I’m doing something I normally don’t do. I’m writing a blog post while I’m sunk in the pit of major depression.

I’m not crying. I did that a few days ago. I could easily do it again though.

It’s been years but a few days before writing this I had dangerous thoughts. No, not going to kill myself. But I just want my life to be over.

There gets to be a point where criticism and rejection get to be too much. Some would say it is a satanic attack when you have thoughts like this. I’m not totally convinced. When memories rise up and crowd around threatening to beat you with every hurting word,  betrayal, insult and more, it’s hard to blame satan for the words of others that come back to torture a soul. How do you blame satan when I can beat myself up quite well without his help?

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words may destroy me.

Having lived with major depression for years, I normally would seek out someone. Go to lunch. But right now that would only seem to fulfill what some would say is “attention-seeking” behavior or my deep seated need for validation.

So why even bother?

A wise man told me that those with the gift of encouragement are often the most in need of it.

Lately there’s been little encouragement. Oh, there’s people who like me on-line perhaps. But some of the closest in my circle prefer to ignore me.

Now, Susan, if you are posting this aren’t you attention seeking now? Why, this goes out to the whole world-wide web! 

But you don’t know when I wrote this. This could show up days, weeks or months after I post it. So, in this moment of deep pain, I am not seeking attention or validation for my existance.

I’m strangly at peace with a desire to not be here anymore. I’m tired of the fight and then immediately chide myself for being such a wimp. People go through far worse struggles than I have and emerge just fine.

But that’s them, and I’m me.

I’m strangly more productive right now. Immersing myself in work and trying to avoid the pain in many ways. Isolating as much as possible. But if you see me you will get a smile. I won’t share that pain on my facebook page or even at church.

That’s the curse of mental illness, isn’t it? You break a leg and everyone is sympathetic. Have surgery and meals are brought to you. Depression? Who wants to deal with a chronic issue like that? It’s just, well, depressing.

Take a pill. I already do take medication but even increasing the dose wouldn’t help me in this moment. It can take weeks to feel an improvement and taking too much has it’s own issues. Medication is not always the solution.

I get it. See, along with my own pain I often carry the pain of others. A hyper-sensitive person is great to confide in, share with, be validated and encouraged by. I don’t regret ever doing that. I do it beause I know how much it hurts. Been there, done that, doing it again right now. And I am grateful that God can use my hurts to help others.

My heart aches in that, beyond prayer for God, I feel helpless to do anything else for them. A hug, a smile, a word of encouragment and they go back to the daily pain of their lives. These people are in my church, they are in larger world of friends and they are online. Loss. Grief. Rejection. Physical pain. Financial distress. Women left by “Christian” men and those women raising children alone.

I despise my own pain even as it provides a position for me to minister to others in theirs.

So I pray. I write. I work. I cry and I wait.

I wait for God’s hand to work in whatever way He choses. I cast myself on His tender hands at his torturous cross. No one fully understands my pain but Him anyway. I can’t imagine walking through this life without Him.