Depression. Huddled in an attic. Christmas music.

My solitary world is expanding. Welcoming those around me to join. Come, take my hand, breathe this air, this air that feels so alive in my chest. Drawing me out. Filling me with something I haven't felt for years. Awakened. 

And I come here, to my own little piece of the internet  my own slice of social www. pie, and I pour out my deepest feelings, my crazy thoughts, my fears that only the whole world could read. And I do this...why? To stand on that mountaintop and whisper down to you, "You're not alone. None of us are. I'm here, I'm there right now. Where you are. Where you were. We all are. Here's how I did it..."

Some need a pill to control their blood pressure, their heart and body unable to keep itself stabilized and safe. Some need a pill to take away the pain that hammers in their head, the "m" word that brings many to their knees, gasping for suppression, gasping for numbness. 

And then some need a pill to clear the cobwebs, the dirty attic of their mind full to the brim with lifeless broken rocking chairs and shredded cheap paintings. The sounds of so much life coming up through splintered and stained floorboards, a dusty window barely letting in the filtered and weak light of a rumored brilliant sunrise. Who knew the door was cracked open this whole dank and bleak time? 

And when the mind clears, and you start seeing the world for what it can be, not just the glorious sunrise (and oh, how brilliant and heartbreakingly dazzling it is!) but the plain moments too, and the moments that overwhelmed you before, made you feel as if life was too grand a hike to accomplish, too deep of swamp to wade through. The mud caked to your feet no longer makes you pull the covers up over your head in despair. You crack a knowing smile, grab a stick, and scrape that muck off, flinging it back where it came from. 

Some say it's chemical. Some say it's spiritual. Some say depression can only be prayed away. I don't claim to know the answer. All I know is that I prayed, for years. I read my Bible and memorized Scripture and screamed at Satan to get behind me, and still, I was huddled in that attic, surrounded by grey, surrounded by muffled life. And then that tiny little pill started stabilizing something in the chemical part of my brain, and I took some Windex to that dingy window. I grabbed those spider webs and I pulled them down and I painted that room bright yellow and I put on some Christmas music. I dusted and I swept and I opened the window and a gentle breeze filled the attic with a breath of fresh life. 

The pills don't fix your life. 

Your blood pressure medicine doesn't instantly take all your problems away. The medicine doesn't make you richer or prettier or a more faithful husband or a more respectful wife. It's not there to fix you. It's there to help you so that you can better live, better tackle those mountains and wade through those inevitable stinky marshes of life. Sure, taking better care of yourself and eating better go hand in hand with it. But I know for me, if you are huddled in an attic, and you feel alone, lightless, and empty, just facing another smirking day is enough to send you creeping back into your familiar and black hole. 


Jesus is still the One that has me, that mends me, that gathers me in His arms, every day, every second, every breath and step. But I chose to see, to let myself wonder, just what if? What if this helps? What if this does what others says it does? What if that little pill could help, just a little, to clear away the dingy and dark parts?


When I tentatively and bravely stepped down from my attic, and started tiptoeing through life, hesitant at what awaited me, the breath was knocked out of me, for the world is not colorless and void of spark. Quite the opposite. It's not meant to be lived huddled under covers or crying in your van or locked in a house. It's meant to be hurtled at, full speed, like a ribbon at the end of a race, and at other times, slipped into, like a bubble bath after a long, exhausting day. And who are they to judge how you get there? 

"It's like night and day, Marybeth. That was my normal too. That was just what was normal for me." My husband spoke those words through tears, and solidified my personal choice, my fear-filled choice. And when our wedding song comes on, and I look at him across the Scrabble board, my heart and my soul reach out, and I ask, "Will you dance with me?" And there, in our living room, there are a thousand days in there with us, and his eyes hold mine and I know he's thinking, "She's back." And I know I'm thinking, "I'm back." 


Comments

  1. Mb,
    Thanks so much for your openness. I admire your bravery in sharing your heart. You are a blessing to more people that you can imagine.

    Thanks,
    Jenn

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    1. Jenn, thank you so much. If I can help one person know they are not alone in the fight, then it's all worth it.

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  2. i love it -jojo

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  3. This is beautiful. I have been there, too. I will probably be medicated for life, because the highest heights are even more dangerous than the deepest depths for me. Thank you for sharing.

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    1. Thank you Debbie. You are so brave for your honesty. Thank you for sharing friend

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  4. I miss you, my dear. I love your honesty and your willingness to be open.

    I have been there before too. Not the exact same of course, but in a similar light.

    Thinking of you. I hope we can see each other again soon. You bring sunshine to my dreary days, just by being a friend.

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    Replies
    1. I miss you as well friend. Thank you for your words...lets get together soon. I'll text you :)

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