Confessions

I mean that it feels like I’m drowning in a raging ocean amidst a lightning storm in the middle of the night. All I see is darkness cascaded by the occasional shatter of light illuminating waves of death capsizing over my head as I try to catch my breath.

I mean that I lay awake in the middle of the night surrounded by fears and questions as though I were stuck in a coffin buried six feet under…No resolution and no one to hear me scream.

I mean that I awake from dreams in which I convinced myself it was possible for my deceased loved ones to resurrect from the dead. Not only had I convinced myself, but I also saw them alive and breathing. That momentary relief was broken by the miserable reality that my dreams were simply that…dreams.

I mean that I wrestle with my own mind and body once the sun peaks through the window. You see, when “my depression is getting bad” I physically can’t pull myself together. I feel as though I have no strength and that I won’t be able to make it through the day if I leave the state of rest I’m in. I fight with my conscience as it unleashes a flurry of oppression aimed at my inability to function.

I mean that I put on a face when I leave the house to take care of my responsibilities, although I yearn for nothing more than to crumble. It seems that in that moment, crumbling feels as though an easier alternative to yet another day of fighting my own mind, other’s perceptions of my weaknesses, and the intense desire to simply feel better. I want nothing more than to quit fighting and give in to the demons feeding off of what’s left in my head.

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I’ve wrestled the last few days against going to the hospital. You see, the symptoms of a panic attack and a heart attack are eerily similar…almost too similar. The effects of constant stress, fear, and an inability to breathe creates an immense pressure in the chest. It causes your arm to cramp…your fingers to tingle…your brain to kick into another level of obsessive overdrive.

It feels like you’re dying.

Yet I know that it’s nothing more than my brain playing tricks. You see, when I say “My depression is getting bad”, what I’m saying is that I’m at war with the only thing I can’t escape – myself.

I’ll be honest with anyone who’s made it this far: This episode has been the worst I can remember. The stress of my job, the horrible events ravaging through our nation, trauma from a loved one’s death, pressures of measuring up socially and spiritually, and the soul crushing fear of the unknown pushed me to an edge I hadn’t stood on.

What makes it more difficult is answering people’s questions and fielding their concern. How do tell others how to help you when you don’t even know how to help yourself? What advice is there to give someone else when you feel as though no spoken word or well intentioned text message could possibly speak to the void in your chest?

There’s nothing.

Then there’s always the “Why didn’t you reach out? I told you I’d be there for you.” To that I would respond, “With what strength?”

I’ve been told they can’t pinpoint depression or anxiety in the brain like they could with cancer. What they can pinpoint, though, is the damage it does to the rest of your body if left untouched. Blood pressure, heart damage, damaged kidneys, digestive issues, memory loss, the swelling or decompressing of certain parts of your brain due to excessive amounts of cortisol. I’m only speaking of the physical effects of this disease…Dare I speak of the emotional disconnect, the suicidal idealizations, the suicidal attempts, or the general inability to make life easier for the people around you?

No, you can’t look at a CT scan and say, “Yeah, there’s your depression.” You can look at someone, though, and see the real time effects of someone who’s own mind is trying to kill them.

Unfortunately, there may be those who read this, or never do, and continue to live with the mindset that depression and anxiety are “crutches”…that they’re not “real”…that it’s just an excuse.

I’ve learned in my struggle that fools pay no heed to wisdom or truth. I’ve settled into understanding that some won’t get it…some won’t care…but the ones who do, the ones who make an effort, the ones who aim to see you through…

Those are the ones that make life a little more bearable.

So, when I say, “My depression is getting bad”, I mean it. I’m also far enough along my journey to know that this too shall pass. One day I will stand before God with my pain erased, my tears washed away, and finally be at rest.

One day…