Keith Battle - Mask Off - Part 1

I want to focus in this series on some of the dangers that arise from it, and one of the dangers is the emotional health of regular, everyday people. In this series, we’re calling it «Masks Off.» We’re calling it that because most of us wear masks every day; we put them on for our own protection. They protect us from the spread of germs and help keep us safe. However, one of the things that those masks cannot protect us from is the emotional pain that many of us carry because of all the factors I’ve mentioned, and even some that I haven’t. You see, your mask may protect you from germs and prevent you from spreading them, but it can’t shield you from the emotional pain. This series, «Masks Off,» is highly relevant; we all wear masks to protect ourselves, don’t we? I have one too. Sometimes, the mask may be misleading; it may have a smile on it, but it doesn’t reveal what’s going on underneath. So, I will start this series by taking my mask off.

In 1994, I faced a situation where I had been married for about five years. From what I’ve seen and heard over the years, the toughest part of marriage is often the first seven years, which can be incredibly hard. Some say the second seven years are hard too, but you wouldn’t know anything about the 37. I mean, Vicki and I had been married for five years and had two children at the time. We were living in a two-bedroom apartment in Gaithersburg, and as far as I knew, I was depressed. I didn’t really understand what it meant to be depressed, but I knew I didn’t want to live. I felt bad about my financial situation and where I was in my life and career. I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing as a husband or father. I remember being in the bathroom, contemplating taking my life; it was the first time I was ever serious about it and seriously considering how to do it. I didn’t go through with it, and I’m grateful that I didn’t. At the end of the day, what that experience helped me to understand—or to try to understand—is if I was in that much pain for a season, what must it be like to live like that? To live with a mind plagued by anguish that you can’t shake? I think God was merciful to me, and He let that pass; it was a season. But what if your season keeps coming around? What if every winter you go through this darkness, and when it gets cold and bleak? What if the trauma from a loss has left a person so hopeless that they live with feelings of failure and shame, not being where they want to be in life, and being disappointed? There are countless triggers that can lead to this, but you’d be surprised how many people sitting right in this room, or watching online, or in the chat room, or listening to this radio broadcast, secretly think about ending their lives. The COVID-19 pandemic threatens our population not only for its risk to human life and ensuing economic distress, but also for its invisible emotional strain. It is inevitable that the global pandemic, compounded by a financial crisis, will have a material impact on the behavioral health of society. Following the global financial crisis of 2007 and 2008, many countries saw higher rates of depression, anxiety, and alcohol and drug use. In 2008, the Great Recession caused a 13% increase in suicides attributable to unemployment, with over 46,000 lives lost due to income inequality and unemployment that year alone. Someone handed me a note today that stated 1,500 suicides are attempted every day in America, and 1,586 are successful. Additionally, the third most common cause of death for 15 to 24-year-olds is suicide—more than anything else. This is serious; it’s not something to take lightly. We have young people suffering in silence, and nobody hears them.

Vicki and I took a trip to San Diego one time, and I remember being out near a cove at night. I looked out at the ocean and saw how dark it was; you just couldn’t see anything. It’s an overwhelming, massive body of water, pitch black. From across the ocean, you might see lights in a city, but for the most part, it’s like a black curtain over the ocean at night. I remember during that time, there were some professional football players taking a boat trip, and the boat capsized out there. One of the players, who played for the Oakland Raiders, died. One player managed to make it back safely, but I remember thinking that if anyone was out in that water that night, drowning, there was no way anyone could see or hear them. They could be miles from the beach, yelling «I’m dying,» and nobody could see them; there was no way you could hear them. It made me think about people who live with depression.