Wednesday, January 25, 2017

I'm Ready...Depression

So a week and a half ago, I texted Joseph, innocently enough, just to try and start a conversation.

When am I ever going to learn?

It's been terribly frustrating for me--I know having one or two good friends I can relate with would go a long way to helping me heal.

Where's the rock they're hiding under???

I've been in a funk off and on for the last two years, but this time the word "depression" is much more fitting. I've stopped working out in earnest--I've only used my cheat method to get any exercise whatsoever; I don't practice; I've put off business-related tasks; I've turned to one of my dearest vices, which is gaming, not to mention something else too private for me to feel comfortable sharing here that has flared up.

Now, before I say too much, I want to clarify something: Joseph is not to blame for my depression. The issue is how I'm choosing to respond. I'm being reactive instead of proactive. I completely own that. I will take responsibility for that.

There's a strong part of me that severely wants to have someone in my life to give me motivation, in and of himself, for me to live, to thrive. I had a poignant thought the other night. Satan has tempted me with things completely out of left field, and however terrifically uninteresting the idea would be, suicide has been a topic he has broached.

The thing is, I don't want to die. I couldn't kill someone, least of all myself. But I want another reason to live. I need it.

I thought also that I need a savior. Of course, I have one. I just wish I could walk and talk with Him, put my head on His shoulder, or in His lap. Despite some of the things I've struggled with, I would love to have the Lord here, in person.

They say that we're the Lord's hands. I do a considerable amount to "reach out", on His behalf. Whereas I don't do so to receive some sort of recompense, I can't help but wish that there was someone out there to help lift me up. Maybe that's what Joseph was once, but it seems like he simply doesn't care anymore. I wonder how much he ever cared in the first place. It would be much easier if I wasn't coming across so many reminders of him all the time.

I want to try to pick myself back up. But for right now, I'm going to grab my figurative (and occasionally literal) ice cream tub and crawl in a hole.

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