I keep waiting to get better.
Better at dealing with this. Better at talking about it. Better at handling the hard things. Better at being a friend, mentor, sister, daughter. Better at taking care of myself physically. Better at school, better at golf, better at writing.
I keep waiting to get better at being depressed. I keep waiting for healing.
Better at avoiding my sadness. Better at carrying this weight. Better at being okay with my reality. Better at fighting. Better at moving on. Better at existing.
As stated previously on this blog site, and through other things I have expressed with people, I expected the hospital to be my healer. I wanted so desperately for the blue and green walls to be the reason I was no longer “sick.” I have ached and ached for so long, hoping, wishing, waiting for September fourth through the 11th to be the pinnacle, the reason I am feeling full.
I hate feeling like everything I write about is revolved around that week, but that is where my story began. While I am over six months recovered, it doesn’t change what happened. I didn’t understand myself before then, and while I don’t truly understand myself now, I find myself more knowledgeable than pre-hospital stay.
Every time I am reintroduced do the pain of this disease, I scream out in anger. I cried on my floor for almost two hours the other night, because I am so beyond mad at myself, at my brain. I’m so mad at the world. I’m so mad at God.
I know that I kept saying I have healed my anger toward the Creator. Truthfully, I was under the idea that maybe I had, that maybe for just one moment I wasn’t resentful at the One who loves me most. But, I am human & it was all a lie.
I’m mad because I feel like I haven’t gotten better. It may be outwardly obvious that I have become more like myself, but I still carry this baggage of trauma, this baggage of unanswered questions — the baggage of being unsure about what to do.
I hate being angry because it feels like the wrong response to have. I was telling my boyfriend the other night that I just for once want to wake up and not have to put so much effort toward being OK, toward feeling present in the world around me.
I can assure you all that this is not a cry out because I feel suicidal or want to die, flee these feelings, or run away. I want none of the above. I am content with this time in my life — genuinely. If I’m being honest, there’s no way to really explain this feeling if you haven’t experienced depression or a depressive episode. It just is my want to have to fight much more naturally than feeling like I’m taking on a new world every single day.
I feel so forgotten. I was with my boyfriend and his friends, last Monday and I felt like I was existing as an outside viewer rather than an insider. It isn’t anyone’s fault that I felt this way. It’s just how it goes. I was sitting on an airplane, and I felt so incredibly alone even though I was surrounded by all of these people. These are just things that happen, these are just realties I have to deal with.
I hate being mad at God because this is not His fault, this is not something He is doing to hurt me or point me out. I think it is wrong to say that I am mad at Him. I’m in a battle with my mind and it is making Him look like the bad guy.
For a few months now, I have been under the impression that I was over this resentment being held toward the Lord. I had released it, I had given it away to Him because I knew that I wasn’t making a healthy choice by holding it all in. But, about two weeks ago, I caught myself in this mindset of “Why me?” I was sitting at the kitchen counter and I couldn’t focus long enough to do my homework. My thoughts were kind of coming at me with full force, and the only question going through my mind was: “Why did I have to be the one who got sick?”
I don’t want the Lord to take this sickness from me because that would be an unfair request. If you want my honesty, I don’t know who in the world I would be without the things I have dealt with. Trauma, pain, suffering: it is part of me but never will it label me.
I know that these feelings of anger are bred from this fallen world. I know that the Lord does not leave me or do these things out of punishment for wrongdoing. I haven’t really come to a full understanding of my purpose here on the Earth, beyond the inevitable of being on mission for Christ. What I am getting at is: I don’t yet understand my purpose of being depressed. I know that we don’t always understand His ways or plans for our lives. But I thought that for once I had found that niche where I fit, where I was meant to be. Maybe not knowing is the greatest gift of all.
I’m angry at myself because I feel like I am the reason I feel this way anyway. I have control over my thoughts, but sometimes my brain is so clouded that I don’t actually realize what is happening there. I keep trying to see the sun within in these clouds, but my goodness, I’m tired of it.
