Journal into the dark - Day 1

Things are dark again. I've been fighting it, but this is more than just a bad mood. It's painful, it's tough, but I will beat it. I’m struggling right now to put thoughts into words. I want to tell a story, my story. And I want someone to read it, although I’m not 100% sure why.

I’ve been struggling with depression for a while now.

That sentence is linked to shame within me. Even looking at it now, I want to backspace over it as quickly as possible. Why? Maybe it’s because until recently it was viewed a taboo thing. Something families dealt with in secret. Then people started speaking out, and educating others about. I’m so grateful to people who told their stories before it was deemed okay. Unfortunately, it’s a double-edged blade. Now, depression is overexposed. Everyone talks about being depressed, like it’s merely an emotion. People say things like “cheer up” and joke about happy pills. Others still think it’s a choice, and those of us that struggle with it are apathetic, melodramatic, or self-absorbed.

It’s not true. It’s not that easy. It’s not easy at all. I’ve had days where getting out of bed took all the courage I had. I’ve had days where answering my phone was too much for the strength I had inside of me. I’ve had days full of contradictions. Afraid to live, afraid to die. Afraid of people, yet terrified of being alone. Wanting to get close to someone while fighting the urge to run away.

I want to tell my story. I would like to think that by doing so it will help. Someone. Even if it’s just one person who’s still looking for the words to tell their own story, I’d feel it was worth something.

So here’s my story. I won’t apologize for it. You may disagree with it, but you can’t re-write it.

There is darkness and there is pain. It is bound in our very bones. I believe that it has purpose, just as cloudy days and winter have their purposes. I find that it is almost impossible to begin to understand its purpose, without understanding ours. We were made to thrive in the shade of our Creator. We were made to do what we were purposed to do. We were born to childhood; to a powerful relationship with a wild, imaginative, wonderful, mighty-beyond-our-comprehension Father-God. He is Life, and death couldn’t beat him.

I know that you may choose to stop reading because of that paragraph, but I can’t tell only part of my story. My relationship with Jesus is inextricably bound to any and every story that I tell. I hope that no matter what you believe about the world that you can still walk beside me on this journey.

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I am writing this story from the middle. How much more comfortable it would be for me to start elsewhere: at the beginning, or the end. But life is not as tidy as I wish it were, and rarely does the story begin at the beginning of a journey. I believe this is because we are shortsighted if not completely blind to the story that we are the main character of. Everyone has one, but by the time they realize it, it’s too late to start at the beginning.

The problem with stories that start in the middle is that they cannot prove their veracity. Those people writing from the end can say “See, I’ve made it. I’m full. I’m complete.” Those at the beginning have advantage as well – they don’t ask you to believe, only experience with them. I don’t know what to ask you to do. I cannot claim that what I write is truth, only that it contains truth. I will not ask you not to judge because that is impossible. I simply want the chance to be as honest as I can and hope that you too, will grow to be more honest. All I can do is say what I’ve seen; it is up to you to hear it and discern whether or not it is true.

-Apple