A Departure

Normally I use this blog as a place to practice my writing and hone my skills. What I usually put here is fiction, usually prompted by a photo or word provided by someone else. But today I’m going to write about what’s going on in my head. This is not fiction, these are the thoughts that are consuming me right now.

I should say up front that I have depression. I’ve had it for my most of my life, but since I’ve had my kids and as I’ve got older it’s gotten worse. This morning I got a phone call to say that I just missed out on a job I’d gone for. It’s made me feel really sad. Sad that again I haven’t got a job I’ve applied for. Sad that I feel rejected, even though I know it’s not really personal. Sad that I’m not good enough. Sad that I’m letting my family down.

Even though I would never do it, the suicidal thoughts are floating through my head. I know suicide never solves anything and I would never do that to my husband or kids, nevertheless, the idea still bobs and weaves and dodges through my more rational thought.

When I start to feel like this it’s like someone pulls a shade down on my life. Not a sheer, white shade but a thick, black one that blocks out all the light and leaves me sitting in the dark. Sometimes there is a little crack of light and it is that light that keeps me hanging on and eventually guides me out.

You know what? I HATE feeling this way. I have a great life; a wonderful husband that I love and who loves me back for some unknown reason, great kids who are growing into amazing young adults that I am so proud of and in awe of, a lovely home and good friends. I have no excuse for being so miserable. I hate that it’s such an effort to get myself out of bed every day. I hate that even though I’m busy doing things I find very little that interests me. I hate that even though I smile at my kids and joke and laugh with them I feel no joy.

But unfortunately, this is the reality of depression. It doesn’t discriminate. There’s no point in telling yourself to snap out of it, or cheer up because there’s nothing you can do about it except hang on desperately and hope that you come out the other side soon.

Until that happens I’ll keep faking it till I make it.


2 thoughts on “A Departure

  1. I am 62 years old. For over 55 years of my life, I lived with those same feelings you just described… I “endured” being alive…. Then, about 5 years ago, I woke up one morning and realized FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE….. I actually LIKED being alive….. I don’t know how it happened. It was gradual…. But it hasn’t changed since that day. My LIFE has continued to change, and not always for the good. My youngest son decided to end his own life three years ago for no reason that any of us have been able to figure out. But, for some silly, unknown reason, I do still like being alive….. A thought I can’t seem to let go of: What if this life is in reality a “womb” time…. What if this life that we think we are living now is in reality just a very brief moment of getting ready for what we REALLY are created to be? How much do you remember of your time in your mother’s womb? How important TODAY are all the things that upset you so terribly when you were just 2 years old? What if THAT is how THIS WHOLE time of our “living” looks like once we are on the other side of it…? I will be wishing toward God on your behalf…. cj

    • Thank you so much for your comment. You’ve certainly given me some hope. I’m sorry about your son, that is an awful thing to go through. I sincerely wish you continue in your happiness because it is a wonderful thing. I don’t hate being alive I hate that I feel this way.

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