I don't write on here very often anymore. I wish I did, but I usually opt to write in my journal instead when I'm feeling the urge to work through some feelings with writing. I have so many right now though that my hand would cramp if I wrote it all out and typing is much faster.
I have been mentally struggling for awhile now. I'm sure many have with the type of year this has been, but mine started getting really bad October 2019. I'd for sure had bouts of depression in the past, but it never felt quite so heavy. I attribute part of it to trying to go on a very restrictive diet to, you know, lose all my baby weight ASAP. Bleh. I could and likely write another post about how angry I get over society's mind-numbing expectations and damaging beliefs on how women should look, be, find worth in themselves. This diet made me feel like a perpetual failure and the dark thoughts just took over. It got so, so bad. I wrote letters. I looked at dating apps to find my husband a potential replacement. I researched least traumatic ways for children to lose a parent. Luckily, I went to therapy and it helped a little. Time ultimately helped lessen the gaping mental wound I had. I started to do all the things I knew would help me. Exercising everyday, journaling, being more grateful, praying more, serving more. I think sometimes it can feel really confusing when I say I'm struggling with depression because there are so many days, moments, weeks where I genuinely feel so happy. The dark, sad feelings that sometimes take over seem so small and distant in those happy moments. It seems impossible that I'll ever feel THAT bad again.
Have you ever seen the movie The Impossible? It's about a family of five vacationing in Thailand over Christmas during the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. I would highly recommend watching it for a multitude of reasons. I've been thinking a lot about the scene when the wave first hits in relation to how I feel about my depression. Naomi Watts and her family are having a grand time swimming in this really nice resort. Completely happy despite some worries about Ewan McGregor's job when their vacation is over. They're sure it will work out and they can handle it. She's reading a book and a gust of wind blows one of her pages against these glass panels. Those glass panels to me are all the things I'm doing to keep my depression under control. The good things that really do help me be happy. If I were to huddle behind them, they would keep me dry from the occasional splashes of water life is sure to throw. Then, out of nowhere, this giant, black wave comes crashing down on them. Naomi Watts presses herself against these glass panels knowing it's certainly not going to keep her from being crushed by this wave, but it's all she's got. It's not strong enough to keep her from being ripped apart by this tsunami even if she'd spent a year making it the most durable glass in the world. She could have built a sturdy house of gratitude, exercise, therapy, and it still will be covered by this wave of destruction.
Something I'm not ready to talk about started a new wave for me and it's hard, at times, to feel like I'll ever find the surface. The moment that changes things in the movie for Naomi Watts is hearing her son call out her name while he's getting dragged along this enormous current. That's how it feels for me too. Whenever I want to just cling to my palm tree and scream and maybe let go, I have three little voices calling out my name. The four people I love the most are what keeps me from letting go. It's not easy. I still have to walk around in unfamiliar territory with my chest cut open and a giant leg flap dangling about, but who else will make sure my family is okay?
After it's faded a bit, I usually find a portion of myself grateful for that excruciating pain because it opens my eyes to how other people might be feeling. I am not unique in feeling like this. There are countless around me with hands that hang down and sorrow that the world can't see. However, this world is pretty dark right now. People hate one another. Such cold hearts. I have a medical condition that makes it really hard to wear a mask. I normally am effected very little by my disorder, but I've had it tested at the doctor's office and my O2 levels drop to the mid 80's when I'm wearing one. I could easily carry around a doctor's note excusing me from mask wearing, but no one cares about that, not really. I often let my nose out so I don't black out, but wow. Strangers, friends, family hate me for it. It's so painful to already have all these thoughts swirling about like dark mist whispering "maybe it's not a bad idea if you died" and then have others thinking or saying the same thing. I wish I was this incredibly resilient type. My husband is, thank goodness. One of us has to be. He's a fighter whereas I'm just..not. I don't know how to be like that either. I wish I was. When I'm meanest to myself, I throw that at my inner crumpled self over and over "what's wrong with you? Get up. Get up and fight. Why can't you just be different?!" I can fight for other people, that's so much easier. I can fight for my kids, my husband, friends, family, but myself. Woof. This isn't just about mask hatred, it's about that incredible palpable hatred and fear of one another. I generally believe people are good at heart, I do. Hearts seem to be getting harder though.
I don't know exactly why I felt that I needed to write this. I have trouble sleeping these days and starting this helped some of those late hours go by quicker. I do have hope, even when my mind assures me it's not a realistic thing. When I can feel that hate in the world, from myself, the love of Christ feels stronger. I was reading in Ether the other day about the Jaredites and their journey. They spent a year getting slammed by waves and wind and only had a tiny amount of light for their long journey. Yet, they praised God during all this. The waves beat them to a better place even when I'm sure it felt too much to bear at moments. I have to believe it's getting me and all of us to a better place too
