I have been having a really hard week. The mixture of emotions is something phenomenal. I am trying to wean back on my meds. I was able to cut back earlier this year. I have no idea if it will work to cut back even more. But my Doctor wants me to try so here I am trying.
I’ve had to come face to face with this illness again. Something I hate to do. I would rather not think about it. I just want to swallow those little pills that bring balance to my brain and forget about it. I hate being broken. Most of the time I don’t think about it. I am ok with it. But having these moments where I feel extremely off balance, where every noise tingles in my arms, fear in the pit of my stomach, tears just a breath away. It’s hard. I get angry. Angry that I have to suffer under the weight of this disease. It hurts. It’s far from comfortable.
It’s brought up so many things I didn’t know were there. The reminder of those three months of my daughters life that were missed because of the blackness–the anger at the memories or lack there of, the feeling of incredible loss, the grief. The fear of having another child because I don’t want to face it again, this time it would be two children’s lives I would be missing out on, the anger that rises inside of me when I hear other mothers complain about those sleepless nights a newborn brings, and oh how I wish I could complain about that too but all I remember is blackness, numbness, the FEAR. I know I have to grieve that time because I DID lose something, but it hurts to remember. It hurts to face it again. Two years ago I was right in the middle of the blackness, wondering if I would ever be well again.
A lot of things have happened in the last two years. A lot of growth. I am not the same person I was two years ago and not just because I am not in the throes of depression. God used that darkness to bring LIGHT. Brilliant LIGHT.
But I remember and have no desire to ever return to that dark place this disease brings me to.
It’s amazing how you can be so thankful for something and so NOT want to go back to it. I am glad for my depression. It brought me to my knees before God in a way that nothing else ever did. It brought me face to face with the pain in my past. It made me have to decide if I really believed the Word of God. But oh my goodness, I do not want to have to face it again. It is a time so dark, so scary, so utterly lonely. . . you can trust not one feeling that enters comes in. Excellent mental training but horrible, absolutely horrible. So many choices have to be made. Every second. It’s exhausting. A battle that you will never forget.
This afternoon as I was on my way home, I heard Him whisper, “Is my blood enough? Am I enough?” And again I have to make a choice. Will I serve the darkness or the LIGHT? It’s hard. Oh it’s hard. I know the right answer. But it’s not something I can just say, it has to come from the depths of me to mean anything at all.
I remember the cross. The separation Jesus experienced from His Father. He was utterly forsaken. He knows. He knows what depression is like. The loneliness. The darkness. He didn’t want to face it either. God has never forsaken me though for three months I couldn’t feel Him. To be really forsaken. That’s even more horrifying. He knows.
He knows exactly what I felt. What I feel now. He knows not just because He’s God but because He’s been there. He went into that darkness for me.
I think about that horror. And I only experienced a fraction of the horror he went through. I can’t imagine going through that fraction of horror for someone else. Let alone a group of someone’s who hated me. He did it.
So that I can have LIGHT. HOPE. REDEMPTION.
and so again, I choose the LIGHT.