My Mental Illness And Religiosity

[BeyondReligiosity]

Hi, ExC. Glad to have found this site. Looking for healthy ways to recover from the effects of having been a zealous Christian for over 20 years. You know, the old tapes that play - all the warnings from the Bible and the church about living a life apart from the biblical God so ingrained that you see them at every turn. This is not to mention my own adept skill for adopting scripture in creatively harsh applications to myself. Also hoping my story may encourage other deconverts that they are not alone.

 

 

I was not raised in a Christian home, but in predominately Christian communities. I periodically visited Sunday School as a child and loved the Sunday School stories, and especially the punch and cookies. I learned that God was "good" and terrifying, that proverbial white-bearded judge. I tried to get saved at 8 years old, but was told I was not ready and lived my childhood from about that age feeling bad and ugly, though other factors mostly contributed to that.

 

 

One thing that made me especially vulnerable to the Christian faith was my own temperament and, I suspect, mental illness. I was a timid child who feared authority and power. This was not helped by being raised in a strict home which promoted that fear. I was introverted and unable to make friends, internalizing the rejection I perceived in the world to self-loathing and had no external outlets for emotions. I journaled from an early age, wrote poetry and spent a lot of time alone in nature fantasizing about being famous and loved by everyone. My low self-esteem could not all be attributed to my upbringing - my three siblings were raised the same way. Each had plenty of friends, engaged in extracurricular activities and became self-respecting adults. I only felt safe or comfortable when I was alone.

 

 

When I was 15 years old my hunger for love culminated in the eager offer of my virginity to my boyfriend. I secretly knew this act of debauchery sealed my fate with the damned. My self-loathing mounted even more, but I was comforted by the knowledge that most people couldn’t see how bad I was, unlike the full transparency I felt as a child. I was even more primed for indoctrination. Wash away all my sins, even the secret ones that torment me the most.

 

 

When I was sixteen, my newly Christian grandparents were in town. My brother and I decided we would be delightful grandchildren and take them to church Easter Sunday. The little sanctuary was packed with semi-annual visitors. The words I had heard so many times as a child finally made sense and it was more wonderful than I could have ever hoped for. The all-powerful, perfect and righteous God of the whole Universe knew my name. He wanted me! He loved me! He was calling me through the words the preacher spoke. I was scared to answer the invitation in front of all those people, but I walked out of the building – literally – with shaking knees.

 

 

Though the thought of going somewhere new by myself was frightening, I asked my mother if I could borrow the car to go back to church that night. Seven others were there, a little less intimidating. Again I felt like God was talking to me and the preacher could read my mind. I acknowledged my sinfulness to God, confessed my faith in His sacrifice to save me and asked Jesus into my heart.

 

 

The preacher seemed disappointed that I did not appear more excited about the experience. What he didn’t know was that, inside, I was in mental/emotional ecstasy. I felt new. I felt clean. I felt like “OKAY” had been indelibly stamped on me by the Great Judge of all. I went straight to the pizza restaurant where my mother was working to tell her. She looked shocked, said “Good for you, honey,” and “I’ve got to get back to work.” It was not the first time I would be confused that others did not see how wonderful this was.

 

 

I carried my Bible with me to school. I immersed myself in its teachings and took every biblical instruction seriously and literally. I shared my faith experience more out of excitement and seeking to find someone who could identify with it than any attempt to evangelize. I abandoned the few high school relationships I (finally) had, including my boyfriend, because I feared they would lead me to sin, preferring to sit by myself at lunch and read my Bible. I relished theology and marveled at how the old scriptures foretold and symbolized the advent and sacrifice of Jesus. My fixation with God was smiled upon by the Pentecostal church I attended as if it was normal and healthy. I was the only youth my age in the small congregation.

 

 

After graduating from high school and a year of living for God, the seductions of the world began to enamor me. I wanted to be free to follow my own youthful longings, be normal and experience more closeness with my family. After endless hours of earnest supplication to God that He remove from me my sinful desires (without answer), I decided that I would abandon faith and pursue a life of selfish ambition. The decision was not easy and involved a lot of mental torment. Though my church had taught the security of salvation, I was fearful I was going to hell. Additionally, I felt I was hurting God and rejecting the wealth of grace He was offering me to stay faithful.

