Depression: A Diagnosis, Not An Indictment

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“I think you are depressed,” my doctor said. “You need to see a counselor.” “NO!” I wanted to scream. My body stiffened. I felt indignant but managed to keep my cool. A month later, when I saw her about another problem, she again asked me to consider seeing a counselor. I agreed to let her give me a referral. Two weeks later I met with the counselor. She said, “You are depressed.”

I felt embarrassed. That made me feel more depressed. How could I, a counselor, myself, need a counselor? How could I, who in years past was depressed but spent money and time to work through issues, be depressed again? For a week or so, I felt defeated.

Then, I realized that depression is not an indictment. It’s a diagnosis. Depression does not mean I am a criminal. It means I am human. Christians, as well as those of other faiths, and those of no faith can become depressed. Denial of depression deepens it. Acknowledging it is the first step toward recovery.

In Psalm 147 (quoted above), David acknowledged his depression. Then, he called on the Lord for help. Every time I’ve admitted that I’m depressed and prayed for help Jesus has heard my prayer and provided the help I need. In a way, depression can be called a “friend”. Not a friend I want to walk with for very long, but a friend who alerts me to the fact I need help.

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Depression is a Friend of Mine

A friend? (I hear you ask.)
I can’t imagine why you want her
Get rid of her—and fast

She will ruin you completely
She will take up all your time,
She will rob you of your energy
And use up your last dime.

I used to think as you do
About my friend, Depression
I was embarrassed by her presence
Until I learned this lesson:

Her purpose is to warn me 
To tell me something’s wrong;
In some way my life’s off balance;
Perhaps I’ve worked too long.


I have overdosed on sugar
With a resulting glucose plunge
Or my hormones are not flowing
Like they were when I was young 

I just might be a couch potato—
Neglecting exercise,
And my windows are all shut
No fresh air can get inside.

So, my body’s lacking sunshine—
Not much serotonin remains.
I may have buried anger,
Covered over guilt or pain

I might have buried anger,
Felt helpless to confront
Persons or situations
That are painful or unjust.


Or I’m hiding painful memories
And rejecting who I am;
So, I deny my giftedness
And feel like a sham.

Because of lies I’ve sheltered
In my subconscious mind,
I try to change direction
But cannot do what I design.

I may have experienced a loss
And not fully processed grief;
In the circumstance I’m facing,
I’m questioning my belief. 

The problem might be simple
But, often, it’s complex.
Depression won’t play God
She can’t tell me what to fix.

When I’m given knowledge
I become responsible,
I must take some steps to change
And overcome that obstacle
 
Depression is not pleasant;
She’s a friend of confusion
But she certainly won’t leave me
If I ignore her intrusion.

Yet, Depression does respect me
Yes, she is polite;
When I do the needed action
She, eventually, takes flight.