Clark
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
F%*&!#@ $#^&!
That's what has gone through my mind over the last six days. That's what sums up my emotions since I heard that Clark Stacy committed suicide on March 18, 2005.
I don't know how to describe the anger I feel over his death. I'm enraged another person has fallen to depression and accepted that stopping one's heart is easier to deal with than whatever lot God has given to them.
I'm so pissed and sad at the same time. Could this be a righteous anger? Righteous anger at myself for not probing him more when I had worked out with him at the gym? Righteous anger for not being a better friend or an R.A.? Righteous anger at knowing exactly what depression looks and feels like and not recognizing it earlier in Clark? Righteous anger at the community in which he lived in for being intolerant or ignorant of his true problems and for doing nothing? Righteous anger at being part of that community?
Probably all of the above but also none of the above. Answers in a time like this are harder to find than the guilty snowflake that initiated the avalanche. Answers always come slow (if at all) with tragedy or with understanding the multi-faceted disease of depression.
So many factors are involved in depression and suicide that they can only be understood after extended periods of doubting God and yourself; periods of knowing who God is and knowing who you are. There isn't any trick or guidebook on how or how not to be depressed. God created us all too creatively and with too much ingenuity to have some magic formula that would cure all people everywhere. If there was a god that simple, who would care enough to be in wonder of him or worship him?
An aspect of depression I've known is how alone you can feel. Yes, there's that community of believers, that congregation representing the body of Christ, that fellowship that exists anywhere two or more are gathered in his name. But those can all cease to exist when a person is depressed.
A scary fact to realize is that in the middle of all those things, a depressed person can want to have no part of any of that. Congregations or fellow believers are usually avoided because a depressed person has probably heard too many spiritual clichés from people who don't understand depression. The sick person might rather want to burn down a church around themselves rather than look for the God who is supposed to exist inside it.
And is that what happened to Clark? No one will know because, as some of his closest friends have said, he didn't show any signs of anything being wrong. Some depressed people can win Oscars for their portrayals of a person who has it together because they wouldn't just tell that person on the phone that they're planning to take their own life. It's just not your typical dinner conversation.
I don't know what kind of answers to give right now. I've cried and am sure I will cry, grieve, yell and say more things worthy to be replaced by asterisks, ampersands and exclamation points in the near future. I know that depression is a powerful beast that cannot be ignored. It can drive man to a violent death rather than listen to someone genuinely wanting to help. It can numb the most exuberant disciple into a fetal position, longing to catch a glimpse of the God he used to know.
I know that sometimes, God, in his usual omnipotent and omniscient way, will become real again and seem to be sitting right behind me. He will be more visible through relationships and fellowship and will wash over me in the honest words I exchange with friend. And until that time, I guess we'll see what my faith is for.
I don't know how to describe the anger I feel over his death. I'm enraged another person has fallen to depression and accepted that stopping one's heart is easier to deal with than whatever lot God has given to them.
I'm so pissed and sad at the same time. Could this be a righteous anger? Righteous anger at myself for not probing him more when I had worked out with him at the gym? Righteous anger for not being a better friend or an R.A.? Righteous anger at knowing exactly what depression looks and feels like and not recognizing it earlier in Clark? Righteous anger at the community in which he lived in for being intolerant or ignorant of his true problems and for doing nothing? Righteous anger at being part of that community?
Probably all of the above but also none of the above. Answers in a time like this are harder to find than the guilty snowflake that initiated the avalanche. Answers always come slow (if at all) with tragedy or with understanding the multi-faceted disease of depression.
So many factors are involved in depression and suicide that they can only be understood after extended periods of doubting God and yourself; periods of knowing who God is and knowing who you are. There isn't any trick or guidebook on how or how not to be depressed. God created us all too creatively and with too much ingenuity to have some magic formula that would cure all people everywhere. If there was a god that simple, who would care enough to be in wonder of him or worship him?
An aspect of depression I've known is how alone you can feel. Yes, there's that community of believers, that congregation representing the body of Christ, that fellowship that exists anywhere two or more are gathered in his name. But those can all cease to exist when a person is depressed.
A scary fact to realize is that in the middle of all those things, a depressed person can want to have no part of any of that. Congregations or fellow believers are usually avoided because a depressed person has probably heard too many spiritual clichés from people who don't understand depression. The sick person might rather want to burn down a church around themselves rather than look for the God who is supposed to exist inside it.
And is that what happened to Clark? No one will know because, as some of his closest friends have said, he didn't show any signs of anything being wrong. Some depressed people can win Oscars for their portrayals of a person who has it together because they wouldn't just tell that person on the phone that they're planning to take their own life. It's just not your typical dinner conversation.
I don't know what kind of answers to give right now. I've cried and am sure I will cry, grieve, yell and say more things worthy to be replaced by asterisks, ampersands and exclamation points in the near future. I know that depression is a powerful beast that cannot be ignored. It can drive man to a violent death rather than listen to someone genuinely wanting to help. It can numb the most exuberant disciple into a fetal position, longing to catch a glimpse of the God he used to know.
