I have dealt with depression for as long as I can remember. I don’t know when it first started, but it’s hard to forget the times in middle school when I would sit at home with tears streaming down my face, desperately crying for someone or something to help.

While I understand it is not unusual for children that age to be a bit emotional, there was something much deeper happening in my mind. It’s hard to describe the exact feelings I had, but broken is the first word that comes to mind.

I tried my best to hide my depression as the years went by and just hoped that the feelings of emptiness and the never-ending, self-condemning thoughts would eventually go away. Unfortunately, they didn’t.

I made the decision to be a follower of Jesus Christ in my early twenties — to be honest, the idea that He would be able to fill in ‘the God-shaped hole’ in me piqued my interest. So, when I realized that the emptiness of my depression persisted, I grew anxious and started to question whether or not I had done something to bring this upon myself. It wasn’t until this point that I realized that the topic of depression and mental health was taboo in some church circles.

So once again, I tried my best to hide the pain I felt inside. Despite the constant struggle with depression, I kept pushing myself to grow spiritually. I knew that what I was experiencing was not how God intended it to be. There is a verse toward the very end of the Bible that refers to a future time when God will restore the broken world we live in, “‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4). I, for the first time in my life, had hope.

Over the next few years, I did my best to ignore the negative thoughts, to pretend I was happy and that everything was great. I stuffed it all down, but ultimately came to the point that I couldn’t hold it in anymore — I broke.

The floodgates opened, and everything that I tried to hide came pouring out for the world to see. I had hit rock bottom and lost any hope of ever being “normal.” It got to the point where my wife, Lindsey, had to start hiding the knives from me because we were afraid of what might happen in one of my moments of weakness. I knew I needed help; I needed to figure out how to control my feelings and thoughts. I went through numerous healing prayer sessions, started meeting weekly with a therapist and my doctor had me start taking antidepressants. Things seemed to be getting better — until May of 2016.

I don’t remember exactly what triggered me to do it. Maybe I was tired of fighting against the thoughts that had convinced me I was never going to truly get better. Maybe I was tired of feeling like I was disappointing those around me when I still had my bad days. Either way, I questioned whether or not I actually wanted to live with this pain for the rest of my life. On the evening of May 10th, I found myself standing in my kitchen holding a knife to my wrist. I wanted to know the sensation; I wanted to know if the pain of cutting myself would be any less than the pain that I felt inside. I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it, but even the fact that I had gotten to this point scared me. Somewhere in me, I knew I didn’t want to end my life. Later that night Lindsey and I made the decision to have me admitted into Memorial Epworth, a psychiatric health center in our area. I never thought that I would spend time in a psychiatric hospital, but I ended up staying there for four days. The thought of being in this foreign place with people I didn’t know was definitely unnerving, but I was determined to not walk out of that building without some resolution.

This was a turning point in my mental health journey — my short stay at Epworth gave me the opportunity to focus on taking care of myself. I learned new ways to cope with my emotions, my medications were adjusted, and I spent a lot of time talking to God: praying for healing and asking for the ability to take control of my thoughts. I walked out of that building a different person. God used those three days to move me toward a ‘normal’ life; He restored my hope for the future. I wish I could say that all the hard days are completely gone but I can’t. The thoughts come back from time to time, especially if I don’t take my meds, but I am convinced that God worked some kind of miracle. A change like that doesn’t just happen; He had to be involved.

Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

A few years ago, I don’t know if I really thought that this was true. Its referenced so often that it almost seems like the cliché Christian answer for every unexpected setback or tragedy — but my life is a testimony that it is true. I am so thankful and amazed that through a moment of weakness when I was considering self-harm, God gave me freedom from my depression and better than that, He gave me hope for tomorrow.

If you have ever struggled with depression, anxiety, negative or suicidal thoughts — please know that there is a God of hope and He will be faithful even in the hardest of times. Complete healing may not come today but it will come, whether it is tomorrow, a month from now, a year from now, or on that day when we finally get to see Jesus face to face and He is able to wipe away the tears in our eyes forever.

Mental Health Resources

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

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Justin Stevenson is the Assistant Director of Communications. He helps create appealing graphics and printed material along with the Creative Design and Publication teams. Justin is married to the wonderful Lindsey Stevenson and they have two cats, Taylor Swift and Samson.

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