Silly Scribbles
# 4
Or Life as Toni
Just recently I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”. I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined. I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.
So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.
Starless
Coping
is exhausting. It's a verge of breaking, but clinging desperately to
a weak hopeless nothingness. It's survival with constant pain.
Depression is a wound that haunts and hurts, but no one else sees
it's blood. A sticky despair. I'm so tired and I look up into the
darkness, trying to pray. It's clear and cold; not a star in the
sky. That's how life feels right now....starless. Everyone is in
the house. I can hear muffled laughter from inside, and it seems to
mock me. I lean against the clothesline,'s wooden stake, staring up
into that bleak stretch. No one answers me. I could never doubt His
existence. Just as I could never doubt my mothers existence. I know
Him too well. But the question that stares back at me is – Does He
care? No one cares to know how I feel, because they too hurt. Or
they are doing so well they forget that others mourn while they
rejoice.
So,
this is depression. I have read of it, witnessed it, talked about
it....but now I meet it. It's not so much of a sinking feeling but
as if I've sunk. It's dark. It's odd knowing I'm depressed....it's
like holding it, trying to scrutinize it, turning it over in my hand.
It's ugly. It hurts to hold it. But I don't know how to let it go.
I feel so guilty for being dramatic and feel condemned thinking if
others knew how I felt. But could I even convey what I felt to
others? I'd just cry and they would wonder. They would feel
uncomfortable. They would see me as just an emotional female. Or
they would blame my “sickness”. I feel dangerous. I would never
contemplate suicide...but death seems so welcome, so liberating. I
want it.
Alone
is a sad word. It's not that others don't carry heavy burdens or
know what depression is like. But I have no-one who cares. That is
lonely. Crying brings no relief. No washing. After I sob I'm left
a little numb, but it's a gaping empty negative numbness. He says
that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
If that's so, my life is one drawn out nightmare.
This
has been my last couple weeks. Painful, sleepless, depressing days.
It doesn't matter why. There are many variables. Some are
physical. My health has been sorely stretched. Some of it is
circumstances. Hurtful words. Wounds by friends. Shifting of
stable pillars. Some of it is emotional. Stress, defense, a pulling
back, disappointment and grief.
I
finally faced it all. In it's abhorrence and pain and disturbance, I
looked at it and realized it was not something to be ashamed of. I
clung to something sturdier than a hope....I reached out for a
promise. A promise that He would incline unto me and hear my cry.
That he would bring me up out of the horrible pit and out of the miry
clay and set my feet on a rock. That He would put a new song in my
mouth and praise. (Psalm 40).
While
reaching out for the promise I didn't try to escape the hurt. It had
found me, whether I liked it or not and I wasn't going to try to cope
anymore. I wasn't going to press it down. I was going to pray no
matter how many stars shone. And it happened.
I
finished work and stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed “home”
(my friends house). It was 5:30 in the evening but it was still
light out and people milled about the streets. Each of them complex
individuals, only unified in humanity, but the rest an unknown
mystery. A casual quiet mystery. Sunset, car lights....twilight's
enchanting hues. Spring's fresh air. A man whistles as he walks up
his drive, happy to be off work and home. It's a relaxed stirring of
humanity. And I don't feel like a detached spectator. I'm part of
it all and it excites me. Somehow depression has lost the stare
contest. The only loneliness that tugs at the edge of my heart is
not being able to share that moment with someone closer who would be
able to see what I see and revel in it and take quiet notice with me.
But I do have Someone. I smile. That same Someone makes life worth
living. Makes sleep possible. Night is nothing to dread no matter
how many stars show. And the morning will come – a day the Lord
has made and planned in detail. Depression let me go. Or did I let
go of it? I accepted it. I faced it. I decided. As I drew near
the house, with the sun setting behind it, I knew there would be a
morning. And when it comes I will look up at the sky and say, “Who
has conquered my grief? Who has conquered my heartache? Who has
conquered my pain?” And I will sing – “Jesus.”
