Tag Archives: christianity

Faith and a Late Night Prayer

31 Friday Aug 2018

Posted by in hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized

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In the city, it is easy to think about man. In the desert, mountains and on a night at the beach, it is easy to think about God. Last night during my prayers, I wanted to search for God, so the image I brought forth in my mind was me, at seventeen, in Cyprus, walking the beach at night.

I can remember looking at the black sky filled with distant lights and thinking, “What did our ancestors think when they looked up from where they were sleeping and saw this vast and endless sky?” “Those lights hold the answers,” I told myself into my pillow. And that is why while I pray, I imagine that beach, that half moon, those stars that will always be countless.

“Some people think schizophrenia is the same as demon possession,” I say as I imagine my toes, bare, sinking into the wet sand. I know that can’t be true because if it were, it would mean doctors had learned how to silence demons.

I wonder as I imagine the light of the moon reflecting on the water, “Can you disregard the Ten Commandments, seemingly lining up to break every one, and still come back to the title of daughter or son?” The stars blink, winking at me from this Greek Island where I imagine myself walking while I lie in bed.

My cousin has cancer. Several of my friends have cancer. I have lost people to old age, tragedy, and hard living. “I’m not unique in my suffering; it is so important to remind myself,” I almost say out loud. If I die at fifty-three, I will have lived more years than many, and far less than others. It is not a curse I carry but the story of the reality of life.

A cloud covers the moon. The beach becomes darker than before. I say to myself, “So many people criticize Christianity, so many people say it is all fairy tales, and call those of us who believe ignorant, hypocrites, and fools,”  but I can’t go on each day without knowing I can call to you,  question you, run to you from the world that is harsh, violent and sometimes painfully beautiful.

The lights in the sky are shining, and I don’t hear you, but I see you all around. Each star, millions of them leading me to the answers I seek on a beach and ocean far away while the covers on my bed surround me and call me to sleep.

 

 

The Complex Relationship Between Schizophrenia and Religion

15 Wednesday Nov 2017

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized

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For the past few weeks on Facebook, I have seen dozens of posts trying to shame people into not saying that they are “sending thoughts and prayers,” after a disaster or shooting. I can understand people’s frustration with politicians who repeatedly send thoughts and prayers and then vote down gun control or funds for disaster relief. That makes sense to me, but to criticize everyone who says, “thoughts and prayers,” shows a lack of understanding of people who have faith. Not everyone can send money and people who truly do pray, believe their prayers are powerful and that they get heard. I can understand if someone else thinks that praying is useless, but it isn’t useless to others. Why can’t people just have that without it being another way to shame, insult, divide, criticize and act “smarter” than someone else?

When someone has schizophrenia, arguing or insulting them about religion or faith can be cruel or mean. Many of us who have been psychotic have a unique view of religion because many of us have spent time believing we were the Messiah, talking to God, talking to angels, talking to demons or had a unique perspective into the fate or creation or many other things about the world. After our psychosis is cleared up by medication, it can take awhile to “close” that open door in the mind. The past two times I was recovering from psychosis, I watched Christian television for sometimes 8-10 hours a day. The stronger my mind got, the more I saw it as Christian entertainment and less as “the truth.” For instance, I don’t believe people are “overcome” by the Holy Spirit and fall shaking on the ground at the “touch of a man.”  I don’t believe it, but when I am healing my mind, it is a good thing for me to watch, a safe thing for me to watch. If you do believe that please forgive my skepticism.

When an atheist argues with someone who has schizophrenia about religion they don’t know where that person is in their healing, or if they still hear angels, demons, God – medication doesn’t always clear up voices and delusions for everyone. To tell that person that God doesn’t exist and then try to argue with them about it and “prove” why is an exercise in arrogance (which I will say I see a lot of in atheists. The atheists I know think they are smarter than everyone else. Instead of respecting differences, they call religion, “believing in fairy tales” and other condescending things. I have never, not once, met an atheist that wasn’t condescending in their arguments with me. And each of them said they weren’t condescending even after telling me my beliefs were a “crutch” “magical thinking,” etc.).

No one but the person with schizophrenia knows what it is like to go for weeks, months or even years with religious hallucinations, delusions, and voices. It is possible when a person starts to heal; they will reject religion altogether, but with most people that isn’t my experience. Those of us who have had, in many cases, intense and profound religious experiences tend to remain religious even if we know that our former experiences were not part of a “healthy” mind.

