Quickly after identifying my mental illness as the emotional equivalent of torture, I identified God as my Captor. Those of you who have not experienced this level of anguish will cringe at that statement. Those of you who have…well, you likely feel a sense of relief and agreement. And you may further understand when I state that seeing God as the source of my pain did not feel wrong…it felt enlightening. Though there was a clear sense of betrayal from Someone I had placed all my trust in for most of my life, it was a relief to finally identify Him as Torturer.
(NOTE: My own mother asked me not to use the word Torturer here as an identifier. Understandably, it repelled her from wanting to read any further, calling it sacrilege. Then, with tears, she said that it was extremely hard for her to hear of her son having a tortured experience. But, despite my mother’s desire, her son did have a tortured experience, and that tortured experience had a spiritual component. My intent here is not to turn anyone away from God. But as one who has been to a place where my own mother does not want to look, I am trying to show other mothers, wives, fathers, husbands, children, friends and sufferers, THOSE who want the tools to help them and their loved ones, THOSE who have the courage to look into the darkness, I am trying to give THEM the strength to endure despair, which strength makes up the GREATEST aspect of God’s character. Because the reason we love God is that there is NO darkness He has NOT looked into.)
Those inexperienced in this level of darkness will likely be saying, “That’s quite a jump in thought, that God goes from Savior to Sadist.” But see if you can follow my reasoning (given a few assumptions):
- God Lives – from three significant previous life events, I could not deny that there was a higher power. I had been raised to believe in Jesus Christ and a Heavenly Father, but these three subjective experiences (meaning they were something only I perceived and could not be measured by any outside person or tool) were so profound and unprecedented compared to my other religious/spiritual experiences that I could not account for their impact outside of something supernatural or psychedelic. And though illicit drug use was never my thing, my mental health history clearly is questionable. Therefore, I can’t fully discount these events were triggered by some conceptual/mental malfunction. But for myself, I know I could never contest that God exists.
- God CAN Heal – having had these previous faith clinching events, one specifically correlated with a marked improvement of my mental health, I had no doubt that if a Being who had given me these experiences (forgive me for not expounding on them here) could also have the power to heal, or at minimum, deliver me in some way from my anguish.
- God’s Power, God’s Discretion – given the responsibility of His powers, Godly miracles and healing are solely to be used at His discretion. As much as we can implore God to change our fate, only if He authorizes an intervention, then will it occur. Likewise, if no intervention is made, given His assumed omniscience, God has authorized the non-intervention. Again, this is a point where many with whom I talk begin to cringe and contest. And I agree that this is a difficult point. We are now getting into the subject of what is free will and what is pre-destination or fore-ordination. There is no easy answer here. But ask yourself (YES REALLY ask yourself) when it comes to our realm that God watches over…is He ever surprised? Does something ever occur here on earth where God says, “Man…I didn’t see that one coming”…or “That’s shocking!!!”(e.g. Buddy the Elf)…or “I knew things would get rough down there, but I never thought they would do THAT to each other…Heck, I didn’t even know THAT was a thing.” One must come to their own full conclusion here. But, for myself, I concluded that if it happens, He’s okay with it.
For a moment, I’m going to step out of my reasonings to describe a vivid scene that I now envisioned in my head, having reached the prior conclusion.
I was captive and restrained on a table inside a dusty room. I had been captive for years. I was exhausted. I was in pain. I had lost all will to live as a result of the repeated torment to which I had been subjected. To my front and sides, I could see several of my captors. Behind me, I could hear, but not see, the individual directing my torture. I had taken awareness at a momentary pause in the violence…a moment where you would expect interrogation to take place. But I was not asked questions. Instead, still out of view, the director, now slowly bent beside me, whispered into my ear, “You will LOVE what this is going to make of you.”
Erupting! Enraged! I thrashed as much as my bonds would allow, screaming the horrors of my realized betrayal. The director calmly stepped back. He indicated the torment should continue. And it did.
This scene imitated precisely the characteristic intensity of my years battling emotional demons. Likewise, it created an accurate image of my internal rage when I realized the role of the director was equivalent to God. That God, in whom I’d entrusted my faith, was openly mocking me with my pain’s “potential.” Pardon me here a bit, but:
“WHAT THE HELL?!!!!”
In what twisted reality is qualifying for, and receiving, electric shock therapy a sign of “potential?!!!” What type of person, short of a sadist, would consider a person’s history of perpetual panic a resume’ builder?!!!