 

 

I reunited with my boyfriend, started working part-time and began college. I became thin and healthy, dressed more fashionably, wore more make-up, felt more confident and pretty, and made many friends at work. Life felt good, even if I did consider myself damned. I got pregnant, my boyfriend and I broke up and grown up life started. My child’s father had no interest in our son’s life and his only interest in me was for sex. It took me two years, but I finally broke it off for good.

 

 

Not long after, I met my first husband who was interested in having a committed relationship. He didn’t appreciate my son for the beautiful creature he was, but he was a good role model and provider. Besides that, he loved me. We dated for four years and got married when my son was almost six. I then decided to rededicate my life to Christ.

 

 

I picked up with the same intensity I had when I left off. I started reading a book about demonic strongholds and became convinced I had them in my life. The fixation with the spirit realm triggered my first psychotic break and I perceived demonic activity in everything I saw. I began to experience higher-order hallucinations, feeling that God was impressing on me to do certain things like asking if I could lay hands on and pray for a complete stranger. I never saw things others didn’t see or hear things others didn’t hear, but I was delusional and it affected my ability to function at work and at home. I wasn’t diagnosed at the time. It was a Christian friend who broke through the mental torment I was experiencing with, “Shawna, would you do this to your child?”

 

 

After that, I felt I had been spiritually raped, that the devil had been allowed to counterfeit the voice of God so convincingly as to coerce me to do things I detested. I didn’t curse God, but told Him I would not trust Him unless he showed up in an undeniable way. That only lasted for a few months and I went seeking after Him again, though more cautiously. I joined a church that, though charismatic, was not “holy roller.” I began reading the Bible and praying again, looking for divine confirmation I was on the right path. Thus began the golden years of life and loving God.

 

 

Though I wouldn’t have another psychotic break for another 15 years, I would still have an unnatural interest in God. I loved spending time in devotion and prayer and received most of my beliefs and perspective from private communion with what I believed was His Holy Spirit rather than sermons heard on Sunday. The confirmation I received from the church validated that I was growing and maturing spiritually. I no longer viewed everything through a spiritual lens, but was able to glean practical wisdom from my study of the Bible applicable to everyday life. I perceived God spoke to me directly (though not audibly) by His Holy Spirit. However, everything He had to say to me made my relationship with myself and others healthier. He was a pretty good Counselor in retrospect and I have concluded the faith was more functional than not compared to my childhood perceptions.

 

 

I often struggled with questions regarding the problem of evil and suffering, biblical genocide, the harmony (or rather disharmony) of the gospels, condemnation of gays, alcoholics and people who never had the chance to hear the good news, etc. I learned to candidly bring my questions before my heavenly Father and confess them without any shame. I often did find satisfying answers, though I only searched for them in the Christian venues of the church, Christian books and, especially for me - divine revelation of the Bible. Regarding the things that continued to stump me, I resolved that I was no one to demand answers of God. I could request them. That’s all.

 

 

I started writing theology and I gained the attention of my pastor. He would use my stuff from the pulpit and did not give me credit, but I was flattered nonetheless. At times he would even ask me to stop speaking until he could get out a piece of paper to write down what I was saying. I became a leader in the church and among my family who all, for the most part, became Christians over time.

 

 

I experienced a lot of emotional healing in those years. As my perceived relationship with God grew, He taught me how to identify my feelings and confide them to Him without any judgment. I learned there was nothing evil about feelings or thoughts in themselves. My understanding of God’s love toward me deepened until I felt that He showed warm interest in every detail of my life. I sensed a constant communion with Him and sincerely felt the relationship was reciprocal, myself being the greater benefactor. It seemed He was constantly guiding me with wisdom and love.

 

 

For the better part of ten years, nothing ever seemed to go really bad or wrong for me. There were difficult trials, but it seemed He was with me, guiding me all the while, teaching me of His beautiful ways, growing me in His love toward others and ultimately making everything work out. So many things happened and so many prayers were answered that, even now, it’s difficult to chalk up completely to mere coincidence and confirmation bias.

 

 

Then, in my mid-thirties, I went back to college to obtain my bachelor’s degree in psychology. At first, I believed I could see right through the demonic doctrines presented there and how they could so closely counterfeit truth while fundamentally deceiving undiscerning minds with seductive charm. That didn’t last longer than a semester after transferring to university for my upper division courses. I became faced with all the holes in my once satisfying answers. I fell into depression and saw a psychiatrist who prescribed a med that somewhat calmed the burning hunger for answers, but at the cost of no longer being able to perceive God’s activity in my life.

 

 

Until that moment, I had no coping skill other than my relationship with God. I had no identity apart from it, no security, no life purpose. Even my values and morals were tied up in memories of experiencing God in personal ways. I had scores of journals, theology discovered through divine revelation, testimonies of His repeated intervention in my world, evidence of His touch on my life. Then… nothing – not another Word, not another insight, no sign or synchronicity. I held onto faith for a year like that, clinging to the memories of what I experienced before, reminding myself of God’s faithfulness, pleading in prayer for His grace until I could hold on no longer.

 

 

I was devastated. I had always turned to Him for help, but I couldn’t turn to Him in faith. And you know what the Bible says about that. “…anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists…” (I’m comforted that others here get that). I sought the counsel of those I once led. They looked at me quizzically and offered the best answers they could, nothing satisfactory, an offer of prayer... I gradually stopped asking God for help, stopped attempting empty devotions, stopped going to church. It was all dead.

 

 

I went back to the doc who increased the med. I became even more depressed, started drinking and gaming heavily to numb out. I was still going to school, working odd jobs here and there, but everything seemed pointless. I felt as if the earth had been ripped from underneath me and I was falling endlessly into a pitch black void – alone, lost and frightened. I managed to obtain my degree with a 3.4 GPA, but I took four years just to complete my upper division courses.

 

 

Here I am five years and two more psychotic breaks later, both related to my fixation with the biblical God. I took a little detour into an eclectic mix of alternate religions, but found nothing as satisfying as the Christian God once was. I’ve been diagnosed with Bipolar I and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I take a handful of meds morning and night to keep from having delusions that I’m in hell. The things that most help me in my recovery both from my illness and from Christianity are distraction (working, connecting with family and friends, hobbies), practicing mindfulness (symptoms come and go – they always go eventually) and a continued focus on personal growth (journaling, seeing my therapist, learning new things). Any additional perspective or approaches to coping are deeply appreciated.

 

[Margee]

 

 Any additional perspective or approaches to coping are deeply appreciated.

 

 

Welcome to Ex-c BeyondReligiosity. You are home sweetie. Thank you so much for sharing your story. I can relate to many, many thing you said. One of the most wonderful things you will discover on this site is that YOU, yourself were your own guiding light. You were the one who brought yourself out of situations. You were the one that was strong....you may have thought at the time it was god because of the brainwashing...but it was you all along. So keep doing that. The strength is inside of you. It never was an invisible power!! It was you, you, you!!

 

I am so glad you found us. We all came here with the same doubts, similar stories and questions. I am looking forward to watching what I believe to be a wonderful, sensitive person who will become so strong that nothing will make you fear again!!

 

Big ((hug))

[James23]

Hi BeyondReligiosity, thanks for your honesty that must have been a difficult story to tell. I myself have suffered from a chronic pain condition for the last 20 years, most of which I spent in the church. Religion prevented me from being able to accept my condition and move on. I am in a much better place now that I have left the church, and I think that you will be too. Enjoy your freedom from religion.

[yunea]

Welcome, BeyondReligiosity.

Thanks for sharing your story. I related very much and you really made me think back on some things I experienced as a believer. Thanks again.

[BeyondReligiosity]

Thank you, Margee, james and yunea for your warm welcomes. I wasn't sure if anyone would read that dissertation of a post - thanks so much for that. Hugs and I hope to see you around. 

