"I lift up my eyes to the hills. From whence does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved, he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not smite you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and for evermore."
(Ps 121:1-8)
What began as melancholy over Easter has grown to a full blown depression complete with the usual suspects: apathy coupled with anxiety; loss of pleasure; extreme fatigue; the ever-unattractive envy and pessimism; anger co-mingled with defeat. Freud described pleasure as the release of tension, and in this context I can somewhat understand the 'cutting' of young people, though I have never engaged in it. In the context of their restricted lives, it is a psychic bleed valve at times you literally do not know what to do with the pain and mental anguish since there is no where to put it. "Depression is ridiculous", as Andrew Solomon described it, "I felt as though I had a physical need, of impossible urgency and discomfort, from which there was no release — as though I were constantly vomiting but had no mouth."
I can tell when the devil is working on me. Reading the scripture this morning of the lost sheep, he seemed to whisper in my ear, "You are not worth it to Him. You are not worth going after." Even when you recognize the lie for what it is, it's like a lead blanket that is draped over your shoulders, hard to get out from under.
Job opened his mouth and cursed the day he was born, longing for death. "There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary are at rest. There the prisoners are at ease together; they do not hear the voice of the taskmaster. The small and the great are there, and the slaves are free from their masters." He goes on:
‘Why is light given to one in misery, and life to the bitter in soul, who long for death, but it does not come, and dig for it more than for hidden treasures; who rejoice exceedingly, and are glad when they find the grave? Why is light given to one who cannot see the way, whom God has fenced in? For my sighing comes like* my bread, and my groanings are poured out like water. Truly the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes.’ (Job 3:20-26)
How do we deal with the pain of living? I suppose the cliche of writing is a more sanitary and cleaner knife that turns outward rather than on oneself, scraping away and excising dead skin rather than separating with a razor thin line healthy flesh. It is also why, I suppose, it is predictably cathartic to so many who are depressed, as if a writer struggling with depression were some novelty to the world only in their own minds. Writing, cutting, exercising, drinking...they are all columns of therapeutic options to choose from, some healthier and more socially acceptable and beneficial than others.
I'm always suspicious of a purely psychological or a purely spiritual explanation of this kind of siege. As Augustine lamented, "I have become an enigma to myself, and herein lies my sickness." Confessions (10.33.50). No one understands, and you struggle to understand yourself this illegitimate disease and you can talk to no one and you have to just get up and go through life and work as a man and no man wants to listen to you anyway and besides what would you say? I do not understand what I do, for what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. (Rom 7:15-20)
Or maybe you do know, or at least have a suspicion. Sure, everything is meaningless, everything is vanity, that much is clear. But it seems new tenants, new neighbors have moved in that may shed some light into the instances of disturbance:
"When the unclean spirit has gone out of a man, he roams through waterless places in search of rest; and finding none, he says, “I will return to my house which I left.” And when he has come to it, he finds the place swept and clean. Then he goes and takes seven other spirits more evil than himself, and they enter in and dwell there; and the last state of that man becomes worse that the first" (Lk 11:24-25)
I told myself I had a few days to fix the fence and change the locks, but they are quick on their feet. The old tenant brought his friends and extended family. They've set out all the drugs neatly on the table and gone to the store and settled in on the couch and no, we're not leaving they say with a smile but you can do a line with us if you want. "If you want..." Its a dreadful feeling to see them again after the eviction. They know you. They know all about you.
I step out to catch my breath and think for a minute. What happened? You stopped praying, took off your breastplate and set it at the foot of your bed, thats what. "Yeah, for like two days!" It was enough time, all it took for my mind to go dark, my body to break down along with my defenses. Is it all that surprising?
"Now these things are warnings for us, not to desire evil as they did. Do not be idolaters as some of them were; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink and rose up to dance.” We must not indulge in immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day. We must not put the Lord to the test, as some of them did and were destroyed by serpents; nor grumble, as some of them did and were destroyed by the Destroyer. Now these things happened to them as a warning, but they were written down for our instruction, upon whom the end of the ages has come. Therefore let any one who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall. No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it." (1 Cor 10:6-14)
I don't understand what I do. I do that which I do not want to do. In this case, all I want to do is lay down and sleep, but instead I take a book of Deliverance Prayers from my shelf and break the binding. A friend suggested it earlier, the prayers of the Auxilium Christianorum. I consider it a kind of eviction notice to the demons that have taken residence, but accompanied by a baseball bat to leave them with some bruises on their way out, dish out some punishment:
"For though we live in the world we are not carrying on a worldly war, for the weapons of our warfare are not worldly but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every proud obstacle to the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete." (2 Cor 10:3-6)
I kneel, make the sign of the cross, and place a few granulars of blessed and exorcised salt on my lips. Then I open with a few body blows: Binding Prayer to Blind the Demons, Adjuration, and then a prayer to Sever Ties, Bonds, and Attachments. Then a one-two: Prayers Against Temptation, and Prayer to Be Freed from Evil Habits, followed by a swift Prayer to Overcome Evil Passions and to Become a Saint. I take out the bat (Punishing Prayer) and start to pummel, chased by a Prayer for Protection and Against Retaliation and Against Oppression. Finally, sealing the door by praying Breaking the Spirit of Death, which haunts and taunts but is no longer welcome here. I end with the prayers of the Auxilium Christianorum.
This is not a fight to the death, but a fight for life when your mind is the breeding ground for spiritual bacteria and suffers infection. Because of our attachment to sin, rather than being averse to it and recoiling in horror at its presentation, we kind of ache for it, don't we? If we clean the house and put it in order, but forget to keep it occupied with guards and regular vigil prayer, the demonic tenants WILL return, and return with a vengeance. As inviting as death appears to be in a depressed flash of light, promising rest and and end to temptation and pain, it is a siren song, and needs to be fought against using the weapons we have been given by our Lord. It is so, so tiring, but the Lord strengthens us in prayer. Still, I read the words of Job and nod:
“I hate my life, so I will complain without holding back; I will speak because I am so unhappy. If I hold up my head, you hunt me like a lion and again show your terrible power against me. You bring new witnesses against me and increase your anger against me. Your armies come against me. “So why did you allow me to be born? I wish I had died before anyone saw me. I wish I had never lived, but had been carried straight from birth to the grave. The few days of my life are almost over. Leave me alone so I can have a moment of joy. Soon I will leave; I will not return from the land of darkness and gloom, the land of darkest night, from the land of gloom and confusion, where even the light is darkness.” (Jb 10:1; 16-22)
The irony is it is so hard to pray when you'd rather die than live, crushed under the weight of the specter of depression; literally every bone in my body turns against it, which is all the more crucial reason to pray. There is no help in men, in women...what can they say? If you've never fought for your life with no sign of physical sickness that might threaten it, you'll have no idea what I'm talking about. But if you've ever been forced to stave off the Noonday Demon whose taken up residence, arm yourself with the Prayers of Deliverance and your guardian angels to dish out some punishment and send them back to Hell with some bruises to remember you by.
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