Buoy in the ocean

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I'm blogging tonight, but not because I have something very profound to say. My mind feels like a grandmother's attic, cold and dark and creepy crawling things in hidden corners. Forgotten boxes of antique treasures propping up other old forgotten antiques.

No...tonight I'm writing because I'm lonely. It feels so wrong to say that out loud. Sometimes I feel like people freak out when you express weakness. I posted a status today on Facebook, (also feeling very wrong), that simply stated I was feeling depressed. I appreciated the feedback of some saying they were praying for me. Some sympathizing with me, telling me how they are struggling as well. And yet others saying something akin to, "Smile, at least you're not paralyzed in the hospital or suffering from one of your children being killed." God. Way to make me feel even less depressed guys. I feel those people's pain as IF IT WERE MY OWN EVERY SINGLE DAY. That is one of the contributing factors to my depression. I take people's pain onto my shoulders, into my bleeding heart, not because I want to, but because that's how I was made, and I pray for them and I weep and it hurts but they matter. I know this. I do not belittle anyone else's pain because I share my own.

The whole point of publicly claiming you are depressed, lonely, weak, scared, or whatever other "taboo" emotion you may be feeling, is to simply get it out there in the world, to not feel alone, to wait for even that one person to say, "Hey, I feel ya. I feel depressed too. We got this." That's why women break down in bible study, over coffee with a best friend, on the phone with mom, or when they're husband grabs them and looks them in the eye and says, "honey, I see you're hurting. Talk to me."

I feel like I've always been this buoy, just bobbin along in the ocean, occasionally bumping into ships with clear destinations, big beautiful ships that make me feel so inferior. There's the occasional other buoy I see far off, but we both seem to get lost in the fog, unsure of how to reach each other. I feel incapable of making deep human connection, and can simply cut ties with people and not really miss them. I desire a friend, a friend who knows me deeply, who I'm able to call and she can be there and I can be there for her, and yet I keep myself at such a distance, unsure of myself, not really knowing how to bridge that gap I've created because I'm so terrified of abandonment.

I know for a fact there are other women who feel the same way as me, because the Enemy loves to make us feel like we are the ONLY ones who feel this special kind of sadness. So we cloak ourselves in silence, hide away in widowed peace, thinking that this is better than being vulnerable and having your heart ripped out by people who can't understand you.

Isn't that funny...most people really do desire to understand what they cannot comprehend on their own. I find the idea of someone not having anxiety and depression so interesting. I want to understand them. Have coffee with them. But I won't do any of the talking. I'll just listen.
This mystery woman who can keep her house organized,-and yes she exists. The one who works out and loves Jesus and puts makeup on. And she IS are real about her struggles, but damn, her struggles make me feel like a character in a Steven King novel.

I don't break down in Bible Study because I am dealing with this constant steady stream of dialogue from my brain that goes something like this:
"Marybeth, you are the only person here with tattoos. Yeah right, I bet almost every person in here has at least one. Oh wow, that lady hates me. I wonder why. It's probably because I look like a bitch, but I just don't want anyone to try any small talk with me, because I'll make a freaking fool of myself, and probably cuss, and then they'll smile and leave and I'll be all alone again. Those ladies are laughing and it's probably because of my outfit. Am I breathing too loudly? What if I have to read something? Oh god, what if I have to talk? They'll know I'm nervous and stupid. They will hear my voice shake."

Or because I don't go to Bible Studies anymore. That too.

But where to start? Where to start...

Well, for one, I am recommitting to my love of blogging. Writing. Dialoging about my every day. Whatever you may want to call it. I struggle with it most days. I worry I overshare. I worry people will think of me as this crazy lady who can't be around their children. (That's the enemy trying to make me stay quiet.)

I'll be the first person to admit I'm not normal. I'm just not. If you've known me for any amount of time, you know some my background, my recent struggles in my marriage and mental illness. I am not secretive about my struggles. Life is too short to bear this pain alone. And when I write a little part of my heart on here for you to read, I know for a fact some of you can relate. It's worth it to me.

Because you know what? You know what IS absolutely crazy? Something that makes people just shake their heads? There have been absolute miracles in my life. Things you cannot explain away. And I'm going to share some of them with you. Another day. So be on the lookout. But for now, I don't feel quite so alone anymore. Maybe because I feel someone reading this, I can picture the tears streaming down, and maybe she can feel my hug through the screen, and hear my whisper, "I feel ya girl, I know it hurts, I know it sucks**. But you got this. We got this. Don't stay down. You might get a little too comfortable and you don't want to set up camp down there. There's broken glass down there. You won't know what's cut you until you're bleeding out."

**I wanted to type 'sucks balls' but then I realized that may be a little too much for some of my readers. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to try that.














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