I think if you want to argue or debate religion it is best to do it with people who haven’t experienced a psychotic break that involved religiosity. No one can say how we have been altered and changed by that experience and which parts of it were Biblically accurate or completely formed from the disease. It is best to allow people with schizophrenia to work out their complex feelings about religion with someone who is compassionate and extremely educated about theology, not someone looking to argue, debate and “prove” how intellectually superior they are.

 

 

 

Atheists and Me

05 Monday Sep 2016

Posted by in Uncategorized

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I don’t usually talk about my faith or politics here. I have strong feelings about both, but this blog has never been about that. So, if you are uninterested in issues of faith, then skip my latest article on Patheos: No Matter How Smart They Think They Are, Atheists Don’t Shake My Faith.   If you have an interest, pop over there and let me know what you think – either way, I hope you are healthy in body and mind.

In This Horrible Mess, I Will Continue To Find Two Good Things

25 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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At dinner, my husband and I tell each other two good things that happened during our day. Yesterday, I told him, the love note he left for me in the little mailbox I keep on my writing desk, and having lunch with a friend, were the best things that happened to me. Then I told him, other than that, it was a depressing, infuriating, sad day.

It seemed like everywhere I looked yesterday the topic of schizophrenia or mental illness came up. There was an article about the woman who was pushing her dead child in a swing for two days. It turns out she has schizophrenia and was noncompliant with her medication.

There was an article written by a man with schizophrenia who claimed in the first sentence of his essay that schizophrenia was the worst illness you could have. The writer went on to write about his need for forced medication. It was a story that I found stigmatizing.

Then there was the article written by a fairly well-known writer that made sweeping generalizations about all people with schizophrenia, and she referred to us repeatedly as “schizophrenics” which is a term that most people with schizophrenia dislike because it puts the illness before the person. In other words, it identifies a person by their illness rather than by the millions of other things they are, like, do, talents they have, their career, or whatever.

On a Facebook status a woman wrote that calling someone mentally ill was the “most malicious and vile slur imaginable.”  (I probably don’t need to point out that one in four Americans are mentally ill and we don’t consider our disease a slur).

But there are two things that topped off the day. I read an article about “dumping” where psychiatric facilities put chronically medically ill people on a bus and ship them to California. They do not send them to California to be with relatives or to go to a treatment center; they send them to California, so they are out of their cities and towns and not “cluttering up their streets.”

I almost can’t continue typing at this point. We, those of us with a severe mental illness, are the unwanted, the eye-sores, the throwaways, the not-to-be-seen, less-than-human, people that are being put on buses so people can get rid of us.

All of this was enough for me for one day. I decided to read a book about Jesus. I was reading the book, The Jesus I Never Knew, by Philip Yancey and on page 32 the author writes about Mary being pregnant and how she was an unwed teenager and how today, that pregnancy would probably lead to abortion. Then I read this, “…and her talk of having conceived as a result of the intervention of the Holy Ghost would have pointed to the need for psychiatric treatment, and made the case for terminating her pregnancy even stronger.”

There is so much I can say about that quote. I will let you think about it though, and simply ask this question, “Do most people believe that women with a mental illness should terminate their pregnancies?”

With so much stigma, so much misinformation, so much fear, so much inhumanity, so much misunderstanding, so much disdain, I don’t always know how to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t always know how to shake all this stuff off. I don’t always know how to keep my head up and keep going.

People talk about the horror of kicking a puppy, the cruelty of hurting something so vulnerable and innocent. For one hour, for one day, let’s talk about the cruelty inflicted on the mentally ill. It’s real, do you find that as disturbing as kicking a puppy?

At dinner tonight, I will search for the two best things that happened today, so I can keep up my husband’s and my nightly ritual, but so that you know, those two things don’t outweigh the truth about how many severely mentally ill are treated. Finding two things right with my day doesn’t overshadow all that is wrong.

 

40 Years Of Wandering Leads The Way Home

11 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by in bipolar, hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized, writing

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When I say, “It’s the little things that make up a life and that matter the most,” I mean it.

Sunday I went to church with my husband. As soon as I walked in the door, a member reached out her arms and gave me a hug. The pastor was next, and he did the same thing, and he whispered in my ear, “There’s my favorite author.”

