No one reads this anyway.

So I suppose I can use the space how I want. Finally I have begun to admit, to myself and to others, that I am struggling with depression. I have been for a very long time, but have been in deep denial, due to my own pride and desire to maintain a healthy image in front of others, as well as a plethora of reasons I had contrived to explain away all of the sleepless nights, lost weight, lack of appetite, irritability, disinterest, inability to focus, and desire to do nothing except curl up under the covers in my purple bed and sleep.

Just for the record: depression is not prolonged sadness. It's not something that can be "fixed" with ice cream or hugs or shoe shopping, or a good night's rest (which can be pretty hard to come by when you're depressed, anyway). If it were that easy, then I would have already fixed it. I'm a fairly smart and resourceful girl. I just finished Sylvia Plath's the bell jar - which one of my friends informed me was not beneficial reading material for a depressed person - and her description of depression made so much sense to me. Depression is like being stifled, suffocated in stale air, 'til all one's life and breath and energy is gone. It's a heaviness under which even the simplest tasks can appear insurmountable.

God and I have been back and forth lately. I know he can do anything, he could merely speak one word in his infinite power and heal my mind completely, once and for all. And I asked him why he won't - to be completely transparent, I have begged and pleaded for him to do so - to which I received no response. I realize God has an amazing knack for taking our human pain, trials, and suffering, and turning them into something beautiful that brings glory to his name. This is a skill for which I have always admired him greatly. I just hate that he insists on doing it in my life at the present time (and I hate that it is most likely a roundabout answer to some prayer or another of my very own, one of those prayers for patience or something of the sort). I also realize that I should probably be a bit more mature by this point in my journey, and just endure this hardship I'm going through with grace and poise. Instead I find myself falling to pieces at every turn. I tend to be messy when it comes to these types of things. Knowing God, and knowing he knows this about me, that's probably even part of his master plan - if I'm constantly broken, I'm dependent on him in a way I wouldn't be otherwise. So although it's currently quite hard for me to muster up emotion, there has been a different kind of intimacy between us lately that could be the cause for true rejoicing.

In his sermon this morning, the guest pastor shared a story that spoke directly to me. A man fell into a deep cavern and was trapped there for several weeks without food or water before he was found and rescued. When asked in an interview how he held out for so long, alone in such darkness, he replied that he could see a tiny pinpoint of light at the top and it gave him hope. I immediately placed myself in that story, in the depths of a cavern with darkness closing in all around. Right now, all I can see is a speck of light high above - but it's there, and it's enough.

I'm not giving up.