Depression

And so the winter passes.

We took a sharp turn into spring this week, with the snow and frost giving way to sunny mid-70 days. Donning a tank top, I worked away at the last of the blueberry bushes, and my sun-kissed skin kept me warm all night long.

It was a long, dark winter. It was a winter of the deepest pain and mental anguish imaginable.

I have known depression, but I have never known depression like this. I have known anxiety, but I have never known anxiety like this. I have known what it is to fight for my life, but I have never known what it is to fight for my life like this. I have known what it is to be dependent on others, but I have never known to the depth that I now know this: I would not be here but for the support my ‘others’ give.

Depression is a beast. I’d like to be immune. I’d like my faith in God to be security against despair. I’d like my normal life to be so full of peace and gumption and joy that I am never paralyzed by a panic attack, never crushed with anxiety, never broken by stress and wear and tear. I’d like to never have months on end of these symptoms again, with day and night for weeks and weeks and horrible, awful weeks spent spiraling a mental breakdown and all the ramifications that brings to body and spirit and heart and mind.

I’d like to laugh at the days to come. I’d like to wake each morning to hope. I’d like to lie down and sleep in peace. I’d like to be a bastion of strength. I’d like my vulnerability to be a gift to others, not exploited, but granted. I’d like to look God in the eye and burn with his love and stand all the dross being melted away. I’d like to be at rest with my children, at peace in my home, full of delight with my husband. I’d like to care about others, be able to think not just of my own interest but of theirs. I’d like to heal, and heal enough. I’d like to expand. I’d like to live and love this living. I’d like my mind to not be sick. I’d like it to be whole and stay whole, forever, for the rest of my days. I’d like to get better, but, getting better, not still worry that any day it could all come crashing down.

I have been seeing a good therapist who has said at varying times: this anxiety is your helper. This anxiety is your heart screaming at you: ‘you’re not listening to me!’ This anxiety is a gift. This anxiety is not your enemy, do not fight it, let it teach you. You are having a reboot. All systems shut down. Things are getting cleaned up. This. will. not. kill. you.

I have whispered a thousand times in petition and thanksgiving, both:

“Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.”

This has been my winter of Job.