I went back and forth with myself on whether or not I would force these words onto paper, my arguments within myself were “I don’t want people to worry about me.”, “I certainly don’t want people to pity me.”, “Heck, I’m not even sure how to paint the picture clearly for outsiders peeking in, it’ll probably just be similar to an abstract; only the painter and a few others understand the depths each brush stroke and dark color resembles. The rest, well..they’ll just shrug their shoulders.” but the winning argument, “But what if shining a light on my darkness helps another.” So here we go..
My depression does not fill my mind, capturing my thoughts and holding them hostage leaving me unable to function daily; but rather it sits patiently in the back of my mind, nestled away quietly in a dark corner and watches everything I do, say, and think. Jotting it down in it’s notes to use as an attack when it can have my full attention, when there is no child interrupting or household task to be accomplished.
No, my depression is very good at it’s job, it allows me to feel somewhat normal and optimistic throughout the day, a smiling face to greet others, a willingness to reach out and touch the lives of my neighbors. It even uses those positive things against me, it uses them because the stigma is; those are not the things a depressed person does. It uses my heart for others and the spiritual desire to be the hands and feet of Jesus as a way to isolate me even more..
My depression stalks me as a seasoned hunter, it observes my routine, knows my weaknesses and my delights, knows how to run me to make me weary for the attack that is imminent, and every night using the cloak of darkness and the illusion of peace and quiet it attacks in the stillness of the night…
I am awaken to rapid heartbeats, a barrage of criticism, and feelings of hopelessness and despair. I know this attack. It is nothing new, it’s our nightly routine. Replays of the day and interactions with others flood my mind and my depression, as a talented sorcerer, creates scenarios out of thin air terrifying me. My depression taunts me with lies and blankets my mind with a fog of fallacies so thick I can hardly pray, for the words are nearly impossible to find. “You’re a bad mother because you yelled at your kids, why aren’t you patient?”, “Donald’s getting tired of you.”, “Why would God want to use you?!”, “Your friends don’t even like you.”, “You can’t write so just stop.” and the thoughts are a never ending procession parading across my mind’s eye.
I’ve only had depression since being pregnant with my last sweet baby that has now grown into a sassy (almost) two year old but I cannot remember the time before I began drudging through depression. I don’t remember it, but oh how I long for it.
As for now I am wounded but not dead. I am fallen but not forgotten, for I am His and He forgets not His own. I am a daily survivor of nightly attacks. I am resilient through His redemption. I am persevering through the pain. I may lose the battles but I am winning the war. I will drudge through this depression in such a way that brings glory to God and hope to other warriors.
I will not fail; His strength is made perfect in my weakness.