Note: This essay was inspired by Adam Haslett’s book Imagine Me Gone

In my line of work as a pastor, people like to talk about demons. There are plenty of references to demons in the Bible, many of Jesus rebuking and casting them out and others of the demons offering different experiences of pain and torment. There is a whole mythology of demons tied with Christianity that had its heyday during the Medieval era and still lingers in corners of popular culture as well as many current segments of Christianity. There is an image that many have of Christian preachers as individuals in white suits casting out demons from folks who have been struggling with one ailment or another. On more than one occasion, someone has asked me if I believe in demons, if I think demons should be taken seriously, and if I have ever cast out a demon. Talking about demons is a part of my work.

Perhaps that is not fair. I do not want to give the impression that I spend hours studying demonology, reading books about incantations, drawing symbols, and dabbling in the dark arts only so that someday I may be able to fight the creatures of the night back into the darkness from whence they came. I do not give much stock to the idea that there are demons lurking around the corner; that there are creatures of evil that are causing harm and inflicting chaos in the world. Humanity seems to have cornered the market on that aspect of evil. I would argue that talking about demons creates a symbolic space to speak to moments of fear, of a loss of control, or of the scary unknown and this is important. There are people in the religious spheres, leaders, who will talk about the reality of demons, individuals who will cast demons out, who will talk about a presence of darkness in the world without a hint of symbolism or metaphor.

We usually do not hang out in the same coffee shops.

Yet while I do not find myself naming and describing demons, it is still something that people ask me about, like to discuss, and there are times when I find myself wondering. When I hear about something that is an unmistakable evil, or someone who is clearly struggling and hurting, I find myself wondering if there is something that I am missing.

Such thoughts and wonderings usually come to the fore when I talk to individuals who feel trapped and seem to have lost agency in their own life. These are people who are trapped in cycles of bad decisions, cycles of misfortune, cycles of destructive behaviors and cannot get out. These are the people who cannot get out of their own way, people who are so talented, so gifted, but stuck in places of doubt, places where they feel worthless, places where they feel like they cannot find the energy and the desire to go forward. These are people who have bad luck and then more bad luck and a little more bad luck sprinkled with poor decision making. I wonder if such a person is cursed or plagued by a demon. It would offer an easy answer to such misfortune.

I work with individuals who struggle, I find myself in places where I struggle, and I wonder how it is that we can talk about such struggles. I know about the struggles. I have worked through the struggles and continue to work through the struggles. Here, talk of demons makes sense.

When someone is stuck, how do you describe the “why”? When someone wrestles with addiction, how do you explain the reason for the addiction? We like to have a reason. We like to know with certainty what it is that is happening. We can talk about brain chemistry, but only to a certain point. We can talk about cause and effect, but still struggle to name that primary cause of bad fortune. We live in such a science-heavy, fact-focused, empiricism-driven world where everything must be explained. And that brings me to demons because demons offer an explanation.

In the arena of mental health, we have come a long way to understanding what might be going on when people struggle. We can name and describe the presence of certain chemicals, of the differences of brain activity at different moments. We have developed medication to such a degree that it can and does help and gives individuals the tools necessary to live a “normal” life. Yet there is still so much that we do not know. There is still so much that is not understood and we struggle and strive to answer the question that constantly continues. We cannot say, “why” some people just struggle. Talk of demons offers an answer to the eternal “why.”

Enter the demon.

Why are you so sad right now?

I don’t know, I just am.

Why do you continue to drink when you know it is not going to be good?

I don’t know, I just do.

Why is it that yesterday you were full of so much energy and today you have nothing?

I don’t know.

Why can’t you just get better, just be happy, just be like everyone else?

I don’t know.

