If you are sensitive to or offended by cussing, please… do me a huge favor, and close out of this blog.
I don’t really know how to even begin this post. I’m feeling a lot. More than I have felt in a while.
I’ve been doing so fucking well. Ya know?
Like what’s depression? I don’t know anymore because I’m healed.
Ah, LOLOL. Damn. Joke’s on me.
This is where I find myself:
This fucking monster, named depression, has been hanging out. And I’ve been doing my best to make him go away. Like seriously, I’ve done everything that I’m “supposed to do” in order to be healed.
I’ve gone to counseling. I’ve eaten healthier. I’ve exercised. I’ve tried positive thinking—that’s just a load of shit. I’ve tried meds. I’ve prayed and fasted.
I’m doing everything a person is supposed to do to fight back.
I’ve fought and fought and fought. I’ve been kicking this monster’s ass, y’all.
I’ve found stability. Wow. That’s new.
I’m so tired of fighting. SO FUCKING TIRED.
I don’t want to fight back anymore. I really just want to give in. I want to go lay in bed for days. I want to just cry for hours. I want to go for a drive and not come back until I’m better. But hell, that may be never. I don’t have to go to classes. I don’t have to show up at work. I can disappear from all of my commitments, and hey, I bet nobody will even notice.
It’s so much easier to just give in… It’s so much easier to let myself become immersed in the waves of depression crashing over me… It’s so much easier to let myself feel all the shit that I’ve been ignoring because all of it triggers and glorifies a damn mental illness.
Spirituality doesn’t fix a mental illness. I thought maybe it would.
Like I went from Daniel Fast to a fucking juice fast in hopes that it would “make my heart right” because I sensed another bout of depression coming on. I’ve prayed more than ever before in hopes that I would return to a place of stability and find grace in the midst of this wrestling match against an invisible monster.
That’s a big part of the problem, as everyone who struggles with depression can attest to, that it’s invisible. You can’t see that I’m sick. A week ago, you could easily tell that I was sick. I had a cold. There was a clear moment when I began exhibiting symptoms, and it was understandable that I needed to take a day just to sleep and recover… I even got time off of work and out of class to get better. Then there was a clear end to that cold. I could note when it began, what my symptoms were, and when I got better.
I can’t do that with depression. I can’t say, “Okay, now I’m sick. Okay, now I’m just going to sleep this damn thing off, and when I wake up, I’ll be better. Okay, I’ve had about a week of recovery time, and I’m all better.” No. It just shows up exhibiting different symptoms each time. Sometimes, it just comes up out of no where. I’m fine one moment, then I’m not. Sometimes, it lingers, and I know it’s there… following me everywhere I go, but if I just ignore it long enough and keep the lights on, there are no shadows for it to hide in… so I can make it go away. I’m at a place of being so tired of trying to keep lights on. I just want to turn them off and go to sleep. And speaking of sleep, if it cured depression, ha… I’d stay in bed till I got better. And even if it doesn’t make things better, it feels like it does. So my bed is really pulling me to become its slave, while I remain bound to it for the next week.
So this is what I’m clinging to right now:
-Fasting and praying isn’t done in order to get away from depression and/or anxiety. While I know that I can be healed of bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, or whatever fucking problems my brain has, I know even more that I want the Father more than I want to be healed. I want the Father more than I want food. That’s why I fast. If the healing never comes and I have to wrestle with this shit for the rest of my life, I have tasted and seen that he is good. I have tasted and seen that he is kind; he is faithful; he is so perfect and right in all that he does; he is forever worthy of a lifetime of me giving myself to him over and over and over and over again. That doesn’t change. He really has ruined me. He has won my heart. He is provoking me to fall in love with him. I fast and pray because I haven’t seen or come to know all of his character—there’s more. And he is still who he is regardless of my circumstances.
-Faith first, feeling second. This kinda relates back to my last point, but I have to find faith in that God is who he says he is, even if I don’t feel it. He loves me, even if I feel unlovable. He wants me, even if I feel undesirable. He enjoys me, even when I feel gross. He is providing joy, even when I get lost in my depression. He sees me, even when I think I’m lost. The dark is not dark to him. I’m not too far gone, ever. Just because he feels far, I have to remind myself that depression is a liar. It lies to me. It tells me that I’m all these things that I feel. My faith tells me that I’m a child of a King and he won’t let me go.
-Scripture speaks truth over me when I can’t. The promises in Scripture are even valid for someone who is waging war in their mind—even when she feels like she’s losing much of the time. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” LOLOL, maybe I’m going to actually inherit the Kingdom of Heaven? “a broken and contrite heart you, God, do not despise.” He’s listening even when I feel overwhelmed by my brokenness.
-Running from reality fixes nothing. While my reality is a little hazy because of the chemicals in my brain doing some weird ass shit, it is my reality nonetheless. Hiding from or running from that reality, putting on a mask to cover up my reality, or pretending that everything is fine, when I’m not okay, doesn’t fix anything. Others can find healing in my brokenness. The Father actually wants me to be real with him, and tell him how I’m feeling. He’s not scared of it. It won’t overwhelm him. His character is greater than my perceived reality. He wants my freedom more than I do. And if I’m never free from depression, he’s still good. He still knows what he’s doing. There’s weird optimism in this pessimism.
Right now, I feel like I’m on the interstate, and my exit is coming up. I’m in the fast lane, and there are semi-trucks in the right hand lane. I can either go really fucking fast to pass them, and hope to make it in front of them in time to get off my exit, or I can slow down a whole lot, and find myself filled with frustration because there’s seriously no damn reason that we should be going 65 on the damn interstate… like go 80, or get off the interstate, truckers. I’ve been trying to pass the semi-trucks, but they seem to be speeding up as I am attempting to get in front of them. I might as well just get behind them and get settled in going slower. But it’s too late because there’s so many semis and not enough space to get over. I can slam on my brakes and get over, so I don’t miss my exit. But if I do that, I will be hated by all the drivers behind me that I’m leading down the fast lane. I could even cause one of them to crash into me. So do I slam on my breaks, and potentially cause a wreck? Or do I just miss my exit and have to get off at another exit and turn around and come back? I don’t really know the answer. I lose regardless. That’s depression. But hey, I won’t be on the interstate forever. I’ll eventually be home, where it’s safe.