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I've been listening to The Hilarious World of Depression podcast since its inception, and for a long time it was my sole source of therapy. (All by itself, that one sentence tells you I've got a whole raft-load of issues.) Now, however, I'm talking to actual therapists and seem to have a handle on my symptoms, and host John Moe's frequent admonitions talk about depression in order to normalize  it have finally sunk in.

There are a lot of reasons for an OPC minister of Word and sacrament to not want to talk about his depression, not least of which is the fact that my depression comes with a chaser of paranoia. Pastors are under constant scrutiny by their congregations, and most of the members under their care have unresolved father issues which make them extremely reluctant to embrace the painfully obvious fact their preacher has problems of his own. In my case, I also have a presbytery which is not known as a safe place to express weakness, and I believe I have good reason to think that my acknowledgment of mental health issues could be used by some as a pretext to lower the boom on me. Now that I'm not as fervidly paranoid, though, I realize that even my enemies may have some sense of human decency; and if not, we have colleagues to thwart their more vindictive efforts.

So here goes.

I've had a few episodes of situational depression in response to traumatic events (such as Church conflict and when we lost our daughter). The "clinical depression" (if that's the correct term) began about six years ago when a problem with recurring sinusitis became a sinus infection that simply would not go away. I've been in physical pain for much of my adult life, but this pain was of an entirely different species: it wasn't the intensity, but the quality. I was perfectly capable of living my life, but I was so miserable that I simply did not want to. Although the sinusitis was finally resolved through surgery, it turned out to be masking Meniere's disease (fluid in the inner ear) complicated by a form of migraine. Since then, it's been a long journey of figuring out a regimen of vitamins, supplements, medication and sleep to deliver me from a constant sense of disorientation and unease. I think things are under control now, but I also know that I'm one sleepless night away from being plunged back into despair.

There's a clarity to depression. Most people seem reluctant to admit that, but it's true. Depression strips away the comforting reassurances we tell ourselves and allows you to see things as they are. Life is hard and full of suffering, and no one ever survives it. There's a hollowness to most relationships, and God, without a physical presence, seems absent.

On the other hand, one should acknowledge that depression makes it more difficult to recognize that God's lack of physical presence is not the same thing as absence.

People talk about suicidal ideation as though it were a shocking, well-nigh unthinkable thing, but for me it's a simple reality. I am a very slow thinker, but once I solve a problem it tends to stay solved. Now that I have a plan, I can't get rid of it: it's in my head and can't be dislodged. Obviously, I haven't done it, but there are times when I have to come up with reasons not to. Mostly, it's because I know how much it would mess up my kids.

I remember one of my ministerial colleagues being surprised that I wasn't afraid of God's wrath for violating the Sixth Commandment, but I'm not. That's one of the side-effects of believing the Gospel. While taking one's own life is a more heinous sin than others, the Shorter Catechism reminds us that [e]very sin deserveth God's wrath and curse, both in this life, and that which is to come." (Westminster Shorter Catechism #83-84) If the Cross has delivered me from God's wrath and curse, due to me for all my sins, then even a violation of the Sixth Commandment cannot separate me from the love of Christ (Romans 8:33-39).

Depression is bad enough. I'm grateful it couldn't rob me of my assurance of salvation.