I know that sometimes, God, in his usual omnipotent and omniscient way, will become real again and seem to be sitting right behind me. He will be more visible through relationships and fellowship and will wash over me in the honest words I exchange with friend. And until that time, I guess we'll see what my faith is for.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
A Familiar Need
My day is brightened many shades when I can hear the 90s hour on local rock-stations. And luckily in Chicago, this comes twice a day, at 9 a.m. and at noon, thanks to the alliteration.
My mind is soothed to hear Chris Cornell scream through "Spoonman" or Scott Weiland wail through "Wicked Garden." These are songs I lived and matured by in high school and will always consider familiar. They represent a time in my life that I know intimately; a time that I look back on and instantly grow happy.
The happiness doesn't come from a lovely experience from that time of life (junior high and high school aren't times that I'd like to relive) but more just from being reminded of something I am familiar with.
That familiarity brings security. I know every guitar riff and bridge of "Cumbersome" by Seven Mary Three from repeated listenings. I know exactly what will come after the chorus, "I have become cumbersome to this world" and I can rest easy because of that. This is something I know. This is something I can follow and not get lost. I get exuberant knowing that the next line is "And my girl."
You wouldn't think that a successful college graduate would need such trivialities as decade-old songs to bring them peace in their lives. But I do. You'd think that a person could find this kind of familiarity and peace in a relationship with the Almighty, a significant other or congregation of believers. But sometimes some people can't.
And because of this, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' cover of "Love Rollercoaster" manifests a safe haven where a person can relax, because the listener knows what comes next. The listener knows the future, at least for another 1 minute and 36 seconds.
I know this kind of peace is utterly insufficient to meet any kind of real need but it does remind me of the peace and comfort I need to find in Christ. I know that no number of playings of any of 90s songs can bring any lasting peace, only the kind that make me yearn for the true kind that comes through the Spirit.
My mind is soothed to hear Chris Cornell scream through "Spoonman" or Scott Weiland wail through "Wicked Garden." These are songs I lived and matured by in high school and will always consider familiar. They represent a time in my life that I know intimately; a time that I look back on and instantly grow happy.
The happiness doesn't come from a lovely experience from that time of life (junior high and high school aren't times that I'd like to relive) but more just from being reminded of something I am familiar with.
That familiarity brings security. I know every guitar riff and bridge of "Cumbersome" by Seven Mary Three from repeated listenings. I know exactly what will come after the chorus, "I have become cumbersome to this world" and I can rest easy because of that. This is something I know. This is something I can follow and not get lost. I get exuberant knowing that the next line is "And my girl."
You wouldn't think that a successful college graduate would need such trivialities as decade-old songs to bring them peace in their lives. But I do. You'd think that a person could find this kind of familiarity and peace in a relationship with the Almighty, a significant other or congregation of believers. But sometimes some people can't.
And because of this, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' cover of "Love Rollercoaster" manifests a safe haven where a person can relax, because the listener knows what comes next. The listener knows the future, at least for another 1 minute and 36 seconds.
I know this kind of peace is utterly insufficient to meet any kind of real need but it does remind me of the peace and comfort I need to find in Christ. I know that no number of playings of any of 90s songs can bring any lasting peace, only the kind that make me yearn for the true kind that comes through the Spirit.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Crouching What?!
There are many hours of the day where I have to listen to a police scanner and hear cops relay incidents that happen in the city.
There's always calls of "shots fired" or of a 10-1, which is a cop calling for backup. Some of the dispatchers who talk to the police and relay the messages can be enjoyable to listen to, as some receive ridiculous notifications. "Mrs. Adams called and said that some youngsters were outside playing loud music and misbehaving."
But the other night, a dispatcher relayed a call of "Crouching tiger, hidden prostitute."
Crouching what?
Yes. Apparently, someone called from a cell phone to say that a lady of ill repute was crouching behind some bushes and the caller wanted to report it to police.
Hearing that got my hopes up of hearing other possible calls. A gang disturbance in one of the larger hispanic neighborhoods (La Vallita) called in as: "Big Trouble in Little Village." A person stranded on a boat in Lake Michigan: "Seabiscuit." And so on and so forth.
There's always calls of "shots fired" or of a 10-1, which is a cop calling for backup. Some of the dispatchers who talk to the police and relay the messages can be enjoyable to listen to, as some receive ridiculous notifications. "Mrs. Adams called and said that some youngsters were outside playing loud music and misbehaving."
But the other night, a dispatcher relayed a call of "Crouching tiger, hidden prostitute."
Crouching what?
Yes. Apparently, someone called from a cell phone to say that a lady of ill repute was crouching behind some bushes and the caller wanted to report it to police.
Hearing that got my hopes up of hearing other possible calls. A gang disturbance in one of the larger hispanic neighborhoods (La Vallita) called in as: "Big Trouble in Little Village." A person stranded on a boat in Lake Michigan: "Seabiscuit." And so on and so forth.
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