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.”
Loved this. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteVery insightful, Jeff. Thanks for writing about something that most people shy away from.
ReplyDelete