Hey, remember that line? It's in my St. Teresa book, God Alone is Enough. So, not only do I have it in my very public writing, it's my experience spanning decades. Usually August is a slow but steady descent into a depression that would have taken all of Autumn to gain momentum. I suspect that the unraveling of an important--and that, my friends is an understatement--relationship gave me an early onset. It feels like dead of winter in my soul. My body is wracked with pain. I can't sleep, at least not at night. Hello, December.
Which begs the question, why am I flattened by depression in the middle of August? It just doesn't seem to make sense that it's "situational". Lovies, I have a LOT of situations, but few take me down as quickly as my current one. Then again, this level of depression always surprises me, as if when I'm well, I forget this exists. Only the fleeting memory of it remains. Much like childbirth. You forget how awful it is, and you go on making love with no protection. And maybe that's a fitting metaphor, since I went on loving life with no protection. As if this was all behind me.
Doctors have been telling me since I was a young adult that I would likely have to take medication for depression for the rest of my life. Honestly, I didn't mind so much. There was a time when I would have trusted medication, or at least considered it to be a necessary evil, but January's misadventures in medications still sting. I'm not as willing to play Russian roulette with my brain. The problem is, a sistah is laid low over here. In some ways, I'd welcome the reprieve meds would give me, even though it would take weeks to see any improvement. I'd pray, only I seem to have forgotten what prayer is--yeah, yeah, I know the St. Teresa book is about prayer, but you try reading in the dark night. While I'm at it, I may as well tell you I've also forgotten how to get out of bed. And get dressed. And act like I love people, or actually love them. I can't find my sunny disposition anywhere. No masks of serenity hide the numb ache that has replaced the pain in my heart. I want to curl up in a ball and watch television: lose myself in stories made by teams of writers young enough to be my kids. The only way that I know to pray right now is to silently lift this dullness of heart to God. He knows what to do with it. He's certainly had enough practice with depressives, even if he wasn't God.
So, that's where I am. Forgive me if it's arrogant of me to assume some of you may have wanted an update since the last thing I said was that I was heartbroken. The pieces are still all over inside my chest, and I'd advise you not to go in there. It's a mess, a little dangerous, and you could cut yourself on the sharper pieces if you're not careful.
I'm grateful for a God of mercy, one who is used to me and this beast called depression. When I can hear him again, I'll let you know what he says.