To the pastor and the member of our church these welcoming greetings were probably routine, but to me they were life changing.

I haven’t felt at home in the church since I was ten years old. I never thought I would find a church where people open their arms to me. I never thought I would find a church that didn’t turn the “less desirable” people away. In my mind, I never thought I would find a church where people acted like Christians and welcomed everyone to the table.

I have seen mentally ill people removed from services.

I have heard pastors make jokes about the mentally ill.

I have felt like an outsider for forty years.

If you Google “mentally ill neighbor” you will find that people don’t want us to live next door to them.

If you Google “prisons and the mentally ill” you will find that the largest treatment facilities in the country for the mentally ill are jail cells.

If you Google “homelessness and the mentally ill” you will discover that a large portion of people living on our streets are mentally ill.

People seem to want us to disappear. It would be easier if we didn’t exist because we can make other people uncomfortable when our symptoms are too hard to manage – we may be unable to keep up with our hygiene, or we may talk to voices others can’t see.

I know that people who have the same diagnosis as I have are treated as the unwanted, the throwaways, or the eye-sores.

Do you know what it is like to go through life belonging to a group of people who have to prove their humanity? Proving our humanity entails taking a shower, washing our clothes, finding housing and no longer talking to voices inside our heads– all things that may be impossible for us to achieve.

I went to God’s table on Sunday morning, and the people there smiled at me, opened their arms and welcomed me. After forty years of closed doors, I have entered the inner room and found my way home.

I Am Not Demon Possessed, And It Is Ignorant And Cruel To Say Otherwise

11 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in bipolar, heroes, hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized, writing

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I rarely write about politics or religion. In fact, I keep my political views and my religious views fairly private. I doubt many of you know that I am a Christian, but I am. I’m not the kind of Christian that preaches to anyone. I’m not the kind of Christian that calls people sinners. I’m not the kind of Christian that talks about my faith at all unless it is with my husband or with my aunt or my mom.

I am going to write about religion today, though. Normally, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the reputation of the church or Christians in general, but I sincerely hope this serves as a smack down to Christians everywhere that push the most vulnerable of our society away from the doors of a church.

You see, I have schizophrenia, and today, a relatively popular blogger wrote about “double-mindedness” saying that you can’t have Scripture in your mind and believe in evolution at the same time and that to do so would be like having schizophrenia. I wrote to this blogger and told him he had a misunderstanding of schizophrenia and that it wasn’t like that at all. He replied to me by telling me to show him someone with schizophrenia and he would show me someone who is demon possessed and that a person like that has no Scripture in them.

I wrote back that I have schizophrenia, and I am a Christian.

What happened today is not the first time that someone acting as a “teacher” of God’s word has said something against me or other people with a mental illness.

Let me tell you what I believe. I believe in a man named, Jesus. I believe that he was radical. I believe he was a champion of the poor, the marginalized – the sick, the elderly, the widows, etc. I believe he was kind, compassionate, strong, and loving. I believe I am exactly the kind of person he would have included and not excluded.

Telling me that I am demon possessed because I have schizophrenia is like telling me that God hates me. Look, I pray. I have prayed not to have schizophrenia, but I gave up those prayers. Illness is a part of life and not a punishment from God. I don’t believe just because I have a mental illness, and you don’t, that God is more present or alive in you than in me. If anything, if you are turning vulnerable people away from seeking refuge in the church, I believe you are the one who is empty of the spirit of God.

I have met so many Christians that say they love Jesus yet victimize the very people he came to save. If you don’t care for the poor, the sick, the needy, the marginalized then you don’t know Jesus – that is a fact, plain and simple. He didn’t bring us the Old Testament with an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth and all of that. He brought us the new covenant, and it is about radical love.

You see, I know a thing or two about Jesus. He is my king and my hero. He wouldn’t allow me to be demon possessed and for you to say otherwise proves to me we don’t worship the same God.  I know I am not perfect, but I know that I am loved.

And just for a little reality check, if I have demons how come medication kicks their ass?

Are You Discriminated Against, Or Do You Discriminate?

15 Sunday Nov 2015

Posted by in mental illness, relationships, schizophrenia, stigma

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Not all Muslims are terrorists. Not all Arabs are Muslim.

Those of us with a mental illness, especially those of us who have schizophrenia, or who have been living with a mental illness for twenty years or more, know what it is like to be misunderstood, we know what it is like to be on the outside, we know what it is like to feel as if people fear us. So many people still think we are dangerous.

My husband was born Lebanese. Both of my husband and I went to an American high school in Cairo Egypt. My husband has lived in the United States for over thirty years. He got his citizenship the hard way – he filled out forms, jumped through hoops, waited years, learned our history, took a test, and swore allegiance to our country.

My husband has never missed an election in which he was eligible to vote. Voting to him is a privilege and a responsibility. My husband knows more about the American government than I do, and far more than the average person on the street. My husband shouldn’t have to prove his patriotism though. You shouldn’t have to be waving the American flag in order to be free from discrimination.

After 9/11 I watched my husband get stopped at every checkpoint. I watched him get questioned at every security gate that I walked right through. Now, with the attacks in France, I fear for my husband’s safety. He can’t hide where he was born. His passport clearly states he was born in Beirut. His skin is olive. His hair is black. Our name is Arabic.

There are days that I feel so deeply tired from trying to educate people about the realities of schizophrenia. I do this so the media will stop portraying people like me as mass shooters, as criminals, or as murderers. The tired I feel is the kind that keeps me in bed with the covers up over my head. I don’t feel tired when the press doesn’t differentiate between Muslims and terrorists, or between Arabs who are Muslim and Arabs who are Christian. I don’t feel tired at all, I feel fear. I feel a fear that the person I love most in the world is in danger.

The fear I feel has nothing to do with my illness. It is not paranoia taking over my mind. My husband and I have something terrible in common. The media and many people in America think that neither one of us can be trusted. They think we are dangerous. They think we are going to commit atrocities.

Both my husband and I are peace loving people. We try to protect both animals and humans. We are the type of people who will buy a stranger who is hungry a meal to eat. We weep at the suffering in the world and do our part to ease that suffering when we can.

Those of us who get stereotyped and judged should stand in solidarity with others who are judged and stereotyped. If we don’t stand up for the people who are treated unfairly how can we expect anyone to stand with us in return?

We need to educate ourselves about other people’s struggles. We need to try to be a force for good in the world, not just with the issues that concern us, but the issues that concern others. People are more likely to listen to us when we care about their stories, their experiences, and their hardships. Let’s occasionally give up being a mouth, and try on being an ear.

Street Teachers

22 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by in hope, writing

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Mark 12:41-44 New International Version (NIV)

41 Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. 42 But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

43 Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. 44 They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”

My husband went to the drug store to pick up my medications, some toilet paper, eye drops, and a few other things. As he was walking into the front door, a man sitting on the sidewalk with his back resting against the wall said, “Hey man, can you spare any change?” My husband searched his pockets.

“I don’t have any right now. Maybe on the way out. Wait. I am using a credit card. Sorry.” My husband said.

“Can you buy me a sandwich?” The man asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.” My husband said.

In the store, my husband picked up the few things we needed and then went to the refrigerator section to look for a sandwich. The only food there was frozen food, so he went to where the chips and nuts are shelved. He found a box of granola bars, and placed it in his basket then went to the pharmacy to pick up my pills and to pay for all the items.

On the way out of the store he approached the man sitting down who was talking to a man standing next to him. My husband handed the man sitting down the box of granola bars. “They didn’t have any sandwiches so I bought you these. I don’t know if they are good, but I hope so.”

The man sitting said, “Thank you, man. These are great. I appreciate it.”

The man standing said, “You bought him those? That’s cool. Those are good.”

The man sitting ripped open the box, took out a granola bar, and offered it to the man standing next to him. “”Here, have one.” He said.

I’ll take Substance over Appearances

24 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by in hope, relationships, writing

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When we lived in a suburb of Los Angeles, we were very active in our local community. We attended fundraising dinners for various non-profits and served on boards and committees. Through these activities we met a couple who moved to Southern California from the South. The wife was what I imagine to be a perfect Southern Belle. She was beautiful, a runner, she had a cute figure, and two healthy and adorable boys, she was charming, and she was Christian.

I am not the kind of person who normally feels envious of others. I have friends who have way more money than me, friends who have less, who are far more attractive than me, who are better writers than me, and friends who are smarter than me. None of that is a big deal or causes me any suffering or pain.