[Ellinas]

Welcome.

 

I hope you find (or have found) lasting stability in your life.

[quinntar]

 

Hi, ExC. Glad to have found this site. Looking for healthy ways to recover from the effects of having been a zealous Christian for over 20 years. You know, the old tapes that play - all the warnings from the Bible and the church about living a life apart from the biblical God so ingrained that you see them at every turn. This is not to mention my own adept skill for adopting scripture in creatively harsh applications to myself. Also hoping my story may encourage other deconverts that they are not alone.

I was not raised in a Christian home, but in predominately Christian communities. I periodically visited Sunday School as a child and loved the Sunday School stories, and especially the punch and cookies. I learned that God was "good" and terrifying, that proverbial white-bearded judge. I tried to get saved at 8 years old, but was told I was not ready and lived my childhood from about that age feeling bad and ugly, though other factors mostly contributed to that.

One thing that made me especially vulnerable to the Christian faith was my own temperament and, I suspect, mental illness. I was a timid child who feared authority and power. This was not helped by being raised in a strict home which promoted that fear. I was introverted and unable to make friends, internalizing the rejection I perceived in the world to self-loathing and had no external outlets for emotions. I journaled from an early age, wrote poetry and spent a lot of time alone in nature fantasizing about being famous and loved by everyone. My low self-esteem could not all be attributed to my upbringing - my three siblings were raised the same way. Each had plenty of friends, engaged in extracurricular activities and became self-respecting adults. I only felt safe or comfortable when I was alone.

When I was 15 years old my hunger for love culminated in the eager offer of my virginity to my boyfriend. I secretly knew this act of debauchery sealed my fate with the damned. My self-loathing mounted even more, but I was comforted by the knowledge that most people couldn’t see how bad I was, unlike the full transparency I felt as a child. I was even more primed for indoctrination. Wash away all my sins, even the secret ones that torment me the most.

When I was sixteen, my newly Christian grandparents were in town. My brother and I decided we would be delightful grandchildren and take them to church Easter Sunday. The little sanctuary was packed with semi-annual visitors. The words I had heard so many times as a child finally made sense and it was more wonderful than I could have ever hoped for. The all-powerful, perfect and righteous God of the whole Universe knew my name. He wanted me! He loved me! He was calling me through the words the preacher spoke. I was scared to answer the invitation in front of all those people, but I walked out of the building – literally – with shaking knees.

Though the thought of going somewhere new by myself was frightening, I asked my mother if I could borrow the car to go back to church that night. Seven others were there, a little less intimidating. Again I felt like God was talking to me and the preacher could read my mind. I acknowledged my sinfulness to God, confessed my faith in His sacrifice to save me and asked Jesus into my heart.

The preacher seemed disappointed that I did not appear more excited about the experience. What he didn’t know was that, inside, I was in mental/emotional ecstasy. I felt new. I felt clean. I felt like “OKAY” had been indelibly stamped on me by the Great Judge of all. I went straight to the pizza restaurant where my mother was working to tell her. She looked shocked, said “Good for you, honey,” and “I’ve got to get back to work.” It was not the first time I would be confused that others did not see how wonderful this was.

I carried my Bible with me to school. I immersed myself in its teachings and took every biblical instruction seriously and literally. I shared my faith experience more out of excitement and seeking to find someone who could identify with it than any attempt to evangelize. I abandoned the few high school relationships I (finally) had, including my boyfriend, because I feared they would lead me to sin, preferring to sit by myself at lunch and read my Bible. I relished theology and marveled at how the old scriptures foretold and symbolized the advent and sacrifice of Jesus. My fixation with God was smiled upon by the Pentecostal church I attended as if it was normal and healthy. I was the only youth my age in the small congregation.

