There are days for me when not even the glaring sun helps. When I just want to stay in bed.
So this now, becomes a true confession.
Because, maybe, my giving voice to it, not allowing it to stay harbored, secret and safe but exposing it to the light, can I then be fought.
Depression. It sounds like a dirty word, for it is a word smeared in shame. It resonates of loss. Implies defeat.
I need a battle cry.
To say it out loud, to reveal such a thing, promises relief but that promise is buried deep beneath the looming fear. No one wants to be pitied.
I put it all out there because it's truth. As true as anything else I've known to be true. And it's unexplainable. Not circumstantial.
I heard sad news about my friends today and read online tragic news about Congresswoman Giffords. And there is nothing in my own life happenings that compares. Maybe, my heart heaviness is just simply a sharing in the suffering, a burden known before any actuality. It helps to probe for reason.
As a Christan, especially.
Because I'm tempted to believe the lie that it is oxymoronical.
But reading the Psalms, I'm convinced David struggled.
So, I google. Does google have the answer? I google Christianity and depression. There's stuff out there. But it doesn't help. Mostly it talks of unrepented sin and guilt which I find not only to not be helpful but actually rather cruel. Sometimes Christians are wrong.
Maybe I'll someday write a book on hope for those in pain. Maybe someday I'll find one already written.
I'm still in the fight. And I'll be intrepid for other's sake and my own to own up to what's real. Because if I don't, I won't know what's real anymore.
I'll confront the cowardliness in me that is dying writing this, hoping against all hope that no one responds in any way, because it is not a plea.
And because platitudes and cliches fail. It's the Lord who does not.
"For you are the God of my strength" Psalms 43:2
I pray His strength be today with all those who are suffering.
you’d better believe that you’re a heroine
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