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©Jacqui Watson 2002
The number of people diagnosed with mental health problems in Australia is growing at a frightening rate each year. Mental illness is a tricky subject at the best of times. And while witchcraft is becoming more and more popular, it isn't the most stable thing you can discuss at the dinner table. What happens when the two clash? Here I discuss my experience with depression and what it has taught me. I started practicing witchcraft at 14, after a magazine article peeked my interest. The school I had attended as a child was catholic and while I loved the atmosphere of the old churches with their beautiful stained glass windows, the idea of 'sin' and that confession would suddenly 'make it all better' didn't really appeal. I devoured everything I could on Wicca and paganism, contributing to my large collection of now 70 books. I loved how different and ultimately more satisfying the beliefs were, the goddess in particular. It took a while to reprogram my thinking, that witchcraft was not just to be practiced, but to be lived, every second of every day. It was a way of life and I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I feel I've come home. Being a witch is now a part of my daily life, and I suspect it always will be. Then four years ago I was diagnosed with depression. This is a type of mental illness and is linked to a chemical imbalance in the brain, but environmental factors such as abuse or a rough childhood (an early puberty at nine years old, in my case) can make people more susceptible. I battled through several psychologists, psychiatrists and counselors, wishing someone could give me an answer as to what I needed to do to be normal again. I've since realized there is no such thing as normal. When I was suicidal, I needed to be hospitalized, and this occurred 4 times over the four years. People with depression at their sickest can often experience delusions. These are false beliefs, such as they are being followed (paranoia), that they have special powers, etc. As you can imagine, it was a frustrating time for me. Of course I believe I have powers, I believe every witch has power to make things happen when they put their mind to it. Explaining this to a psychiatrist was like running in circles chasing my own tail. He simply did not understand my religion and so threw it in the too-hard-basket labeling it a psychosis, as most doctors would. I was angry that he didn't take the time to understand my beliefs and that even though it might look like I was crazy, they were in fact simply my way of life. This is where the disagreement starts. Was I really delusional? I knew I wasn't but he knew I was. Is the local clairvoyant who talks to spirits really a schizophrenic? And just how many 'crazy' people in that hospital were in fact extremely sensitive psychics, overwhelmed by the information they were receiving, rather than psychotic? In any case, I soon learnt to leave witchcraft out of my therapy sessions. After all, I was paying this man money to sort out my medical condition, not to judge me. Just like anyone with a major illness, I questioned my faith. Wasn't I supposed to be in control of my life? What horror had I done in the past to deserve this? How could I even consider suicide when I believed in reincarnation? Deep down I knew that this was a lesson, that there was something I needed to learn by going through all this. But I couldn't accept it. It's funny how avoiding that one word - acceptance - wasted four years of my life. In the beginning I prayed desperately to every goddess I could think of. I begged them to help me, to 'make this go away'. But when there was no answer (or none of the kind I wanted), no instant cure, I was dismayed. Often I would get a little temporary relief, or perhaps just a tiny sign, but it was never enough, I wanted a miracle. But then I thought, if a god could just fix it 'like that', then why was I going through it? During my stays in hospital, I managed to keep up with some simple rituals. Each night I would just sit outside and talk to the moon (when there was no one around, of course), it was kind of like therapy with the goddess, and it gave me much strength. I tried as much as possible to stay connected to nature. I spent most of my time in the hospital garden, observing the tiny lizards, sparrows, and the spiders slowly rebuilding their webs after the rain. Every butterfly that flew past took time to circle my head or flutter close past my face, and I knew that this was a sign. Butterflies have always been my sacred animal. They always seem to flutter into sight whenever I am in trouble to remind me that there is hope. It's been happening all my life, and as it happened so many times while I was there, It brought me incredible comfort and a swelling of love each time. I know I have spirit guides around me, I can sense them sometimes putting a hand on my shoulder as I fall asleep at night. Each morning I ask for help from my guides. I know they cannot intervene unless you ask them directly. And so each morning I asked them to help me learn what I need to learn and to keep me safe. It's amazing what that little statement allowed them to do. The turning point came one morning as I was sitting outside. The sun shone onto my face and suddenly I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, that no matter what happens, there is no reason to be scared. It was incredibly peaceful. And I carry that feeling with me even today. It reconfirmed to me that I wasn't alone, that all I had to do was reach out. One of my guide's distinct messages was "Why despair when the help you seek is only an arm's length away? It was always there, always is, always will be. You just need to reach." The hospital of course was a candle and incense free zone. Instead, I brought in some essential oils. I made a mixture of jasmine for depression, frankincense for comfort and sandalwood for protection, and carried it with me on a tissue which I inhaled from when I felt bad. It didn't always work, but sometimes I think I expected it to be a miracle cure, and then, of course, it didn't do a thing. Depression tested me many times, and I often lost hope, but I also learnt a lot of things from it. One of the things I learned is not to rely on outside forces to do all the work. To fix the problems. They were after all, mine to fix. I got lost at first because I expected the goddess to instantly fix me, and when she didn't I lost hope. But the goddess isn't like that. You've got to realize that everything is a joint effort. Just like a good spell, they can't do it on their own, they need you, the key ingredient in everything. And on the flip side, you can't do it all on your own either, you need some input from the universe, the god and goddess, the elementals, etc. Getting through depression was, for me, a mixture of helping myself and assistance from medication (mostly which sorted out the chemical imbalance), and a helping hand from the goddess and my spirit guides. If we gather together we can make it through ok. I learnt to stop waiting for the thunderbolt from the sky and take a little responsibility for the situation I was in. Not responsibility in that I caused it, but in the sense that it was up to me to get the ball rolling. No one can help you unless you first start to help yourself. Maybe I had little control over the chemical side of things, but I was in charge of how I chose to see this illness, and what I needed to do to make it easier to live with and understand. I also came to the conclusion that there are always two ways of looking at things. That no one is right and no one is wrong. And sometimes you just have to respect that. It's like looking at a large faceted crystal, there are so many different facets, and which one you see depends on which side of the crystal you stand on. But even though each face is different, they are all the same crystal. It's up to each person to decide what he or she believes. Perhaps I was a little delusional, the doctor seemed to think so. But I believe that I am really just a normal person with a medical condition, and a misunderstood religion. That's my facet, anyway.