After graduating from high school and a year of living for God, the seductions of the world began to enamor me. I wanted to be free to follow my own youthful longings, be normal and experience more closeness with my family. After endless hours of earnest supplication to God that He remove from me my sinful desires (without answer), I decided that I would abandon faith and pursue a life of selfish ambition. The decision was not easy and involved a lot of mental torment. Though my church had taught the security of salvation, I was fearful I was going to hell. Additionally, I felt I was hurting God and rejecting the wealth of grace He was offering me to stay faithful.

I reunited with my boyfriend, started working part-time and began college. I became thin and healthy, dressed more fashionably, wore more make-up, felt more confident and pretty, and made many friends at work. Life felt good, even if I did consider myself damned. I got pregnant, my boyfriend and I broke up and grown up life started. My child’s father had no interest in our son’s life and his only interest in me was for sex. It took me two years, but I finally broke it off for good.

Not long after, I met my first husband who was interested in having a committed relationship. He didn’t appreciate my son for the beautiful creature he was, but he was a good role model and provider. Besides that, he loved me. We dated for four years and got married when my son was almost six. I then decided to rededicate my life to Christ.

I picked up with the same intensity I had when I left off. I started reading a book about demonic strongholds and became convinced I had them in my life. The fixation with the spirit realm triggered my first psychotic break and I perceived demonic activity in everything I saw. I began to experience higher-order hallucinations, feeling that God was impressing on me to do certain things like asking if I could lay hands on and pray for a complete stranger. I never saw things others didn’t see or hear things others didn’t hear, but I was delusional and it affected my ability to function at work and at home. I wasn’t diagnosed at the time. It was a Christian friend who broke through the mental torment I was experiencing with, “Shawna, would you do this to your child?”

After that, I felt I had been spiritually raped, that the devil had been allowed to counterfeit the voice of God so convincingly as to coerce me to do things I detested. I didn’t curse God, but told Him I would not trust Him unless he showed up in an undeniable way. That only lasted for a few months and I went seeking after Him again, though more cautiously. I joined a church that, though charismatic, was not “holy roller.” I began reading the Bible and praying again, looking for divine confirmation I was on the right path. Thus began the golden years of life and loving God.

Though I wouldn’t have another psychotic break for another 15 years, I would still have an unnatural interest in God. I loved spending time in devotion and prayer and received most of my beliefs and perspective from private communion with what I believed was His Holy Spirit rather than sermons heard on Sunday. The confirmation I received from the church validated that I was growing and maturing spiritually. I no longer viewed everything through a spiritual lens, but was able to glean practical wisdom from my study of the Bible applicable to everyday life. I perceived God spoke to me directly (though not audibly) by His Holy Spirit. However, everything He had to say to me made my relationship with myself and others healthier. He was a pretty good Counselor in retrospect and I have concluded the faith was more functional than not compared to my childhood perceptions.

I often struggled with questions regarding the problem of evil and suffering, biblical genocide, the harmony (or rather disharmony) of the gospels, condemnation of gays, alcoholics and people who never had the chance to hear the good news, etc. I learned to candidly bring my questions before my heavenly Father and confess them without any shame. I often did find satisfying answers, though I only searched for them in the Christian venues of the church, Christian books and, especially for me - divine revelation of the Bible. Regarding the things that continued to stump me, I resolved that I was no one to demand answers of God. I could request them. That’s all.

I started writing theology and I gained the attention of my pastor. He would use my stuff from the pulpit and did not give me credit, but I was flattered nonetheless. At times he would even ask me to stop speaking until he could get out a piece of paper to write down what I was saying. I became a leader in the church and among my family who all, for the most part, became Christians over time.

I experienced a lot of emotional healing in those years. As my perceived relationship with God grew, He taught me how to identify my feelings and confide them to Him without any judgment. I learned there was nothing evil about feelings or thoughts in themselves. My understanding of God’s love toward me deepened until I felt that He showed warm interest in every detail of my life. I sensed a constant communion with Him and sincerely felt the relationship was reciprocal, myself being the greater benefactor. It seemed He was constantly guiding me with wisdom and love.

