ATI never refers to depression as a disease, nor do they ever encourage their followers to seek professional help for psychiatric problems. PTSD, Post-partum depression (which was HUGE in a cult full of women who popped out babies constantly), suicidal thoughts or attempts, anxiety, all of it was from the pit of Hell and sometimes instead of getting help, we were punished instead. If anyone admitted that they had thought of suicide, they would either be turned over to the church, or sent to a "training center" until they gave their brain back to God. I don't think I have a single ATI friend who will tell me that they didn't struggle with depression, if not at least one serious incident of thoughts of suicide. We all grew up learning that murder was sin (I still kept that belief). Suicide however was a very fine line for us. On one hand, it was a murder which deserved Hell. On the other hand, if we were "saved" and already forgiven of all sin, perhaps we were still covered and could still make our way into Heaven and no longer be stuck in the Hell on earth of molestations, beatings, shame, brainwashing, legalism, social isolation, and poor education which was ATI.
For most of my childhood I accepted this as truth, that depression was a sin. I have taught lessons on this topic several times. Our Wisdom Booklets (the curriculum put out by ATI) did not teach that depression could be caused by a hormonal imbalance, but that one major cause came from sleeping too much, instead of recognizing that excessive sleep was a symptom, not a cause. The Wisdom Booklets recommend that one way to cure depression is to wake a subject often, not allowing them to fall into the R.E.M phase of the sleep cycle. While some therapists use this method, it is done in a very controlled environment, by highly trained professionals, and for very short periods of time. Depriving a person from their natural sleep cycle, especially habitually for long periods of time is a technique often used for brainwashing. My father does this to my mother quite often. I don't think she has actually slept in years. ATI recommends also having the person listen to recordings of either scripture or sermons during times when they are allowed to sleep, in order for the ground that has been turned over to Satan to be reclaimed by God. If you spend any time searching the internet for similar methods, you will find this is also how many cults convert and keep people, and how terrorists are trained. I find it odd that people still ask me why I say that ATI is a cult. This method has been used on some of my friends who have been sent to the ATI "training centers" in attempts to break them of their "rebellious spirit". Thankfully, for the most part, it has failed.
This has probably been the most difficult post for me to write. I kept these thoughts a secret for years. I didn't want to be sent away. But lately I've been seeing so many of my friends struggle and after reconnecting with so many ATI friends who have also broken free, I realize that I was one of the majority, not one of the few. I told my mother I was writing this before I published it, so don't worry that any of this will surprise her. She also wanted me to note that I am not blaming her for any of this.
A few days before I turned seven, my mother went into the hospital to have my sister. (We weren't in ATI yet then and didn't know about all the home birth stuff). I was staying with my Grandmother and my cousin, who was living there while attending college. I adore my sister more than anyone in the world, however, the weeks leading up to her birth were terrible for me (Yes, our mother was in labor for a week and all that, but this is not her blog). We didn't have cell phones then and I didn't get to talk to my mother very much. My grandmother didn't let my other set of grandparents or my "aunts" take me out and do things to distract me because this was her time with me. My cousin read "James and the giant peach" with me and I still hate that book. I knew my mother almost died when she had me, and James' parents dying in the book did not help with that. My mother was in the hospital for about a week and all I knew was that she was very sick. I was convinced that she, and my sister were going to die and that I would be left with my father. I also knew that my father would not be able to homeschool me so I would have to be sent to school. At six years old, that is a terrifying thought if all you had known was being with your mother 24/7, and that school was for bad kids. I knew that one of the teenagers at our church had killed himself by sitting in the car in the garage, and everyone at his funeral talked about him being in Heaven. If I killed myself, I wouldn't have to spend my life alone with my father, and I could go to Heaven, where my mother and sister would probably meet up with me in a few days.
