In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains...
Yet another depressive state. Or rather a downward turn on my ever extending year of depression. This is truly going to be the death of me.
I think a majority of people equate depression with sadness. I can understand why. Depression is typically depicted as a sadness. But sadness is at times a by-product of depression. I am not sad. I am not angry. I am just tired and numb.
The other day I posted on FB: "Sometimes, just sometimes, I would like to give up."
Then there are the words of encouragement. "Chin up." "You are so blessed." "God has something special waiting for you." "You have so much to live for." "Don't give up on yourself." "Don't take the easy way out, you are so much stronger than that."
I love them, I really do. But seriously?? I'm depressed. There is no reason for the depression. I SUFFER from depression. I know beyond all knowing that my Heavenly Father loves me and does His best to keep me away from the black hole. My self-esteem and self-confidence have not diminished, much to the angst of friends. I am incredibly self-aware. I know my faults but they have no bearing in my depression. I am blessed beyond measure. Truly, my blessings are as numerous as the sands on the shore. I'm not even sad.
I'm numb. I feel nothing. I laugh but without the joy of laughter. I smile without the love behind it. I listen to my music but I don't feel it. I see the world in muted colors--there is no brilliance to the sunsets or clouds or rain or landscapes. Everything is dead because I feel dead inside.
I am so incredibly tired. I am tired of fighting. I fight every day to stay alive. I fight every hour to keep it all together. I fight every minute to keep myself from crying. I fight every morning to get out of bed so that no one knows how close I am. I fight every night to keep myself occupied so that I don't do something stupid. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm on the ground waiting for the fight to be called. I'm listening to the count, hoping the fight gets called, not wanting to get back up.
Friends keep saying not to give up, not to quit. I don't want to disappoint them. But I'm the one getting pummeled. I'm the one with the broken body. I'm the one with the broken heart and broken mind. Why do they want me to keep fighting?? Do they enjoy seeing me bruised, bloody and broken?? Have I not fight the good fight?? Have I not given everything to this life?? Don't I serve the rest that comes after throwing in the towel??
How can my friends be so cruel??
But I continue to fight so that I don't disappoint anyone. And the fight is killing me. Something has to give and I fear it will be me.
