Please, Please Forgive Me! Where Religion Meets Mental Illness

During my adolescence and young adult years, I found myself on my knees
 begging for forgiveness hundreds, if not thousands of times.

I was in my teens when it first happened. In previous years I had been able to leaf through the new Sears catalogues without any duress. I looked at the bicycles and toys and other things that little boys look at. But then on one ordinary day I found myself leafing through the swimsuit and lingerie sections of the latest catalogue that my parents kept in their bedroom, and I was mesmerized. What had I been missing all of my life? Yes, puberty had arrived.

Now, puberty and everything that comes with it are of course natural progressions of life, but growing up in a fundamentalist Christian household meant that it also came with a major caveat. Sex and sexual expression outside of marriage was forbidden, and those who engaged in either before saying "I do" were in danger of being in God's bad books.

Along with striving to be a faithful Christian teenager - I attended church gatherings 3 days a week - I also had developed extraordinary checking and washing rituals which only later would I be able to describe as OCD. These rituals were particularly strong at night, when I would repeatedly check that my curtains weren't touching the electric heater for fear that I would burn the house down, getting out of bed to check that the downstairs oven was shut off, and checking numerous times a night that the front door was locked, lest any intruders gain access to the house and hurt my family members.

When puberty, adolescence, and young adulthood hit, my OCD collided with my sexuality and religious life in a way that was embarrassing and exhausting.

Just like millions of other boys my age, I was fixated on the female body, and strange feelings began to crop up in my body that at first I didn't know how to deal with. I found myself touching myself in places that previously had never intrigued me very much. I had heard the word masturbation before somewhere, and when I had asked one of my parents about it, they reassured me (in a way) that it was normal, "just don't do it too much." As well meaning as that parent was, it didn't help me very much as an adolescent. But the real problem with looking at the pretty women in the Sears catalogues, which eventually turned into pornographic images, was that this involved a four-letter word: lust. Lust, I had been taught, was an egregious sin. To me, someone who already suffered from OCD, it was like I was committing an abominable sin against God simply by lusting after women's bodies. One such verse in the Bible that addressed lust was Matthew 5:28, which said, "But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart." You can imagine how much that scared me, because committing adultery was one of the acts condemned in the Ten Commandments.

This is where religious OCD, otherwise known as scrupulosity, came into full-blown presence in my young life. As a teenager and then young adult, I would view a provocative image, subsequently masturbate, then would inevitably end up on my knees at my bedside pleading with God to forgive me for my lustful actions. Ten minutes later I was back doing the same thing. This sequence of events occurred at least hundreds, if not thousands of times in my adolescence and young adulthood. It also included intense, repeated washing rituals in order to cleanse myself from my "dirty" actions. I judged myself for being a "bad Christian" and constantly worried that God was looking down on me with a disapproving countenance. I didn't realize that puberty and all that came with it was normal.

I also made an effort to read my Bible and pray every day, and felt guilt anytime I failed to do so.

Yet another aspect of religious OCD, or scrupulosity, is asking others if you are behaving correctly, and unnecessarily asking for their forgiveness. So, not only does one have to to worry about what God is thinking of them, but they worry about what others are thinking of them.

I continued this religious scrupulosity well into my days at a fundamentalist Bible college, where I continued to view pornography. I came to a crisis point where I believed that I had committed an unpardonable sin against God, and that he had kicked me out of his family. I was guilt-ridden and panicked.

Two things happened that freed me from my religious scrupulosity. One day I had had enough of the intense feelings of guilt and decided to try to drop them and let the chips fall where they may, and I also started to question the major tenets of the fundamentalist Christianity which I had grown up with. This led to my rejection of the faith and an embrace of a more liberal and authentic personal faith.

Today I realize that my former form of religion fed my mental illness, and I am glad that I am free from those days of constantly worrying that I was in danger of hell-fire just because I was a sexual being.

Religious OCD is real. Have you experienced it?

Mark Andrew Nouwen

Living With Anxiety: Listening To Your Inner Voice

“There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have. And if you cannot hear it, you will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls.” ~ Howard Thurman

Soundtrack - Margo Price - Midwest Farmer's Daughter
                      Lyle Lovett - Lyle Lovett

It's a chilly Halloween Day here at Chapters/Starbucks here in Waterloo, Ontario. I've just finished my first Starbucks Pumpkin Spiced Latte of the season, and am following it up with a Pike Place roast. I just moved back here to Waterloo Region a handful of days ago, and already the language of Starbucks is coming back to me. It's not medium, it's grande.

As it is every day, I am experiencing a degree of anxiety. Living with generalized anxiety disorder is not fun. As I said in last night's blog, it feels the way you would if, while driving down the highway, you were confronted with a transport truck barreling down the wrong side of the road toward you. Except with GAD, you pretty much feel that way all of the time. Unease, panic, having a hard time being in the present moment.

Today is a particularly rough day. From the time I woke up I have felt a degree of panic. "Well, what's wrong? What are you panicking about?" That's the thing. People with GAD don't need a reason to be panicked, we just are. Part of this feeling is very familiar; it's the same way I felt while living in a verbally and emotionally bruising and unstable household. Back then I had good reason to feel panicked as voices were raised and doors were slammed. However, now I am 39 years old, I'm not living in an abusive situation, yet the same feeling remains.

It's at times like this when I find it almost critical to listen to my inner voice. I think we have two voices within ourselves, one positive and one negative. The negative voice is strong and pulls me farther from my true self. It's an earworm that says things like, "You'll never amount to anything," "No one could ever really love you," "Look how pathetic you are compared to everyone else around you." And it goes on and on. It's the voice that says "You'd be better off if you were dead." This voice, these messages can sometimes be crippling and they add to the feeling of panic. This voice is the devil on one of my shoulders.