I made my bed and said goodbye to all of my stuffed animals and imaginary friends. I got the keys to my grandma's car and went out to the garage, got in the car, and sobbed while I waited for what seemed like forever to die. I went to sleep, figuring that I needed to be asleep to die. I knew verses such as "Many among you are weak and sick, and many sleep", and I knew that this meant they died, so it made sense to me. I woke up and that hadn't worked. It was January and I was getting cold, so eventually I just went back inside and just sat by myself in my Lamb Chop tent and read Mother Goose. Nobody came to look for me, and I'm not even sure that anyone noticed that I was crying for the rest of the night. A few days later my sister was born and my mother lived and got to come home. I didn't tell anyone what I had tried to do because I knew I would be in trouble, and probably upset my mom. Thankfully, no one at the boy's funeral had mentioned to me that the car needed to be running.
I was fine for several years after that. My sister became my entire reason for living, and she is still the most important person in my life. I'm so glad that I didn't know to turn on the car. I did pretty well until I turned 12 or so. I would get super emotional after the joyous festival which is puberty arrived, and the days before my period became a nightmare for me. I would cry all the time and my mother gave me these nasty vitamins to stabilize my mood, but they didn't help. I remember sitting on the floor in the kitchen looking at the oatmeal in the cabinet and thinking "What's the point? This is good for me, but who cares? We're just going to die anyway, why bother to eat this?" As soon as my period would come, I would feel better. None of my friends (who were actually allowed to talk about periods) understood this. They hated their periods, and I just wanted mine to start so I would be happy again. The ATI friends told me that this was normal and that since having a period was part of God's punishment to all womankind via Eve, PMS was a reminder that Satan wants to take over our lives, so this was just something I would need to learn to accept. At least that's what they said out loud because they had to. I felt no one actually understood though. I wasn't just cranky, weepy, and sore. I felt like I literally had to survive my own self for 3-4 days each month. It was more of a passive thought, where I didn't want to hurt myself, but if I happened to die, it would have been welcomed because I had no desire to live. This went on for years and I kept it to myself because I didn't want to be in trouble for wanting to waste a life or be sent away, or sent to my room to read the book of James (but with no peaches), which is what my father made me do whenever he wasn't sure what to do with me. I read a lot of Psalms though because there is a lot of lamenting taking place in there, David knew what was up.
I went to many funerals as a kid. I am saddened by death, but I have always been oddly comfortable with it. I was always taught that Heaven was way better than here, so I should be happy for those who got to go there. I have never been afraid to die. I no longer want to, but it does not frighten me. I remember sitting in the bedroom with my grandfather's body the morning he died. I was sad, but not uncomfortable. I feel like this is part of what helps me do my job now.
As most ATI girls do, I got married in my early 20's. I couldn't understand why I wasn't happy. All through the engagement, each few days before my period would be worse and worse. I couldn't figure out why I was so miserable, since on paper, everything was great. By this time I was a medic and was very used to dealing with "psychs". I would get so upset when people would dismiss those who complained of suicidal thoughts. I always thought that the only difference between me and the person on the stretcher was that they told someone how they felt. I was afraid that if I said something that I would be "just a psych" too and no one would take me seriously anymore. I still had the deep rooted thoughts that medicine wasn't for depression and all these people were just on placebos, like I had been taught all my life. After I was married for a bit the depression got worse. I don't blame anyone for this, it's just a thing that happened. As I've written, I've had several miscarriages. Although I didn't have a baby, my body didn't know that and I went full-on post-partum. I had been taught my entire life that God made me to have babies, and on top of that, I have wanted to be a mom more than anything pretty much since I can remember. If my babies kept dying, why shouldn't I? I still didn't tell anyone.