For the better part of ten years, nothing ever seemed to go really bad or wrong for me. There were difficult trials, but it seemed He was with me, guiding me all the while, teaching me of His beautiful ways, growing me in His love toward others and ultimately making everything work out. So many things happened and so many prayers were answered that, even now, it’s difficult to chalk up completely to mere coincidence and confirmation bias.

Then, in my mid-thirties, I went back to college to obtain my bachelor’s degree in psychology. At first, I believed I could see right through the demonic doctrines presented there and how they could so closely counterfeit truth while fundamentally deceiving undiscerning minds with seductive charm. That didn’t last longer than a semester after transferring to university for my upper division courses. I became faced with all the holes in my once satisfying answers. I fell into depression and saw a psychiatrist who prescribed a med that somewhat calmed the burning hunger for answers, but at the cost of no longer being able to perceive God’s activity in my life.

Until that moment, I had no coping skill other than my relationship with God. I had no identity apart from it, no security, no life purpose. Even my values and morals were tied up in memories of experiencing God in personal ways. I had scores of journals, theology discovered through divine revelation, testimonies of His repeated intervention in my world, evidence of His touch on my life. Then… nothing – not another Word, not another insight, no sign or synchronicity. I held onto faith for a year like that, clinging to the memories of what I experienced before, reminding myself of God’s faithfulness, pleading in prayer for His grace until I could hold on no longer.

I was devastated. I had always turned to Him for help, but I couldn’t turn to Him in faith. And you know what the Bible says about that. “…anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists…” (I’m comforted that others here get that). I sought the counsel of those I once led. They looked at me quizzically and offered the best answers they could, nothing satisfactory, an offer of prayer... I gradually stopped asking God for help, stopped attempting empty devotions, stopped going to church. It was all dead.

I went back to the doc who increased the med. I became even more depressed, started drinking and gaming heavily to numb out. I was still going to school, working odd jobs here and there, but everything seemed pointless. I felt as if the earth had been ripped from underneath me and I was falling endlessly into a pitch black void – alone, lost and frightened. I managed to obtain my degree with a 3.4 GPA, but I took four years just to complete my upper division courses.

Here I am five years and two more psychotic breaks later, both related to my fixation with the biblical God. I took a little detour into an eclectic mix of alternate religions, but found nothing as satisfying as the Christian God once was. I’ve been diagnosed with Bipolar I and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I take a handful of meds morning and night to keep from having delusions that I’m in hell. The things that most help me in my recovery both from my illness and from Christianity are distraction (working, connecting with family and friends, hobbies), practicing mindfulness (symptoms come and go – they always go eventually) and a continued focus on personal growth (journaling, seeing my therapist, learning new things). Any additional perspective or approaches to coping are deeply appreciated.

People only deserve back what they put out, hell is not feasible.

[I Broke Free]

Thank you, Margee, james and yunea for your warm welcomes. I wasn't sure if anyone would read that dissertation of a post - thanks so much for that. Hugs and I hope to see you around. 

 

Hi BeyondReligiousity

 

I like the dissertation style myself. We get a much better picture of the whole story. I have been a member here for 13 years and never tire of reading the testimonies. Yours was well thought out and engaging. Thank you.

 

Welcome to our world. If you read long enough you will find posts that will speak directly to you and your experience. When I came here in 2003 I had already left Christianity behind 25 years earlier when I was only 18. I came to this site by accident and found myself staying. While I thought my break with religion was something in my past; I learned through reading posts here that I was still carrying a lot of resentment that I needed to purge. It took a while, but it worked. In fact, many reading this post today may not even know who I am as I post so seldom now. Eventually even the fact you left Christianity become a non-issue in your life. That is where I am now.

 

Welcome to you

 

I Broke Free

[sdelsolray]

Welcome BeyondReligiousity.

 

One of the issues with most long-term mental illness is that it doesn't affect the entire brain or nervous system, but only certain functions/aspects of it.  This results in a life of long-term functional deficiency instead of death.  By way of example, many deficiencies (often genetic, sometimes environmental) in other organs cause death quite quickly unless medical intervention corrects the problem.  Add to that the relative infancy of medical treatment for brain anomalies, at least compared to treatment of other organ problems, and it is clear that many folks suffer from loss of normal partial brain function which is not fatal.

