The Shadow of Doubt

The voice is back again…

It is a relentless, merciless, and cruel companion. 

It whispers from the shadows,

 “You are not enough. You are not enough for him. You are not enough for them. You are not enough for anyone. You have never been enough. It’s all too much for you. You will never be enough of anything to be truly useful in this world. What do you have to offer anyone? Nothing. You are useless.” 

The voice is like poison to my soul. Its words are paralyzing. What if it’s true? What if I truly have nothing of value to offer anyone? No real use in this life? Do I just take up space? Am I simply not good enough, strong enough, not capable enough to make it in this life? Perhaps it is true. Perhaps I’m not of any real value. Perhaps…perhaps my life is a waste. 

This voice, this darkness, this dreadful shadow always lingers near — ever-threatening to overwhelm me; to suffocate me with fear, anxiety, and sorrow. It does fade from time to time. There are times it is drowned out by seasons of happiness and joy. There are moments it grows quiet, but it never truly stills.

Somehow, this darkness slowly wormed its way into my heart, and there it remains. It was either so gradual that I simply did not notice, or I stubbornly refused to see it.

Let me take you back to a night that is burned into my mind like a painful, ugly scar. A night my fourteen year old self would never forget.

There I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection with bloodshot eyes. There were no more tears left to cry. It was the middle of the night, and the house was still and silent — but my mind was screaming as my soul fought a battle it seemed I would never win. I couldn’t sleep again. My soul ached with a weariness that was more than I could bare. My heart cried, “Oh Lord, I just need to sleep!” My family was in so much pain! My dearest friends hurt cruelly — it was too much for my young heart to take. What could I do? There was nothing I could do! I was powerless. Helpless. “YOU ARE USELESS!” I screamed at myself in my mind. I stared at myself in the mirror, and was filled with loathing at the girl I saw looking back at me. Pitiful! Why was I even here? My heart shouted out to God in anguish, “Oh God, please let these thoughts be quiet!” All I wanted was to escape my own mind; hide away from all the pain. My soul yearned for rest that just wouldn’t come. I wished I could sleep! Sleep and never wake up. My head ached from the war raging inside; and, as I reached into the cabinet for the bottle to ease my pain, I realized how easy it would be to make everything finally stop. The thought terrified me for a moment, but I was so tired. And, oh! How peaceful that would be! The terror soon melted into wistfulness. Suddenly, I heard a quiet voice call out to me, “Hey, what’s the matter, baby?”, my mom asked as she peaked her head through the bathroom door. She must have heard a noise (bless her and her incredible mom senses). All at once, my mind jolted awake to the reality of what I was about to do, and my body began to tremble. I managed to mutter numbly, “I have a head ache…” She gave me a few pills from the bottle, a drink of water, and sent me back to bed. There, in my room, I was alone in the dark with my thoughts once more. Anguish overwhelmed me at the thought of what I had almost done. The tears began to flow again, and by some sweet miracle, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The truth is, I am not sure what I would have done if my mom hadn’t found me in bathroom that night. Could she sense the turmoil in my soul in that moment? I do not know; but, I do believe she saved my life that night. I didn’t know it then, and it wasn’t until I began college that I was finally able to recognize this darkness as depression. 

It has been some time since that awful night. The dark voice of depression still haunts my thoughts. As it turns out, depression runs in my family. I can see it now — the same darkness that plagues my heart runs through the roots of my family’s history. Where DID this darkness come from? Is it a simple matter of genetics? Could it be that my personality is just prone to melancholy? Or did it develop over time, an effect of life circumstances? The truth is, I don’t know. My suspicion is it is a combination of the three. Regardless of the cause, the origin of my depression is not as important as how this darkness has effected my life. This painful gloom has had (and continues to have) tremendous impact on my faith in Jesus Christ. It is an ever-present shadow that looms over my thoughts — ruthless and relentless — threatening to consume me.

Has it always been this way? I’m not completely sure, but the older I become the easier it is for me to view my life more clearly. As a young child (perhaps through age 12), rose-colored glasses were my go-to accessory. As I grew, I began to wield positivity as a weapon against thoughts and emotions that were quickly becoming too big for me to handle. As a teenager, a smile became the mask I wore to protect myself from the growing darkness. I fought to keep the darkness at bay as I focused on the ever-fading light. Fast-forward to my college years. I was still attempting to overcome depression with positivity. I did everything I could imagine to maintain an persona of optimism. I walked with a skip in my step, offered a smile to those who passed me by, and carried an obnoxiously yellow backpack with a giant, orange sunflower sticking out of it for my entire freshman year. I didn’t want anyone to see the ugly darkness that had burrowed into my soul. As a Christian, I had been taught that trust in the Lord led to freedom, to life, and to joy. Depression is the complete opposite of all of those promises. I had often thought, “I can’t be depressed. I believe in Jesus! I am filled with the Holy Spirit. My life is supposed to be marked by love, peace, and joy!  Joy is a fruit of the Spirit, for goodness’ sake!”  And, by golly, I was determined to exude joy whether I truly felt it or not! So, I lived for a long time in denial of the sorrow, the emptiness, the anxiety, and the feelings of worthlessness that continued to build up inside me until they threatened to consume me. I completely lost all sight of myself in college. I didn’t recognize the person I was anymore, and I hated her. 

It took many dark and painful moments for me to admit to myself that I couldn’t handle the darkness on my own. And, to realize that my faith alone (nor my ‘optimistic’ outlook) wasn’t enough to keep me safe from my own mind. I spent many nights wishing I could disappear — wishing I could simply fade away from this earth. I almost had myself convinced that I wouldn’t be missed. I truly believe it is only by God’s grace that I am here today.

So, this is me. I believe in Jesus. I struggle through the fog of depression every day. I have been on antidepressants for three years now. There are times I struggle to distinguish between the truth, the honest questions I have, and the misguided thoughts that stem from depression. Is it the pessimistic voice of depression that has caused me to doubt? Or do these doubts flow from a genuine longing for truth in the midst of so much darkness and confusion? It may very well be both. Sometimes these doubts lead me closer to the truth. Other times, the darkness of these questions cloud my ability to clearly see. It is a never ending struggle for truth.

The shadow’s voice whispers tonight. It never truly leaves me. It spews its toxic poison into my heart, seeking to bring pain and death. It tells me I will never be enough. But, my heart hears another whisper. A gentle voice that breathes life to my soul. His voice brings life, hope, and light to my darkness! He tells me I will always be enough because I am His. My life and faith have undoubtedly been shaped by depression. Because I live with depression (and see a lot of pain and confusion within the church), I struggle to believe. Because I struggle with depression, I cling to Jesus in faith. In spite of the darkness, I cling to the Light. He is the anchor for my soul.

-Ash