Not a Good Place

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This morning I sit here in the quietness of an empty house. The only sound other than the clicking of the keyboard as I type is the hum of the space heater that is keeping me warm. My two faithful companions, Moo and Sadie, are close by as always. The last several nights have been long and difficult. Physical pain, nerve pain from this frustrating disease, has been constant. It feels like my feet, and sometimes my hands, are a raging fire. My eyes burn with pain and fatigue–even though I have done nothing strenuous on them yet today. Emotional pain has taken over my mind–the grip of depression tightening each minute that I lose sleep. My mind bounces from thought to thought.

Racing thoughts. A byproduct of depression.

If only those racing thoughts were positive or good in some way.

They are not.

They are taunting thoughts, taking me back to a time three years ago when I was in  a very good place. I was reminded of it again this week.

Facebook. More specifically, Facebook memories. You probably know what I mean. Each day Facebook gives me memories–previous posts from that day, dating as far back as the beginning of my Facebook journey. Sometimes those memories bring smiles–like the picture this week of my son in his high school soccer uniform dancing on the sidelines. Sometimes, though, those Facebook memories bring tears–like pictures of the cat I suddenly one day was forced to put to sleep. She was my baby. One memory that popped up this week was a video of my baptism three years ago.

My mind screamed at me to not click on it. Don’t watch it.

But I did.

As I listened to my own words from that day, it was so evident that I was in a much better place then. There was joy that just isn’t there now. Although the video doesn’t show it, there was a sense in my mind that I was loved by the people witnessing that moment. There was a confidence that God was for me; now I feel the opposite. I have been told many things about God by various people over the past several months. Some of those things have only made me question even more if God loves me.

I am tired.

Tired of being in pain.

Tired of hanging on–wishing I could just let go but afraid to do so.

Tired of watching people I love treated unfairly.

Tired of the loss that comes with change.

Tired of tears. Every. Day. So many tears.

Tired of the bombardment of bad and sad news that streams into my life via television and internet.

And tired of being in this place. It’s not a good place. I have often wanted to have the talent to draw–to somehow put my feelings and emotions into a picture that others might understand. I can’t do that, though. Art is not my gift. So I try to use words to paint that picture. This morning, though, I am struggling to come up with words that will accomplish that. My mind is a jumbled mess. My life is a mess. I’m not sure if even God can fix it this time. Part of me wants to cry to him. Part of me wants to curse at him.

Part of me wants desperately to reach out for help. Part of me is afraid of failing yet again if I do that.

Part of me wants to begin to break down this wall of protection I have built around a very fragile heart. Part of me is scared as hell to do that–scared of being hurt even more. I don’t think this heart can survive more hurt.

Daylight is trying to force its way in through the closed blinds. For now, I will keep them closed to shut it out. I am not ready to face the day. I used to dislike the darkness, but now I find the darkness to be my friend. It is easy to hide when it is dark.


About becmom45

Wife of one, mom of four, mom-in-law to two, grammy to one precious little boy; lover of snow, autumn, pumpkins, cats, books, baking, Charles Wysocki puzzles, Christmas; honest, raw author who hopes what is written here enlightens and educates those fortunate enough to not understand the demons chronicled.
This entry was posted in Change, Community, death, depression, faith, MS. Bookmark the permalink.

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