 

Your identification of religiosity in your life is an example of this.  Fortunately, you are aware, pragmatic and honest enough to rationally treat the condition.

 

I have nothing to offer in terms of healing, other than suggesting that you spend time using the normally functioning parts of your brain (which is the majority of it) to do normal things.  Of course, "normal" does not include religious nonsense, particularly from such a virulent religion as Christianity.

 

Good luck!

[GirlOnFire]

Hi, and welcome, Beyond Religiosity!

 

I can relate to a lot of what you shared, in particular, your upbringing and how you were attracted to the church.  I have spent a lot of time (too much time) over the years trying to figure out why/how in the world I got so sucked into something that I wasn't raised in, and "knew different" from.  Like you, I have come to the conclusion that I was drawn to it out of insecurity, fear, and the desire for acceptance and approval (neither of which I received at the super fundamental church I was involved in).  It's a hard pill to swallow that it wasn't some external force, like the way I was raised, but rather something internal, that convinced me that I would be better off giving my life over to Jesus/God/the church/Christianity.  Honestly, I struggle often with feeling stupid and weak for accepting a prescribed truth like that (and all the subsequent psychological damage that came with it) when I should've been smarter and stronger than that.

 

But at least I can say, now I AM smarter and stronger than that!

 

All that to say, I totally understand a lot of your feelings about the whole thing.  You are definitely NOT alone!

[Voice]

Your diagnosis was pretty much the same as mine, but your experience as a christian is more than I'd care to have experienced personally, more than I did. 

I drew a chart of manic-depressive episodes in my life to date, from childhood. The one event that spiked mania off the chart was the 2 years I was a charismatic/fundamentalist christian. Same kinds of coherence you had with things all working out beyond coincidence, followed by needs to explore your own humanity, followed by devastation and fears of hell. Depression.

 

The only meds I take now are lithium and lamotragine, and some supplements like fish oil. It took a long time for me to grow out of those bible-based self attacks just after 2 years of christianity, with no meds at all. I wasn't diagnosed until recently, maybe 8 years ago (I'm 52 and was a christian at 23, 24.).

 

My brother, once a fundamentalist, now just a plain good man seeking health and reality, no longer pious, had a meeting with some church members concerning a bi-polar man who the church wanted to convert. His response was, no, that's not a good idea. Bi-polar and religion are NOT a good mix. He saw what happened to me, and he saw it elsewhere too. He couldn't be more right.

 

So are your family still christians? Do they try to draw you back? Do you think you will go back again as the pendulum swings from low to high?

[BeyondReligiosity]

 

So are your family still christians? Do they try to draw you back? Do you think you will go back again as the pendulum swings from low to high?

 

Most of my family are still Christians - one even more zealous and mentally ill than I was, a few committed and mentally stable, and others just normal people who don't go to church, but profess Christianity as their faith.

 

Of the ones I've told, they expressed disappointment, made a few small arguments for the faith (including reminding me I was a great influence in them coming to the faith) and then let it go telling me they love me and will pray for me.

 

I already recommitted to the faith once after my last psychotic episode so it's hard to say I would never go back. I rationalize I'm receiving good treatment now, I have more self-worth and I have many other skills for coping with life. The only reason I say I'm not certain I would never return to Christianity is because certainty is one of the things I left behind with Christianity. After the last recommitment when I found no help in God, but found it in myself, I was not traumatized at all. I did not skip a beat. That is, I was not getting better in my recovery from the episode, was praying with all my heart, reading my Bible and going to church, pleading with God to help me. I did that for about four months. Then one day I was driving in my car and I said out loud, "It's time to feel better." I set an intention in that moment that I would take responsibility for getting better and stop waiting on God to rescue me. And that's what I did. I was not very let down that God did not come through that time. I let him slip from my hand like tissue full of waste in the toilet and felt better for having found some resolution on my own. I don't see it as likely I will ever go back, but I can't predict how my illness will progress either.