Last night became rocky. I had had a good-feeling workout, eaten well enough (fries came after my full-size salad) at Wendy’s afterward, picked up my electric guitar after years of not practicing, and studied some Italian. But I later took a shower and cried. I always love the covering showers provide for tears, the saline solution on the cheeks is less noticeable, and tears and fresh water become one. It’s as if I’m not exposed and not crying alone.
The loneliness filtered in through my façade of productivity. Perhaps it was a façade only I could see, my own disguise of stability. I wonder if others can see how restless I am beneath the surface.
I finished my shower, leaving my covering, to heavier crying. In my room, I tried to pretend, as I too often do, that the love of my life was there comforting me. But if I knew the love of my life, I probably would not have been crying anyway. Solid, boulder loneliness rolled around me when my imagination failed, and I felt it. And it hurt. My sagging heart felt the weight.
I pretended to talk to my therapist: Most people in my life have found their happy place with another. I crave someone who I can share everything with, someone who wants to spend as much time as they can with me, someone who cares enough to spend all this time. Someone I can love and who loves me as a close friend, partner, and lover. No one in my life comes close to this description. I imagined her reassuring that my longing was not an unreasonable desire.
I checked my dating site app: little interest there.
I tried to sleep: my rest was not restful.
I enjoy the stately Christmas music at Panera, now. It’s a soft break from the holiday musical norm. The cranberry walnut bagel and cranberry orange cream cheese was tasty. But what’s next? Another routine? Another day of humdrum? This cannot be my life. There is more.
The past few days have seen a decent amount of productivity despite my penny wages and stagnant living in a small, culturally absent town.
It’s a paradox, but mundane days and spaces usually lessen my productivity.
When I’ve nothing required of me, I’ve no to little direction. On my days off, I usually sleep and moap, and attempt something and fail with a short fuse. However, in recent days, I’ve studied languages for hours (many thanks to the free app duolingo and language websites!), reported an article to my church district newsletter, practiced voice a little more, and stayed awake longer than usual to spend time with my brother who was home for Thanksgiving. I was awake until three a.m. Saturday night into Sunday after a jam-packed shift just so I could spend the extra time with him, who is one of my closest friends (this is weird, so I’ve heard, but what I hear doesn’t define my life).
Rewind to that thought: What I hear doesn’t define my life.
Little by little, poco a poco, I’m living my life as I define it, not as I hear it. I’m not allowing other opinions of what I “should be” or am define me. I may hear my parents say I’m not such-and-such thing, that I should do such-and-such thing, but I won’t be listening. I’ll be listening to my heart, and I’ve just begun. Sounds cliché and therefore one-dimensional, yeah, but I’m learning the value of it.
And so, I’m sitting in a café sitting next to an intelligent, kind guy I just met, sipping a macchiato, nibbling a peppermint biscotti, listening to Italian music, and relating my life redefining to you fine people.
Blogger with Depression Publishes
Allie Brosh very recently published a book based on her blog Hyperbole and a Half, accessed through the link below. The NPR link is to an article about the book, and features details about her depression. If she can publish a book, so can I! You, too, can do anything you dream! (A cheesy inspirational post ending, I know, but did it help? I hope so.)
Check out her blog! What I’ve seen so far, with the goofy, multi-emotional art, could be very helpful.
“The worst forms of depression are cured when Holy Scripture is believed.”
– Charles Spurgeon
I found this quote on tumblr, and I was upset by it. I reblogged it with the following:
So all, extreme forms of cancer are cured with belief in the Bible? How about the plague? Or unexplained deaths?
1. Depression is often a disease, and like physical disease, it requires medical attention from trained professionals. Believing in a text with enigmatic origins (yes, we cannot currently prove the identities of the authors) does not magically cure one of depression.
2. The Almighty gives us challenges and struggles so we can grow.
3. I have firsthand experience of faith confronting depression.
4. Obviously, Spurgeon, you never suffered from clinical depression or some other mental illness.
I believe in the holiness, sacrifice and love of Christ. But the Bible is less and less my guide. It’s quotes like these, statements so detached from reality and personal experience, that weakens faith. It is ignorant and arrogant to assume one solution for all, and to make claims without experience personal or external.