We need to be able to talk about what it is that is causing harm. We need to give a name, a face, a reason for the struggles. Adam Haslett’s powerful book Imagine Me Gone (published in 2016) joins the multitudes of other great works of fiction that addresses directly the struggle and the challenge of mental health. Haslett has the characters in his book give a name to the struggle: “the beast.” We have the insight of one living with challenges of mental health, as well as the struggles and difficulties that the individual’s family has in trying to come to terms with the pain and reality of mental illness. Haslett engages the challenges of mental health with courage, bringing the reader into the life of a family, the thoughts of individuals who struggle and their family members who try to be supportive. Haslett shows the toll that mental health in various forms can have on multiple people. It is a well-written, moving, and profound work of fiction that pokes into a raw part of reality in a painful and beautiful way. It is the name of the struggle that continues to intrigue me. “The beast” or “the monster.” The struggle is given a name. Early in the book this presence is described in this way:

“Let meaning be immanent, noted in passing, if at all. But that won’t do when the monster has its funnel driven into the back of your head and is sucking the light coming through your eyes straight out of you into the mouth of oblivion.” (77)

It is like an outside force is causing the stumbles and falls; an outside force is making life the living hell that it is. This personification of mental health is not shared in such a way as to deny responsibility, but rather to give a name to the pain and the challenge. There is something good and healthy to such an approach. There is value in naming the demon.

In my time as a minister, I have led a number of funeral services for individuals who died by suicide. I have conducted funeral services for individuals who wrestled with addiction and died because of those addictions. In preparation for those services I have sat with family members who wrestled and struggled with questions of “why” and wonderings of how something so tragic could have happened. As much as they would look at their loved ones and understand that their loved ones made choices and had agency, they did not want to blame their loved ones. In many ways it would be easier if their loved one was killed in a car accident because then there would be someone or something else to blame. These are moments when I talk about demons, but very carefully. I don’t talk about demons as creatures who actually and literally float above someone and take away any sense of agency that one might have. I talk about demons because the bereaved want to have a sense of the “why” and the metaphor has depth and power in finding a semblance of an answer to the “why.” I pull on the imagery that Haslett offers in his work. It is a demon or a beast that is a part of the individual’s suffering. If mental illness was a part of their loved one’s life and especially if it contributed to their death, there is a longing that is a part of grief to have a sense of knowing why. To speak of demons does not take away responsibility, it does not say that there was a curse on the individual, but rather helps give a symbol, an analogy so as to start to understand the pain, hurt, and loss of the whole person.

Speaking of the presence of a demon (or other) reminds you that your loved one was more than the illness, was a full, beautiful person. It also reminds you that the mental health challenges they faced were as real a heart abnormality. It helps so that you can look at your loved one as more than someone with a mental illness without dismissing the reality of the pain. Depression is not the totality of your mother. Addiction is not all of who your sibling is. Anxiety is not the only lens through which you see and know your child. Haslett’s book speaks to this complicated reality of living with mental illness. The father and then son who wrestle with mental illness are shown to be wonderful, gifted individuals who bring vibrancy and beauty into the world but also who wrestle and struggle. They are more than the mental illnesses that they have. Those who you know that struggle with these invisible demons of depression, of personal anxiety, of social anxiety, and more, are more than their struggles. You who hurt and struggle are more than an illness. And if we need to talk about demons as a way to understand the complexity of the struggles, as a way to separate the person from the affliction then we will talk about demons because we cannot just put a cast on someone’s psyche and ask people to sign it. We can make the illness, the struggle, the pain “other,” outside, and give you your humanity in the fullest way possible.

But we need to be careful that we are not overplaying the demonology. The feelings that you have, the hurt and the sadness is a cloud that hangs over you. It is a weight that does not let up. It is a haunting that holds you back. But it is not malicious. It is not an agent of darkness sent by the prince of darkness as a part of a broader, malicious plot. It is a part of who you are, that you wrestle, that causes you struggle. But it is not an evil presence. Like other long-term diseases, it is something that happens, something that you try to treat, something that you hope you can manage, and something that may never fully go away. And for many of us who wrestle with challenges of mental health, it is a part of who we are.

