R.E.M. said:
Dropkick Murphys said:
When a bomb goes off, its destructive power is only part of the damage. In the aftermath, rescue crews and repairmen will cause further damage to the site, in the effort to save lives and, well, repair the damage. When I was fifteen, one of the first "bombs" in my life went off (see "Into the Darkness").
I spent the following three years suffering further damage, in the hopes of returning to a sense of normalcy. But like a bombed building, I would never be the same. The police agreed to drop any charges against me if I agreed to see a mental health professional.
Understand, first of all, that I had been diagnosed with ADD at the age of ten. Doctors prescribed Ritalin, a stimulant. When I was fifteen, the mental health professional I saw at the order of the police diagnosed me with atypical depression, and changed my prescription to Paxil, an anti-depressant. He also made recommendations for my continued improvement.
Most of those recommendations were ignored.
Where Ritalin was supposed to help, it over-stimulated me. Where Paxil was supposed to help, it increased the vivid nature of my nightmares. What I had was bipolar disorder and abuse-related PTSD. When I transferred to private school, it was a good thing, but it was also like cutting through a ball of rubber bands: release the tension, and the whole thing falls apart.
When you give stimulants to someone with bipolar disorder, it can (and probably will) induce mania. That's exactly what happened when I was ten years old, and my rotten behavior took a turn for the worse. I'm still accountable for my actions, but had I known I had bipolar disorder then, it would have explained the downturn in my emotional control.
Antidepressants like Paxil have variable effects on bipolar disorder. In my waking hours, I would have likely felt more control, had I not suffered the strife of wetting my bed every night because of nightmares. Understand, I was ruining mattresses that had slip covers, absorbent pads, and I was wearing Depends. It wasn't just an inconvenience, and it was far from my only problem.
My family didn't trust me, and was unwittingly abusive. My church that I'd once considered a haven only tolerated me. Students at my new school talked with kids from other schools in the area, and soon the rumors started flying at my new school. I had a few friends, sure, but no one close.
It was around that time I also began to wonder if I was gay. See, in public school, kids would tell me I was gay, in every way you can imagine, and in ways you probably can't fathom. When you hear a lie five to six days a week, multiple times a day for nine years, you start to wonder.
Despite a lust addiction founded entirely on heterosexuality, I knew girls didn't like me. I was afraid of women, and looked up to men. That planted the seed for all kinds of doubt that plagued me into my early twenties. But even as those small bombs in my life were going off, I had experienced something in the midst of it. On some level, it really started to sink in.
God doesn't hate me. God isn't a wrathful father just waiting for you to screw up. He loves His children.
I started reading the Bible on my own then, not just because I was expected to. I felt I had salvation, but didn't really understand what I signed up for. One day, right around my 18th birthday, I came across John 17, in which Jesus prayed for the unity of all Believers. By then, I'd started to realize my church was little more than a cult, and got the sense I was on my way out the door anyway.
John 17 sealed the deal. I felt as if I'd gone through the motions the church expected, and it had nearly destroyed me. I left denominations behind, on the conviction Christ did not want me loyal to a sect, but to Him as part of His Church, His Bride. It was also around that time I thought I might be called into youth ministry. As I prayed and worked my way through that, God did point me to Isaiah 9:2.
Up to that point in my life, I had known darkness, and yet I had also known the Light in that darkness. Well into my twenties, God showed me I was to be a light in the darkness for others, to point them to the source of the Light within me. My place was not in traditional ministry with people who had lived relatively comfortable lives, but in the trenches with people who had seen addiction, pain, abuse, and mental illness.
James 1:27 says that "good religion" is to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world. I've certainly failed spectacularly at good religion, but I had finally learned the difference between going through the motions and actually serving the Lord. It was a start, and I knew I would continue to learn.
Ultimately, I learned that the Southern Baptists aren't evil, in the sense they weren't trying to hurt me. Like everyone, they're human. I'm happy to count many as my Brothers and Sisters in Christ. Yes, my church made mistakes, and the damage in my life was extensive, but just as my disability didn't surprise God when I was born, nothing I endured at church, school, or at home surprised Him, either.
I began to expand my horizons, and learned a great deal about how God does and doesn't operate. Throughout my twenties I continued to struggle with addictions new and old, but never without a purpose. God gave me a heart to help people like me, but first, He led me into the wilderness.
Chris Rice said:
