SLEEPERS ‘WAKE CHAPTER TEN

DEPRESSION

June 2025

1) Click here to read chapter one 2) Click here to read chapter two

3) Click here to read chapter three 4) Click here to read chapter four

5) Click here to read chapter five 6) Click here to read chapter six

7) Click here to read chapter 7 8) Click here to read chapter eight

9) Click here to read chapter nine

So yesterday, I allowed myself to walk into a depression. This morning I’m still feeling the pull to stay in it, but writing this and planning to share it with you is keeping me afloat. It’s one of the main reasons I write and create art about these things. 

Here is maybe my favorite “Sleepers ‘wake” verse that pushes me to do this:

“But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says,

“Awake, O sleeper,

and arise from the dead,

and Christ will shine on you.”

That’s Ephesians 5:13-14.

I decided I needed to write about this while I’m so close to it and can remember the darkness of it. I don’t experience the darkness as much as I used to, and I think a big part of that is how much I have honestly shared about it. So now, when I experience even a small amount of it, I try to catch it and squash it right away, like this:

Last winter, I fought against a depression, induced by the grief of miscarriage, for maybe a month or two. I used 15 pieces of art, Psalm 13:3, and music-writing to stay afloat. For the first 15 days of January, I did one of these pieces per day, and meditated on Psalm 13:3. Then for the rest of the depression, when I found myself spiraling, I chose to write a piece of music in my head instead of ruminating. You can listen to the piece here. I call this choosing to murmurate instead of darkly ruminate.

Here are the 15 pieces I made that January:

Consider and answer me, O Lord, my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.

Psalm 13:3

I had never fought against a depression before. Up until that point in my life, I believed that when I was depressed, I had no choice in the matter, and I also had no choice or ability to control how long it lasted. 

This experience taught me differently. (You can read that full chapter at www.aprilparviz.art/sw-chapter-5)

I spent the rest of the year slowly puttering through one or two Sleepers ‘wake pieces per month that focused on various different ideas. Mostly just the idea of staying awake to Christ. 

Then at the beginning of September, I found myself thrust into a depression again. I don’t remember a moment where I made the choice to enter into it. This one felt more like I was aggressively thrown into it, due to an event that was extremely triggering for my miscarriage grief. I also think the timing was potentially pretty hormonally bad. And then I was very depressed for an entire day. If I had had my way, I would have buried myself in my bed with the lights off for the whole day. But my family had plans to spend time with people, and so we did. And I was wretched. I was unable to engage with or look at anyone. I felt like they might have assumed that I was upset with them, which drove me deeper into the depression. But, for whatever reason, I had no capacity to fight it that day.

Usually I would say that spending time with people is the best way to come out of a depression. But in this case, I wonder if my depression was more of a chemical or hormonal experience. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor or psychologist. These are just the musings of an artist. So take them with an entire salt-lick please. 

That day, I ended up at home in the afternoon, during which I think I asked my husband to snuggle with me a little bit and I took a very long nap. These two things pulled me out of the depression. Which seemed amazing to me. On that morning when I had woken up, utterly depressed, I assumed it would be another month and a half of making those Psalm 13:3 “Sleepers ‘wake” images. But instead I ended up just making one.

I said something along the lines of, “you know, it’s interesting, I’ve taken this questionnaire several times now, and sometimes I have been mildly depressed, most other times I’ve been fine, but this time I’m in some pretty deep grief and it’s interesting to see how I answer differently but also kind of the same in grief.” I thought she might at least find that interesting and useful, so as to observe future patients, who I imagined she cared about, since she went into this line of work. 

...I don’t think she responded. She might have said “mm hmm.” I believe she just made a few more clicks and then said, still with no eye contact, “okay I need to go ahead and take your blood pressure now. Could you pull up your sleeve for me?”

And that was the moment. 

That was the moment that I was thrust into the depression for that day. She. Did. Not. Care.

If I go back to the moment when I decided to say that comment to her, I think I could maybe tell that there was risk involved for myself. I think I could tell that this would maybe happen. But I wanted to give her a chance. Grief was a strange and difficult time. But I found myself more awake in many ways during that time, and there were lots of interactions I had with many many people, some strangers like this, where we found ourselves in very deep and loving communication that woke us both up a little more for the day. 

But now, I was withered. And so alone. Even though there was a person with me. Sometimes the person you’re with can make you feel more alone than when there’s no one there at all. 

After she left, the nurse practitioner came in and had a similar demeanor. They must have been having a rough day in the office. Maybe a rough week or even month. I tried to give them both this grace. I know that working in the health care industry is very difficult and tiresome. 

The nurse practitioner looked at the computer a lot and barely looked at me. She clicked and asked questions. At some point, looking at the computer, she said, “wait, are you pregnant?” with only a tone of questioning for information. I said, “no, I just had a miscarriage back in November.” I think in this moment, she may have glanced at me quickly and said something about being sorry that happened. At least we can give her that. But immediately she was looking back at the computer saying things like, “why didn’t they mark that you’re not pregnant anymore. Hmmm. How do I change that in here.” *click* *click* *click*

And I was a moldy wet towel lying on the edge of the street on a dim and dreary, rainy day. And a person had come and decided to just kick me over and over and over again. But the sound of their kicks sounded like clicks...

As I left the parking lot, I knew I needed to go around the corner to the grocery store where I would buy a box of brownie mix, which I was supposed to make that night for a friend who needed a warm meal. 

I was at the spot where you put your ticket into the box so the arm will go up and you can drive out of the lot. I could turn right and go buy the brownies or I could turn left and go home.

In this moment, two paths appeared in my mind. For the first time in about 8 years I could feel myself wanting to board the easy on-ramp to the brownie mix that I would later sit on the floor eating and crying into as I allowed myself to believe, once more, that this was the appropriate way to act when you’re this sad. This was a temptation I had not given into for a very long time, because years earlier, it was one of the main characters in the story of my near-death diabetic experience, and I had to learn the hard way that I needed to change how I lived, or I would die. 

I chose to turn right to go to the store to pickup the brownie mix, because it was what I was supposed to do. I didn’t make a choice in my mind yet. I just stayed frozen at that mental crossroad. 

When I got home, I put the brownie mix on the counter. I don’t remember much of the rest of the day, but I believe there was a lot of lying in my bed in the dark and crying. Crying was awful too, because it caused my sinus pain to flare up even more. 

The pain was an interesting participant in this depression experience. I said something to my husband at one point that went something like this, “sometimes it seems to me that on days when you could potentially fight off despair, your pain will overrule you and take the hand of despair and pull it into your life for the day, or the week, or the year, or however long you allow it to stay, which could be the rest of your life if you’re not careful.”

Or maybe it was more like this, “sometimes I find myself looking at a fork in the road. One way is despair, and the other way is the path of Christ. I know I want to take the path of Christ, but depression is holding my hand and trying to pull me along towards the path of despair. Then pain comes along and takes my other hand, and I have no choice now. Pain and depression have taken me down the path of despair, against my will, except now that I’m on it, it seems like the only path that has ever existed...”

I can’t remember. I just know it had something to do with pain making the fight against despair difficult, especially when paired with depression. 

Either way, I remember a moment from that afternoon when I found myself in child’s pose on the floor of my room, crying uncontrollably from grief and the physical pain that the crying was causing my sinuses. But the primary source of the tears was the internal fight I was having. I had chosen not to take the path that was the on-ramp to brownie-mix-floor-tears, but I still couldn’t make the brownies. But I had to. I had said that I would. But I was so scared that I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation and it would be the official entrance into a deep deep depression, and I would not be able to come out of it for a long time. It could have been so deep, it may have changed me.

Finally, my husband told me he would make the brownies. And he did. And I will forever be thankful to him for doing that. For those of you on the outside of these struggles, sometimes they may look silly. So so silly. But those of us in them are swirling with turmoil, and it is not silly. It is a legitimate fight. And we need your support. 

So yesterday. Now I will tell you the story of yesterday.

But first, one thing I’d like to note. Several years ago, my husband came home from a class he was taking on how Thomas Aquinas might interpret Dante’s Inferno. He said to me, “I think you may suffer from the vice, sloth.” Then he proceeded to explain to me that, according to Aquinas, sloth is the inability to acknowledge God’s goodness. This was a mind-bending moment for me, and it has impacted my mental health, and the amount of time I now don’t spend within a depression, to a great degree. 

Anyway, so yesterday, I found myself at another doctor appointment. This time I’m in the 32nd week of a high-risk type-1 diabetic pregnancy. Every pregnancy I have is more high risk than the last. For my first one, I got preeclampsia, and during my second delivery, she had shoulder dystocia, which I have since learned is pretty rare and extremely dangerous. 

So this time I’m at a higher risk of preeclampsia and shoulder dystocia... 

We received some news during the ultrasound that was difficult for me to hear, but also not extremely surprising.  

Now I need to say that up until this point, with the exception of a few weeks back in the spring, this has been the most peaceful and mentally healthy pregnancy I’ve ever had. I’ve been trusting God and had a lovely dose of the peace that surpasses understanding for almost the whole thing.

After hearing this news, however, I began to spiral a little. 

We were now in the patients room with a nurse. She was being lovely. She was click clicking on her computer, but also looking at me and talking to me and just being so lovely. Then another nurse was in, clicking and being lovely. Then my dietitian was talking with me about my insulin needs and being lovely. Then my doctor came in and was just looking at me, and talking to me, and being so lovely. This whole time, for the record, my husband was also with me, sitting there and being lovely.

I tried to hold in my spiraling the whole time. But at some point, my lovely doctor pulled it out of me. That’s how lovely she is. We were about to say goodbye, but she saw that my face was... different, even though I was trying to hide it.

She asked me what was wrong and I began to cry very much. She stayed and asked thorough questions. My husband helped to direct the questions with his understanding based on the things I say at home and things I’d said during the waiting periods of the appointment.

And then, this doctor said what I’ve always wanted a doctor to say to me. I’ve been wanting it forever. Sometimes I say it to them, but they never say it to me, and I’ve had a lot of doctors...

She said that we need to trust God. And when she said “we” she meant herself, me and my husband, and probably just anyone who loves this baby. And she said it in a way that made me to know that she does. She does trust Him. She said she’s been delivering babies since the late nineties and she has seen His work so many times. And even though she considers herself to be a pretty controlling person, she knows that she needs to hand over her control to God, over and over again. And she knows that I am a diabetic, and I have to have a certain level of control at all times in order to survive, but I need to be able to hand my control over to God as well.

And I was so thankful to hear such truth and beauty from a doctor. Especially now. 

But there was a darkness hovering under my heart the whole time she was speaking.

Then in the same parking garage where I had turned right to buy brownies a year and a half earlier, in this moment, two paths appeared in my mind. One was the path of Christ and the other was an onramp, except it was more like a downramp, straight into deep depression. This time it didn’t look like I could go right or left. This time it was more like, I was probably just going to keep going forward, as I had been, without noticing that I had entered a downramp to depression. I suppose it’s probably more realistically an offramp. I accidentally took an offramp off the highway of life onto the path of death. I say death, but I’m really talking about depression. But for those of us that understand a dark depression, it’s basically like you’re a dead person who happens to currently also be alive, but you can’t accept the gifts of life. This is why Psalm 13:3 makes so much sense to me when fighting a depression. (Once again : consider and answer me, O Lord, my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.)

I started to cry. My husband asked me why I was crying, and I said, “I think I just witnessed the choice to enter into depression and I just took it.”

I suppose you may ask why such a lovely doctor’s interaction would put me into a depression. It didn’t. I want to be very clear about that. I think it was the news from the ultrasound which filled me with sloth and darkness. Then I refused to relinquish that darkness, as much as my doctor did an incredible job working to fill me with light. 

I came home and got in bed, but I didn’t allow myself to fully wallow. I now know how dangerous that is. I did some work, which was a helpful way to stave off the dark thoughts, and not something I typically would be able to do while depressed, so I see that as a triumph. I was choosing to do those tasks, even though they felt impossible. This is what I learned from fighting the depression last year. You just have to keep doing things, and looking at people. Even though it feels like a crime against your current master. 

At some point, I picked up my 6-year-old so we could have some special mommy-and-me time, which had been pre-scheduled. I was grateful to have this time with her, because otherwise, I was home alone that afternoon and that is the perfect recipe for wallowing in depression. We spent some nice time together, and I don’t think she could tell that I was depressed, which I see as another small triumph. 

Later my husband and other daughter got home and I found myself stuck in bed doing nothing... because I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I wanted to give into the depression. And now we’re at the point that I really wanted to write today while I can still taste it, so I can squash it.

I wanted to be depressed. I wanted to suffer. I felt like I was “allowed.” Diabetes is really hard. And diabetic pregnancy is really hard, so I wanted to allow myself to wallow in it, even though I know that for my sake, and for the sake of others, it’s actually very important to stay afloat and stay positive and thankful and hopeful. 

But I didn’t want to. I wanted to curl up in my bed and not move. Well “want” is a strange word in this context. It was more like “had” to. Well... during it... I felt like I “had” to, like I was a slave to it... But my voice of reason, that knows I’m not always owned by depression, was telling me the truth was that I “wanted” to, and I could punch that voice in the face. That voice is the beautiful reproof that shows up in times of poor mental health. It tries to remind you the beauty of reality, but at the time it feels like a mosquito buzzing in your ear. But if you take the tiny leg of that mosquito, it will fly you out and drop you back onto the path of life where you will see that it was actually a star, and you got to hold a star for a moment. Goodbye star. And thank you!

At one point, the device that monitors my blood sugar every five minutes expired and started beeping at me. I lay in bed, deeply drinking the delicious lack of care for my physical health, like I hadn’t done in maybe 11 years. This was exactly what I was fighting so hard against back on brownie day. But this time, I just gave in. My husband finally came in and asked what that beeping was, and when he realized what I was doing, he joined the voice of the mosquito-reproof-star in telling me that I needed to put on a new device. 

At some point, I did finally take the mosquito train to put-on-your-new-device station. I wasn’t out of the depression. But it was one battle overcome, which was at least a step in the right direction. 

I stayed pretty depressed for the rest of the night with very low functionality and participation in life. 

I have to give my husband some legitimate credit. He never got exasperated with me, and he sat with me and asked me questions and worked to understand the depths of my darkness. He also gave me lots of encouragement and gave continuous strength to the mosquito-star.

This morning when I woke up and checked in on my brain, the slave-master reminded me that I’m “supposed to be depressed today.” Which is just about one of the creepiest things. I knew I was going to be around several people and it was like I needed them to know that I was depressed and suffering.

This goes very against my beliefs. But I was a slave to this thing. Or at least I felt like I was. 

Then, after breakfast, I decided I needed to write this because I wanted to grab the honest memory of the experience before it faded into the darkness, which is so hard to see into when you’re living life in the light. 

And I think I can say that writing this all down honestly, and planning to share it, has been the thing that pulled me out this time. So thank you : )

Now I’m going to go work on trusting God. And I’m going to start by writing down one more story. 

But first I would like to note that I could hear the light of my doctor’s good words, “trust in God” working to pull me out of the depression the whole time I was fighting it. The mosquito-star kept telling me that if I focused on her message, I wouldn’t be a slave to this anymore. I think her words made the mosquito-star stronger.

Okay here’s the story.

While my doctor was talking to me, she said I’d have another ultrasound next week, and maybe things would be better. This was confusing to me, a natural pessimist. I asked her how could they possibly be better, and I believe this is when she started talking about trusting in God. And the whole time she was talking about this, I had a different mosquito in my ear. This one was reminding me of another week I spent worried and terrified for my baby due to a scary ultrasound.  

When my oldest daughter first implanted as a tiny embryo, I had an ultrasound almost immediately. That week, the doctors didn’t say anything alarming. The next week I had another ultrasound, and this time, the doctor told me that the placement of this embryo was very close to the fallopian tube, and very potentially going to be ectopic, which would likely be the death of my baby and also me. He also told me that I had to get an insulin pump and they basically initiated me right into the hospital from there, where I sat for a few days getting adjusted to this new-to-me device. Of course, since I was there, I asked for many more ultrasounds. I prayed and prayed for the baby to move, but in each of the ultrasounds, she was still in the same terrifying place. 

A week later, I came back in for another ultrasound. I saw the same ultrasound tech who had witnessed my alarm at receiving the news about the ectopic pregnancy and she had worked to calm my fear. She was wonderful. She saw that I was coming back in and made sure that she was scheduled to do the next ultrasound. 

She looked at the screen and was astonished. She told me that the embryo had moved, as if it had re-implanted, into an appropriate and safe location. She was shocked. I saw that she was shocked. 

For years I’ve wondered if I’d blown her shock out of proportion and conjured up a miracle. 

I hadn’t seen that tech at all during this pregnancy, and I was starting to wonder if she had gone to a different practice. But I did just see her a month ago. My husband came along. I told him, this is the ultrasound tech who was so kind to me on the day, over 7 years ago now, when I was told about the potential ectopic pregnancy. And she said, “yes, I remember that. A week later the baby had moved. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t see it with my own eyes.”

And that’s a miracle, folks. I can’t deny it. God can work a miracle in one week. He can do it faster than that, but I can say that I’ve seen a one-week miracle sandwich on ultrasound bread. And I’m now in another one-week waiting game between ultrasounds, and I come home and let myself enter into a depression... talk about a person who suffers from the vice of sloth.

But I’m not in it now. I’m full of this story of God’s goodness. And I trust that even if the ultrasound doesn’t look “better” in a week, He will still take care of me and He will still take care of this baby.

If you would like to pray for the health of this baby, pray that he doesn’t grow too big and that his stomach grows proportionally with the rest of him. 

What are my personal signs of depression?

1) I will not make eye contact

This one is huge. 

2) I can’t function “like normal.” Meaning regular chores and tasks that I would do without thinking seem impossible to me. If someone asks me to do them, it’s like they’re trying to wake me up at midnight to do them. My entire being is against what they’re saying. And it almost believes their requests are irrational. 

3) I don’t talk. *Note, I didn’t say “can’t” or “won’t”

If you know me, this is rare. My mouth is typically like a chariot of 10 horses that all got stung by a bee at the same time. When I don’t talk, it may be a sign that I’m depressed. It could be a sign of other things too. But if it’s combined with the other two things, I’m probably depressed. 

If you find yourself experiencing depression, when you’re in it, even though it will feel impossible, try to tell a close loved one what your signs are. Or at least hold on tight to them, so you can write them down when you’re out, which is what I’ve just done. 

If you have a loved one who experiences depression, they may not have the ability to articulate their signs. But if you have patience and grace, while they’re in it, you can learn what they are, and be on the lookout for times when they may need your extra support. 

By the way, a really incredible TV experience that changed my life with regards to how I saw my depression from the inside was episode 8 of season 5 of Outlander. I would not recommend watching the actual show for lots of reasons. But this episode did an incredible job illustrating the deep struggle of poor mental health. It also did an excellent job pointing out that those of us who struggle from poor mental health have a responsibility to fight against it and gave us some tools on how to do so. I really appreciated the brave reproof given through the writing. Ronald D. Moore was one of the writers, so are we surprised that it was amazing?

An important footnote for my friends grieving miscarriage and/or suffering the mysterious and extremely complicated griefs of infertility:

I am very aware that it can be painful to “stumble” on the news that someone is pregnant Please know that I think and pray for people grieving miscarriages and infertility on a regular basis. I see you. It is not wrong to feel grief when others are feeling joy, or in this case, suffering around a gift that you so deeply wish for. It’s a very twisted part of the broken reality we live in. Jesus is coming back and He will fix it all. But for now, I grieve with you. This is not what He meant for creation to be. While we wait for the new one, I pray that you have the peace that surpasses understanding. Maranatha.

See full Sleepers ‘wake series