Mental Health

Three weeks ago, Robin Williams took his own life. It was a tragic end to a unique life and a brilliant career, but there has been a slight glimmer of positivity because of it: people are, for the first time, openly and unabashedly coming forward and discussing their own mental health issues, their struggles, and their thoughts of suicide. Perhaps Robin's death need not be in vain -- perhaps it can be the catalyst our nation needs to really start openly addressing mental health.

In an earlier entry I wrote about the suicidal thoughts which occupied my mind prior to abandoning my religious beliefs, and how those thoughts disappeared. For the most part, this is still true; yet every so often they still pop up. They aren't as strong, not by a long shot; but they are very cavalier, and this concerns me.

I used to view this life and its problems as temporary, and that when one died one spent the rest of eternity in heaven or hell. Life, therefore, was not altogether precious -- it was just a necessary step to reach our real destination. As a religious individual, it was fear of hell which stayed my hand from suicide.

Now, since I don't believe in an eternal destination, I see life as unique and important and fleeting. It is precious. But some small part of me struggles now with the finality of death. Why should I continue living, if I'm just going to end up as worm food? And, of course, the answer is because life is unique and important and fleeting. But the part of me that struggles seems to have a "devil may care" attitude and I'm concerned that I may do something stupid on a whim. So I decided to seek some help.

It's been 14 years since I last visited Susie, my psychologist. I went through a very rough period in my life back in 2000, her help and guidance impacted me in a wonderful way -- so naturally I was brimming with excitement when she responded that she could fit me in to her schedule.

Meeting with her last week caused me to explore many things in my past that I had forgotten... but nothing floored me so much as her impression during my last sessions with her, as I was beginning to join the Apostolic Pentecostal church.

"I'm going to lose him," is what she told me she was thinking back then. She could not understand how a rational human could lose himself to a religion. I laughed! "That is exactly what happened," I told her. I did lose myself. And all of my friends. And respect from most of my family. And part of my mind, all because of a fundamentalist religion. "Now that I've left religion I can see things so clearly," I said.

I bring up this story for three reasons. First, because I don't want to be silent about my mental health issues. We need to talk about these things. We need to be honest and open. People need to know that they are not alone, and telling your story is the best way to accomplish that.

Secondly, I want to draw attention to the fact that suddenly finding yourself without a soul, or an afterlife, or a big eye in the sky watching your every move can be frightening. It can make one feel lost and alone. And quite frankly, it is difficult to deal with the idea that one will just cease to exist when the time comes, as opposed to what one was misled to believe for decades. But there are lots of us out there -- those who have had to come to terms with this dilemma. I can personally tell you that there is no shame in seeking professional help, or even just someone to talk to. You are not alone, and you do not have to be.

Finally, I want to point out the barbaric attitude that seems to permeate religion with regards to the field of mental health. I certainly cannot speak for everyone, but for myself, all throughout parochial school -- high school, in particular -- I was told that psychologists and psychiatrists are agents of the devil (except, of course for the Christian ones because they adhere to biblical principles). In church they had a filthy reputation of catering to the mind instead of the soul, of telling one what one wants to hear, of not falling in line with the idea that god's ways are concrete and everyone should just serve and obey. This is all invented nonsense in an attempt, I truly believe, to keep Christians under subjection to their religion. If one starts visiting a secular counsellor, one may start using one's brain and start thinking for one's self.

Meanwhile, in the church, I was told that all I had to do was pray to god for the healing of my mind and my past and my emotions. God would provide. And since god's ways are higher, I should just be patient and wait for a response. God will do it in his own time. Maybe I should just pray harder and have more faith.

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothes the grass, which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith? And do not seek what you should eat or what you should drink, nor have an anxious mind. For all these things the nations of the world seek after, and your Father knows that you need these things. (Luke 12:27-30 NKJV)

When looked at on the surface, this hopeful scripture demonstrates the beauty of god caring for creation. To me, it certainly illustrates Jesus' free-loading hippy attitude. But dig deeper, flower child, and you will find a very nefarious concept: that you should rely on god for everything. Why do I say nefarious? Because where do you draw the line? How far do you let yourself be reliant on something which may not even be there?

We are told to call upon god for help. And when that help doesn't arrive? Naturally, it adds to the issue. Sometimes the pastor or other church member will offer counsel. But is this counsel grounded in psychology or in theology? In the former, then there is hope. But in the latter there is nothing but more hardship.

I look back with pity on my Lutheran high school experience. How many nights did I cry myself to sleep; the mental anguish of a gay teenager who is told by his religion that god hates gay people, who would cry out to his god for succor, whose recompense was nothing but silence? The sideways remarks from the faculty and staff of the school. The public outing by someone I stupidly took into my confidence. The scriptures read, the verses quoted, the videos and books telling us that homosexuals are hell-bound. And so that 17-year-old took a bottle of pills and laid down one night with a note beside his bed consisting of a single line: "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Thankfully, I was not the brightest bulb in the chandelier when it came to pharmaceuticals, and suffered no worse than a night's deep sleep.

I am the first to admit that my memory is not the best, but it seems like every single time I have had an issue and brought it to someone in a position of authority in the church (or Lutheran school), they tried to affect change within me to bring me in line with biblical concepts or interpretation. Instead of, you know, trying to help me deal with the issue I would instead be presented with the miracle cure of... god's word. And always the promise of hellfire looming in the distance if I didn't repent of my sinner ways and snap to.

Perhaps that is why I have such fond memories of Susie and such horrid memories of church figures when it comes to counselling. When I asked her if she thought she could help, she told me, "I want to give you hope."

That's a hell of a lot more than I ever got from my religion -- the very institution which prides itself on how much it helps the downtrodden. And that is sad.

Until next Monday,

Frank