warning. it isn't pretty.
I don't want to write this blog. I have half a mind to put it as private (if you can do that. I know you can on xanga) Anyhow. I hurt. I don't remember being this depressed in a long time. I've been so numb. And now, I'm definitely not numb. I hurt. My God. It's unreal.

I fought to make it through the night last night. Today I am walking around in a daze. I feel alone. Everything is a haze and I can't see clearly. All I can hear is screams in my head. Silent, haunting screams. My chest feels as though its on fire. I want to go stand in a scalding shower just to feel something other than this rawness. I want to cry, but it feels pointless. I need someone to see me. Please God someone see that I'm dying. See this pain. Hear me. Please.

I feel like such a whiner. I don't want to publish this blog. I feel like an 'attention seeker'. I hate that label. I am screaming for attention. Depression is such a messed up thing. Especially for Christians. You're told that you should have the joy of the Lord. You're told that it could always be worse. You're told that you're not that little girl anymore, you shouldn't let him have so much control over you.

For me, depression comes with a great sense of guilt. I feel guilty for not wanting to get out of bed. I feel guilty that the dishes are piled up, that it's almost seven P.M. and I haven't even started dinner. I feel guilty because even though I cleaned it yesterday, my house is a mess. I feel guilty because I haven't opened my Bible. I feel guilty because when I went to bed last night I fell asleep without finishing my prayer, and I haven't yet prayed today, except to ask God to protect a friend's unborn baby. I don't like me. I hate me.

I hate that I am incapable of truly expressing how I feel. Yes, I can write on this blog some of it. I don't have to look you people in the eyes. I can't, however, look my husband in the eyes and tell him that I had to sleep with a picture of my kids in my hand last night to convince myself to not give up. I hate all of this. I have periods where I am numb, and I don't want to be numb any more and it breaks. I am this weak shattered person and I don't like it. I don't think I'm ever going to be happy with what I feel.

I think the reason that I don't want to publish this is because I don't want to hear all of the cliche things people can say. Even people who know can be stupid sometimes. I don't want to be told that I'm handling this wrong. I am doing the very best I can and right now, that is just surviving. I don't want to be told that I need to move on. I want to scream that I was hurt and I am still hurt and I never got to process it and it's eating me from the inside. I want to scream that I have every right to be the way I am. Only problem is that the people in my real life can't see how bad I am, bc I am incapable of showing it. I can't do this anymore. I don't have the energy. Just one more breath. Then another.
3 Responses
  1. Sheryl Says:

    want you to know that you have been heard!! and you are loved.


  2. Melanie Says:

    oh girl *hug* *hug* and more *hug* if there is anything I can do- please don't hesitate to ask!


  3. Faithfulmom2 Says:

    You are in my prayers tonight!


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  • I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I'm a photographer. I'm a lover of Jesus. My house is a mess, my kids are dirty, we eat take out more often than not. My life is loud, busy and crazy. And that's okay with me.
    This is Eric, the man you've been praying for. He's a paramedic. He quilts in his spare time. No, I couldn't make that up :) He has NASH (a form of liver disease, non-alcoholic) and diabetes, but those things don't define him. He's a man of God, an insanely wonderful husband, and the best daddy in the world.. Just ask these guys..
    Our daughter Ali, she's 9. She's fiercely opinionated and strong willed. She's a Daddy's girl, but the umbilical cord hasn't but cut from me, either. She's a gymnast, and proud of it. She spends more time upside down or turning flips than she does walking. She's crazy smart, and absolutely sure of it. She is my insufferable little know it all.
    Our son Dylan, 7. We lovingly refer to him as Chubs. Or Chubby. Or fat boy. Ahem. He is all boy, as you can see by his crazy wild energy. He has the highest pain tolerance of any child I have ever met. He plays soccer and does gymnastics, but truly he is a gamer, a nerd. He is an avid reader and loves to climb. Not to be outdone by his sister, he's a drama king, but to him, I'm the best mommy in the world.