? How much pain would I feel? All these thoughts began to put a damper on my alter ego, my sunnier ego, and suddenly the two mixed into one and I had no control over the two.

It wasn't until I was ordered by a teacher to go see a counselor that I even began to think that I had an issue. Of course, I didn't go down with a fight. The mere thought of setting foot into that office left a bad feeling inside of me. All my life I had had people whispering behind my back, and I knew that going to see a counselor would make the whispers grow louder behind me.

Unsurprisingly, the help from counselling was what I needed to begin my turn around. My panic attacks began to subside, I felt less angry and more self-confident. I didn't have to pretend that I was happy anymore - I was happy, through and through. It would be unrealistic to say that my 180 came over night - it was a process, and I needed to put a lot of effort into it.

So why share all of this?

I wanted to bring to light one big lesson that I learned throughout my journey. As mentioned before, society, as forward as it may be, seems to still have a hazy cloud around the whole mental illness thing, be it that we don't understand it, we don't get it, or worse, we don't want to acknowledge it. True, medicine has advanced so much that we now have a label for every last disorder and illness, but that doesn't mean that we truly understand it. The stigma that surrounds mental illness is still a big one, and I hope that in time to come, this stigma will diminish with more education and dialogue.

I am not telling us to WebMD ourselves and diagnose every feeling that we have to educate ourselves - that is not closing the door on the stigma. But I hope that people can become more open and more ready to be available to those in need. Why should there be a stigma that going to a counselor makes you a "weirdo"? Why should we be afraid of saying "no, I'm not okay" and explaining why when people ask?

Clearly I am not a doctor or any sort of field expert on the issue.  I am passionate about erasing the stigma of mental illness in our society. I am passionate about helping others get through their hurdles in life, regardless of shape or form. I want you to know that if you are feeling this way, that it is not just a you thing that you have to figure out on your own. There is help everywhere around you - we all need to be open to talk to others, but we also need to be open to accept others as well.

Despite the occasional feelings of high anxiety, stress and panic attacks, I have felt a significant improvement in my life. I couldn't have done it without the support of many - my only regret is not finding help sooner.

Ignorance and fear should not be the norm. We need to stand tall and firm in the face of it and become more aware of it. Through this solidarity, the stigma will diminish.

x R