Hope Through the Thick Cloud of Depression

Has it settled in like a thick cloud again?  It’s denseness, at times both suffocating and restrictive. 

“Yes.

There are moments…when…every…breath…feels…labored.

When the haze makes seeing beyond this present moment nearly impossible.”

Is it piling up?  When it was just one or two things you thought you could handle it.  But now it feels like everything.

            All at once…

            No let up…

            Really…again.  How much more can a person take?

“Where’s my bed, my bottle, my blanket and remote.  Maybe if I just wait it out here.  Forget about it…sleep it away, drink it away, wish it away…

            it’ll go away?

            Maybe?”

But no, the thoughts – they are relentless.  Even in your exhaustion the thoughts keep coming. 

“Make them stop, will they ever stop?  I’ll do anything to make it stop…”

            Anything?

            “I didn’t mean anything?  Don’t worry, I mean it’s crossed my mind, but doesn’t everyone have that thought?  I’m good though, really.” 

                       

But are you?

It’s thick this cloud.  You really can’t see, beyond now, beyond here…

“What did you say?  You say you are there for me.  Wait, I can’t see you through this cloud.  I’m afraid if you are waiting for me to reach out…you might be waiting awhile.

            I…don’t…know…which…direction…to…reach. 

                                                                                                Man, I can’t breathe.”

“But I’m not the only one that can’t see you, you can’t see me.  You see me, but you don’t see me.  You see me fake laughing at work pretending to be ok.  You see me cheering on my child at the ball game not knowing that later that night I’ll wish I was dead, feeling like a failure as a parent.  You’ll see my smile at church that hide the tears trying to break through.  You don’t see me, partially because I won’t let you…partially

            Because you won’t let yourself.

            You don’t know what to do with me.

            How to talk to me.

            How to walk with me.

            What it means to love me.”

What can be done? 

            “Care.

            …but be gentle.

                        Don’t be trite.  It may not be better tomorrow.

            Care enough to love me through it.

            …but be patient.

                        Depression can make me sound like a jerk sometimes.

                        I didn’t mean to snap at you.

            Care enough to reach through the fog.

            …but don’t let go.

                        I need you, even though I’ll tell you I don’t.

            Care enough to tell me of God.

            …but not of his anger.

His love.  Remind me that God’s not impatiently waiting for me to get my act together, but with every tear drop, he weeps with me.  Tell me that He is holding me –as you hold my hand.  Cause in that moment, God is what I see in you.  Tell me that He is safe…that he can take it, my fears, my failures, my regrets, my worries, my past, my present, my future, my…

            Care enough not to give up

                        To sit with me in quiet when I need it.

                        To endure my awkwardness – believe me it feels worse for me.

                        To laugh with me in those moments when the light breaks through.

            Care.

            …but be tender.

And let me love you back.  Please don’t let this only be about me.  That just adds the guilt.  Share with me.  Let me be there for you.  As much as it is possible.” 

Has it settled in like a thick cloud again?

“Yes.”

Is it still hard to breathe?

“Yes…more…often…then…I…care…to…admit.

            But it’s less lonely here now, knowing you are close enough to see through the haze.

            It’s less fragile here now, knowing God’s hand holds me.”

But what’s different…what was done?

“You cared.

            And reminded me…

                        God cares.

            In that moment…

            That was just enough.”