A Quiet Mind to Suffer With: Mental Illness, Trauma, and the Death of Christ

by John Andrew Bryant

Something was deeply wrong. Something bad was about to happen. Suddenly something bad was always about to happen. And with those intrusive thoughts and warnings, you begin to form a terrifying bond with what might happen.

And those two feelings—that something is wrong, and that feeling that something bad is about to happen—are themselves something that feels intolerable.

Looking back on it now, the reason my OCD got so bad that I was wheeled into the hospital psychiatric unit was the steady lie I had taken on and that had accrued throughout my whole life, that the best way to deal with anything in my life that bothered me, anything I saw or felt or thought that didn’t feel right, was to go into my head and make it better, to defend myself and figure it out, to think about it more. If I explained myself correctly and brilliantly to myself, I would think myself into a beautiful place where nothing could get me and where all ugly things would scatter, and an abundant life, free of rats, would present itself to me again.

That was all I could do with the trust I had in Christ. All I could do was not do something. I only had the freedom to not act, to not engage my compulsions. And not ruminate. All I could do was read Psalms and not go into the Realm of Ceaseless Cognition. All I could do was stand there and trust Jesus and be miserable.