One weekend I was sick with a fever and I was home alone. I still wasn't "actively" wanting to hurt myself, but death would have been welcomed. I took my cold medicine, and then couldn't remember when I needed to take more. I decided to take a bit more, along with several Tylenol PM because I was so sick of having nightmares and I just wanted my brain to shut off for at least a little while. If I didn't wake up, that was fine. I didn't care. I didn't have my babies, what did it matter? In the morning when my ex got home from work, he woke me up. I was very groggy and felt terrible physically. He asked what was wrong with me and I said what I had taken. He told me that was dumb and that he has to deal with patients like that at work all night, he didn't want to deal with it at home. So I spent the next day or so very aware of where my liver is and became even more quiet about how I felt. Until one day...
I had put together a team for the March of Dimes and spent the day surrounded by babies. After the walk, a bunch of us were at a party where I completely broke down and lost it. Dreamy Eyes and Michelle found me hiding and spent the next several hours listening to me, and finally giving me the response I needed. Dreamy Eyes is a big fan of the blog Hyperbole and a Half and there are two wonderfully accurate chapters on depression. He remembered reading them and didn't tell me I was crazy, didn't tell me I was wrong, just said "That sounds stressful" and made sure that I went to see the doctors that I needed to see for years.
I told my OB that I thought I had PMDD. He told me that only 3% of women actually have that, most just have severe PMS, and to keep a journal. I've been doing that since I was 7. I brought them to show him and he said he didn't think he would actually meet a patient who had it, but he did. He gave me some anti-depressants to take during those 3-4 days. It took a few tries to get the correct medication, but finally, I felt better. Poor Dreamy Eyes. If you rescue a damsel in distress, all you get is a distressed damsel, and he did. But if not for him and Michelle, who are the only ones who knew the extent of what was happening, I wouldn't be here today. I finally agreed to go to a counselor and a doc who could help me with all of this brainwashing and loss. My counselor is often in disbelief of how many TLC shows I could have at any given time. I was very afraid to tell a professional that I had these thoughts because I wanted them to know it was more of a failure to thrive than anything else. But I didn't get sent away. They told me that they were surprised that I lasted as long as I did without help.
I wish I had been allowed to see these doctors years ago. When I was a teenager and I was in the hospital, they recommend that I see a counselor, but my father forbade it. That was the case with so many of my friends growing up in ATI. None of us ever told anyone how we felt, but I know of several who tried to hurt themselves at least once and never got the help they needed. I attempted to do some research for suicide rates among homeschoolers, but there is very little data. Public schools have numbers and records of kids who have had either an attempt or a completed suicide, but it is almost impossible to collect that information from a culture that stays hidden from the world. Some ATI parents had it happening right in front of them and they had no idea. Girls would try to starve to death but would say they were fasting for prayer. That was a common attempt. If you had a food allergy, you could make it look like an accident. Car crashes were an easy one, but that was harder for my Amish friends. I found several stories of "suspicious deaths" of homeschooled kids, but most fit the methods I just named. You couldn't make it look like it was on purpose or else they would know you sinned, and if you lived, that would be worse.
It makes me so upset when I hear about people still in the cult who are made to feel that they are sinning or that they have a demon because they can't be joyful just by going to church more or by getting less sleep or by listening to Scripture constantly. You wouldn't treat cancer that way, and depression shouldn't be treated that way either. No, not everyone needs medicine, but some people do, and I am so happy that for the last year or so, I have been able to feel better than I thought I would ever feel. It's not a euphoric feeling, it's not something mystical. I just feel normal. I've learned how to think differently and get rid of a lot of the guilt and oppression that was driven into my brain for so many years. Even just going to a counselor can feel like a sin. I've learned that my happiness is not reliant on other's actions. I have people I love much more than myself, but I cannot base my reason for living on them. That isn't fair to them, nor to me. People shouldn't have to be afraid to say "Hey, I'm not ok". I learned that if there are people who respond negatively when you say you need help, you don't need those people in your life.
To all my friends who escaped not only the cult, but who also survived their attempts, whether thoughts or actions, and finally got the help they needed, I am so proud of you and I love you. Just like any disease, it may flare up again, but that doesn't mean it has to win. You are far from alone.
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