We’ve now arrived at that mental and emotional peak of my story where many, having reached that same point before, have either opted to kill themselves, and/or kill their God.
As I sat alone in my little office in Las Vegas, I contemplated the conclusions to which I’d come. Sadly, that is an emotionally dark and real place into which a good amount of God’s children have had to enter. Just as sad, of all mankind that HAVE NOT entered that darkness themselves, the majority consider its existence the fabricated product of a flawed character.
Compounded on all of this is that I am a father. Should I opt to continue down this road of life, the greater pain awaits. To experience torment first hand is hell. Yet, harder still is to watch your children be subjected to the same horror of which you are intimately familiar. I knew that was my future. And I knew that was my future because…
Towards the latter end of my electro-convulsive treatments (Spring 2018), when Lindsay and I began to note its positive effects dissipating, we approached our children to let them know our family’s battle with my condition would be going on longer than we had hoped. Our children, ages 11, 9, 7 and 5, stated concern and expressed a desire to help in their own little ways – all except our 7 year old who remained momentarily silent. Though Kaden was always the child most similar to me in disposition, until now we had not openly told Kaden her emotional swings might be genetically linked to my problems. Because they mainly occured at home, and had only affected her school life in one minor event, we, up till then, had only given her self-help techniques to cope with these swings. However, at this moment, she let Lindsay and I know how self-aware she was. With tears streaming down her face, she whimpered:
“I’m scared for Dad…and I’m scared for me. Do I have depression?”
Within a few minutes, I had envisioned my chamber of pain and recalled this memory of my daughter. The combination was devastating. I realized, the chamber where I was tortured was, in fact, a theater. And in the front row of this figurative theater was my family, watching. As much as I knew my loved ones were concerned for me, until now, I had not realized that Kaden was not just watching with concern…she was watching with apprehension…believing this is what awaited her.
This is the moment that my suffering became SACRIFICE.
From the day a person learns they are to be a parent, they project the possibilities of what that child might experience. In our minds’ eye, we often imagine a first step, an athletic accomplishment, a marriage. What I projected for Kaden at that moment was suicide.
If she were to ever experience what I was experiencing, my own daughter would give serious thought to leaving this life. If I were to take my own life now, I would have no grounds by which to contest her taking her own. By killing myself, I kill her as well.
I was so overcome that I started to retch in my office. If what I thought was emotional torture before, it paled in comparison to this. 35 years ago I saw my parents lose a child of their own. THAT IS TRUE TORMENT…far beyond my current plight. Kaden’s life, any of my children’s lives, were worth far more than my own. In fact, I would not only be willing to die for my children, I would be willing to LIVE for them. If enduring torture for the rest of my God given life gave my children the strength to endure their own desires for death, then I VOLUNTEER TO LIVE THAT TORTURED LIFE.
We should pause here. As I have a tendency to jump around, I should let the torture chamber/daughter’s depression/volunteer moment of discovery settle in. As confusing as it can be, there is value in glimpsing the chaos of a troubled mind. You may be able to appreciate a portion of the disorder, as well as the advantage of its creativity. Still, the labyrinth can be maddening. So, for a moment, let me tell a story that is a bit more linear.
It was the last day of the year in 1985. My Father was at work closing out the end of the year for the local credit union he managed. My mother was spending an afternoon out with my older brother whose birthday had been overshadowed by the Christmas holiday. At home, my nearly 16 year old sister was in charge of the youngest 5 children. This was a task in which she was comfortable, experienced and qualified. She had always been responsible, high achieving, and wise beyond her years (she still is.) It was under this scenario that our 15 month old sister, Jana, (in the same room as the rest of us) crawled behind a piece of furniture, momentarily out of sight, and found some stray peanuts leftover from Christmas. She tried to eat a few. In doing so, she aspirated one of them. Moments later, we found Jana, unconscious on the floor.
The events of the next 10-15 minutes are not necessary to detail. However, at the end of that time, we four kids watched our oldest sister accompany Jana on a stretcher into an ambulance. The four of us then spent the next several hours at our neighbors home. Long after the sun had set, we were summoned home. There we learned that Jana had passed away.
My seven-year-old self was unable to comprehend the full impact of this tragedy. Much of it was lost on my limited life experience and social immaturity. However, as I did mature, I began to realize the enormity of what had happened and how my parents and sister were AFFECTED. Ironically, with similarly limited perception, my parents and older sister, even 35 years later, had little idea what positive power their experience EFFECTED. Because it was their grit, their determination to continue on in the face of tragedy that has given me strength to endure anguish in my own life.
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