The positive voice can be called many things: the inner voice, the Higher Self, perhaps The Holy Spirit for some people of faith. For me, I call it my authentic self or Higher Self. It's the angel on the other shoulder. It says reassuring things like "You are worthy of being loved and of loving," "I'm proud of you for getting out of bed today," "Have confidence in yourself," "Stay here, right now, in the present moment." And so on and so on.

Listening to the inner voice, the authentic self, is particularly essential for me as I live with GAD and PTSD (are there any letters that I'm missing?). These messages are what keep me going, what keep me alive on this planet. That and good friends, good music, and a good drink. For a long time, until somewhere in my twenties, my inner voice took a back seat to what I thought my god wanted of me. I would be obsessed (oh yes, I forgot OCD) with what I thought this god thought of me and how "he" wanted me to act. I had been taught that humankind was originally sinful and that rather than trusting ourselves (or any inner voice which might be authentic), I had to trust in this god. My voice was always secondary. It wasn't safe to listen to, let alone obey my authentic self, within my household and within my religion. Thankfully, my views on the nature of humankind changed over time, and I have bent my ear toward my own authentic voice. It's the voice that says "You are wonderfully unique and I love you," "There is nothing to be afraid of right now," and so on. It's the voice that urges me toward boldness and confidence rather than panic and fear.

I hope that wherever you are in your life, whatever you wrestle and struggle with, that you will be able to take time today to listen to the angel on your shoulder and kick the devil's ass.

Mark Andrew

Moving Forward When You're Scared To Death

Generalized Anxiety Disorder feels a lot like if you were headed down a busy highway and all of a sudden a transport truck was barreling down the wrong side of the road, about to hit you. Imagine that panic, and then imagine how I feel almost 24/7.

Good Evening. It will come to no surprise to most who are reading this that I suffer from mental illness. For those who need a refresher, I suffer from complex PTSD, general anxiety disorder, and major depressive disorder. I used to be very public about it, even starting a campaign years ago, the goal of which was to destigmatize mental illness. That was when I was very active - in my congregation, with a political party, and otherwise. But things changed approximately 4 years ago and what I thought would be a week or two rest-stop at a family members house turned into me seeking help down there in that small city and relocating there for 4 years. During those 4 years I saw an individual therapist, attended at least 4 or 5 different therapy groups, and juggled around with my medications (with the aid of a psychiatrist). I reconnected with family which was great, but lost connection with most of the friends I had made in the larger city.

What some people don't realize, especially those who don't suffer from a mental illness personally or even have a family member or friend who suffers, is that often, mental illness does not go away. At least that's my experience with it. It's the gift that keeps on giving and giving and giving. It's relentless.

For those who aren't familiar with complex PTSD, it's different from "regular" PTSD in that it is "a psychological disorder that occurs as a result of repetitive, prolonged trauma involving harm or abandonment by a caregiver or other interpersonal relationships with an uneven power dynamic." While I'm sure genetics are somehow involved, my "repetitive, prolonged trauma" came at the "hands" of my father. I put hands in quotation marks as my father never hit me, it was all verbal and emotional abuse and abandonment. (Note: I am glad that my father is in so many ways a changed man and that we have a pretty good relationship today). But it subsisted throughout my entire childhood, so the trauma was severe. It is said that "Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me," but that is just a lie. Words matter. Unspoken words matter too.

The main symptom of my complex PTSD is a severe case of generalized anxiety disorder. There are at least 6 symptoms of GAD, including:

• Excessive worrying and tension - For me this means being anxious about almost everything and worrying about everything, from family and friends, to my health, to a job or lack thereof, etc.
• Tiredness & Difficulty Sleeping - For me this means having a level of fatigue 24/7. Some of this is caused by the medication I take, but some of it is just due to the fact that my mind is constantly worrying about something. Like a hamster in a wheel.
• Headaches - Luckily for me this is one symptom that has escaped me.
• Problems Concentrating - For me this means that certain menial tasks such as reading a few pages in a book is very hard, or sitting down to write a coherent blog post as I hope this one will be. Performing tasks are exceedingly difficult because I am always concentrating on what I should be worried about.
• Frequent bathroom trips - Again, for me this is one symptom that has escaped me.
• Irritability - This can sometimes mean that miniscule problems seem larger than they really are.

This video does a pretty good job of describing my life. I will write more below the video:

So where am I today? A few days ago I moved back to the city where I had a lot of friends, involvement in my congregation as well as political party. I got to feeling very isolated where I was and knew that a change was in order.

While I am excited about the prospect of seeing old friends and making new ones, GAD is always there, mixed in with bouts of depression. Simple tasks like re-learning the bus system or getting to know where the grocery store is amp up the stress levels to near panic. GAD feels a lot like if you were headed down a busy highway and all of a sudden a transport truck was barreling down the wrong side of the road, about to hit you. Imagine that panic, and then imagine how I feel almost 24/7. It's exhausting, it truly is a suffering. Some people prefer to say that they "live with mental illness," or are "fighting mental illness." I call it for what it is: a suffering.

I write this blog tonight in order to express myself, and also give you a glimpse of what living with complex PTSD and particularly GAD looks like. For now I am telling myself "Small steps, Mark Andrew, small steps. Try to live in the present moment and complete tasks as they come; don't obsess over them in advance. This is really hard for someone with GAD. The reality is that I am living in a nice home and already connecting with people I care about. It's just hard to see that reality sometimes.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.

Mark Andrew