When I catch myself thinking of the hospital, it isn’t when the thoughts are the tip of this huge iceberg. It’s when I feel myself recalling the memory so fondly, that I begin to get anxious because it feels like I am right back to square one. Just the other day, I realized that I couldn’t remember the name of my first tech nurse in my unit. His name had finally left my brain, and I was so incredibly upset inwardly that I refused to let myself think about anything but this just so I would know his name.
I know that it sounds cruel and sick to do that to myself, but my thought process was that if I can’t remember his name, then I’ll never be able to remember any of it, and then I will never be able to recall this important part of my life, and then I will never understand any of what has happened. Anxiety is quite evil, isn’t it?
I know that these words seem all over the place. I know that everything I write about probably make me seem like all I want is pity. I know that it is repetitive. That is never my intention, and seeking pity is never my goal. If you want my honest truth: I hate hearing people apologize to me for my depression, and I hate people giving me cheesy well wishes because they often just linger in the awkward air and hold little to no weight. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying this because I don’t appreciate what others have to say. I know that it is an awkward situation and a lot to process. But please understand that I would much rather here you say: “I’m listening; I don’t understand, but I am willing to do my best to empathize with you; Your head is lying to you...etc. etc.” Sometimes it doesn’t matter what people say — I will still feel the way I do.
I keep waiting to get better, but maybe I just need to realize that I already have gotten better. I know how to talk about it. I know how to address it. I know how to get to the other side of bad days. I know how to take care of myself, where to improve on golf & school, and what to do to put one foot in front of the other.
I don’t think anyone has ever really mastered the art of truly being able to handle depression. It is a day-to-day battle, that often changes even within a 24 hours. It isn’t like my anxiety, where I know what to avoid and when to avoid it. Sometimes I get sad and I can’t give you a one single reason as to why I feel that way. Sometimes I don’t want to talk about it, but other times I do. It is one of the most inconsistent realities I have ever found myself apart of.
I keep waiting to get better because I want to be healed. But being healed should not be my final goal. I have battled this disease for almost four years, and while this past year and a half has been the toughest, this is not my end. I came to the realization this morning that my brain has undergone some serious changes since this time last year...and so has everyone else’s. I think that it is a normal feeling to want to be better and healed, but holding resentment at everything around me does not change the truth of the matter.
While I was never outspoken about my feelings prior to really July of last year, I know that I can talk about these things now and I know within my heart of hearts that some seasons are so much more difficult than others. Depression was once but a false reality for me. It was never something I believed to be true about myself. But so much has changed since I first felt the blows of it at age 13. I am not the same person physically, mentally, spiritually. But at the same time: I am. Knowing I am changed, knowing I can deal with my feelings, knowing I have the support system I do is what makes me smile, is what gives me proof that I have met healing beyond measure.
Yesterday, my golf coach told us that making little goals is important for your game. If you have a 15 foot putt, make it your goal to be within two feet of the hole — don’t bank on making a relatively impossible shot for someone who doesn’t have much experience. My mom and dad have often pushed the idea of little goals so we can be better students, people, brothers and sisters to each other. Often, biting off more than you can chew is what keeps you from ever wanting to finish anything. My little goal for right now is to stop holding resentment at so many people, things, places, but mostly importantly to stop holding it toward God. It is easy to get caught up within your own world, asking Him why it had to be you and why you had to the one to deal with it. But, why not you?
My oldest brother says to “chase after God and watch the blessings fall.” I have seen the fruit of my labor, I have seen the goodness of Christ. I can’t stop chasing now because there’s too much that I would miss. God has a lot left in store for me and He has just as much for those around me. It is just a chapter, not the whole book.
Chase after Him with me. Let’s watch the blessings fall together. Because even when I see only my footprints, I know that there are two more right in front of me.
- Emma