For some, the image of a demon may not make sense. Call it a beast. Call is a shadow. Call it Fred. What is important is that you name it, that you own it. There is power in naming something, in acknowledging that it does exist and it is real. This is where Haslett’s storytelling works so well – the mental illness is given a name, but is not given agency as if it is a demonic presence with power. It has a name, it has a presence, and it is part of the family in a very real way.

I will admit that I have not given name to the struggles and the fears and the challenges that have been a part of my life. It is difficult enough for me to even say that I have my demons who always seem to be with me. There are days when I do not see or experience my demons at all; there are days when I believe I am free of the clawing, the presence, the pain. There are days when it is with me in a small, annoying but not debilitating way. It sits on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, making suggestions, causing my gut to turn and my anxiety to rise. I can manage a demon that small. I can ignore it. I can go throughout the day with only a little more effort than normal. Then there are the days when the demon is a weight on my back and shoulders, when the demon makes it difficult to get through the day, to keep my head up. And there are days when the weight of the demon is more that I can bear and I cannot do anything. There are tools I can use to push back, to try to reclaim the moment, but I am aware of the presence of something else. This pain isn’t the totality of my experience of life but threatens to become that totality. When I name it I run the risk of saying that I do in fact live with a mental health challenge, but I also reclaim more of who I am.

The hope is that when talking about demons with the idea of mental health I can hold onto the idea that I may have challenges, but that I am not worthless. The hope is that I find myself in a place where I can be honest about my flaws and struggles, but do not let those flaws and struggles define the totality of who I am. Even with the cracks, I am still a person of worth and value. Again, I recognize that there are a lot of neurological challenges going on, that it is not literally demons that cause mental illness. I recognize that every person is wired differently and that is largely why the struggles of some are so much greater than the struggles of others. But having a mental illness, struggling through life, does not make you less than others and does not mean you are broken and worthless. This is a danger with mental illness. It does not fully go away and you can find yourself in a place where you believe that you are broken and thus have nothing to offer. You are not broken. You have struggles, but they are not the totality of who you are. You have difficulties, but you have such gifts and joy and brilliance to offer to the world.

It is here that I feel that urge to insert a voice of faith. I know that the faith community has a history of being harmful and damaging to people who struggle with mental illnesses. Yet I believe that one’s faith can also be a help. As a pastor, I strive to teach a faith in a God who is good and whose creation is good. This means that in those moments when we feel broken we can be reminded that even with the flaws (and we all have flaws), we still are, at the core, in our essence, good. I also believe that our faith assures us that we do not walk with our struggles alone. Mental illness can be a very isolating struggle for a multitude of reasons, but it does not mean that we have to be alone. A community of faith can be supportive and life-saving. Beyond the community, the belief that there is a Divine presence that is with you, especially in times of pain and struggle, can be life-changing. Knowing that even in the deep darkness of your struggles that God is still with you can offer a comfort that may help bring one through that darkness. You are not alone and our faith can offer an assurance of this truth. This does not mean that the struggle just goes away. I do not believe that faith is all one needs to cure mental illness. Medication, therapy, and lots of support can help one cope with mental illness, but we cannot simply pray it away or cast out the pain. Faith can assure us that we are not alone in our pain and our journey.

For those who are looking for a guide to talk about mental health in a family system, the good and the bad, I recommend Haslett’s book Imagine Me Gone. It is raw and painful and illuminating. For others who are not ready to view the wound so honestly, walk the journey in the way that is right and best for you. But please walk it. Please continue to strive, continue to try to go forward one step at a time.

On the journey, be honest about the struggles. Name the pain and the struggle. The grief that will not leave is a cloud, a beast, or a demon. Do not give up. Do not fall into despair. There are others who will carry you because they see you as more than the demon or a broken problem to avoid. There are people who want to sit with you, stumble with you, and stay with you in your pain. God will be with you and strengthen you because God knows you are more than the totality of the demon. And we will help each other. The Holy Spirit will help us. And the demon will not have all the power. The mental illness will not have all the power. You can be the full person you are meant to be, carrying the demon, carrying the struggle, but still living. And there will be moments when the living will be wonderful, beautiful, and amazing. That makes it worth it.