But in the instance of the Southern Belle, what I found that tore at the core of me was her perfect Christianity. Her and her husband attended most churches in our area before deciding which one to attend regularly. They picked the most conservative one. Everything about this woman screamed, “I am blessed. I am cherished. I am loved. I am a daughter of the Kingdom.”

I have always felt soiled around certain Christians. It was worse when I was younger, but it still applies to some degree. Some Christians just make me feel dirty and like I don’t belong. Especially perfect looking Christian women with perfect Christian lives who seem never to have taken the wrong path or a wrong turn or made a terrible or regrettable decision.

This woman, the Southern Belle, was one of those Christians, and I envied her.

One day the two of us took her young boys to McDonalds. There was a man and a woman that were dirty and disheveled standing outside asking for money. She walked right by. I stopped and asked what they wanted and they said they were hungry. I told them to follow me inside.

At the counter I said to the man and woman, “Order whatever you want. I’ll get it.”

At first they were a little hesitant and then they both ordered hamburgers, a drink, and fries. I ordered my food, paid both bills and sat down with my friend while her boys ran to the playground outside the back doors.

“My husband said I should ignore people like that.” She said.

“Those people blessed me. They gave me the opportunity to give today.”

“My husband said those people are scam artists. We would never give them money.” She said.

“I bought them a meal. They are eating it.” I said in my defense.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence. I waved goodbye to the people who asked for food. I also waved goodbye to the idea of this Southern Belle being a perfect Christian woman – appearances can be polished with a rag, the heart and soul are polished through empathy which often comes from roads we wish we hadn’t taken. I’ve taken many roads and many journeys I wish I hadn’t, but from those paths I have found compassion for the lost, for the lonely, for the loveless. If it took all my mistakes to make me see the suffering of others, then so be it.

I’ll never be seen as the perfect Christian woman, and that is more than okay by me – I’d hate to be responsible for someone feeling dirty.

Jesus was Nowhere to be Found

15 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in bipolar, hope, schizophrenia, stigma

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About ten years ago, I attended the Methodist church in the city where my husband and I were living. It was Christmas time and my parents were visiting from Arizona. The four of us decided to attend the midnight service at the church.

We arrived and the huge altar looked stunning covered in the bright red leaves of poinsettias. The stained glass windows didn’t have the sun shining through, but even the darkness of the night outside couldn’t mask their beauty. The choir, all in white robes, looked angelic, their voices filling the sanctuary.

It was Christmas and I looked forward with anticipation to hear the hope of the sermon and to sing all the carols that I loved as a child.

Christmas always brings back memories of my brothers and I when were kids. During church, my oldest brother, Joel, would tell us, his younger siblings, that the song Noel was really, Joel. So, all four of us kids would sing JOEL at the top of our lungs.  After church we were allowed to open one present and then we had to go to bed so Santa could visit. We were poor when I was little, but I never knew that, there were always presents stretching way into the living room. It was magical, it was wonderful, and it was Christmas.

It was with the heart of a child that I went to church that night. We sat in the balcony, because there was no room left below. Before the pastor started the sermon he talked to the congregation about the life of the church community, available Bible studies and upcoming rummage sales. Then he told a joke. It started out with the song bipolar people sing at Christmas (I can’t remember the punch line) and it ended with “Schizophrenics sing, Do you hear what I hear?”

I sat in that balcony in pain and shock. At the time, I still had the diagnosis of Bipolar, and I thought to myself, “If people like me are not allowed in church, where are we allowed?  If church isn’t safe, where can we find safety?”

One time a homeless man had come into the church and sat down in a pew. He started talking a little during the sermon, and he was obviously making the congregants nervous. Men from the church immediately went into action and removed him.  I thought to myself, “The weak, the sick, the needy, the poor are not welcome here. Jesus doesn’t live here anymore.”

While we were singing Silent Night outside of the church in the court yard, I eyed the pastor.  After the song was over, I approached him. “I am bipolar.” I said.  If people like me are not welcome in the church, where are we welcome?”  He was a very powerful man in the community, and very politically motivated. He said something and then turned away from me.

Not everyone who leads a church, or claims to be Christian, follows Christ. I can assure you that many of them know the teachings of Jesus but deny his words. It was a revelation to me. I’m not always welcome in church, but I know one thing for sure, If I’m not welcome and the homeless are not welcome, neither is the revolutionary that we follow.