These past couple of weeks I’ve wanted to write a blog post so badly, I just had so many thoughts and feelings that I wanted to share. The problem was the fluctuation over the days and even just hours at some points.
I’ve struggled worse with my depression and anxiety in the past month and a half or so than I have in years. It’s been raining down on me and I haven’t known what to do about it. The most popular prayer I’ve prayed is begging for God to just let me die. My two year no self-harming streak has been ruined. It takes so much to just feel like I’m in my own body at times and to stay in a conversation fully.
Other days, I’m happy to be alive. I praise Jesus and thank Him for not taking me when I asked Him to. I remember hearing this voice in my head that has to be from Him saying “just wait a little longer” and in those moments I think “this must be what I’m waiting for,”… Until 2 hours later when I’m back on my bed in a heap of tears begging for death and release from my head again.
Mental illness is cruel. The moment you think you might be getting better, the moment you can see the light in the tunnel, the moment you can remember what sunshine feels like and to smile a real smile again… It rips that hope from underneath you. And it’s just as bad as it was before, except now you can remember what it’s like to be better again, so really it’s worse.
Until very recently (today) I’ve been a CNA (certified nurse’s aide) at a nursing home, usually in the dementia unit. The other day as I was helping one resident get up for the day, I heard another resident yelling for help. I was the only one on the floor, so I apologized to the resident I was with and ran across the hall to the yelling. Our newest resident had taken his pillow case off of his pillow and thought that it was a shirt. When there were no holes to put his arms or head through, he felt stuck and trapped and yelled for help. I took a quick step back to regain myself, make sure I wasn’t going to burst out laughing (it was a sight to see), and then ran in to help him out.
I tell this story because it illustrates anxiety and depression to me. I do something, that truly and honestly makes sense in my head (like a dementia patient taking a pillow case off of a pillow to use as a shirt) and then while I’m doing it I realize how wrong it was. And I freak out. I feel trapped and like I had made a huge mistake. Except the big mistake between me and my resident is that his voice works. Mine never seems to. I try to show signs of “I’m not okay” and “please help” and instead, they are ignored and it is said that I am “the least dead inside person [they] know”.
Now, at this point, you may be wondering why I’m writing all of this at all. A few reasons:
- I needed it off of my chest and somewhere
- To try to help people understand that anxiety and depression change and come and go. It is not fully constant. It’s not always in the same form or shape. It is always different.
- To show that truly, my being alive right now has absolutely NOTHING to do with my own strength. I plan to do a blog post going into more of the faith that has kept me going in this, but please know that in my weakness, I just want you to see His strength. He is truly great. In the good and in the bad, He deserves all of my praise and trust. I am not doing this alone. He is.
Well, thanks for listening. Again, if you have any questions, please just let me know!!