the naked mole rats of depression

I got a mole/skin tag cut off from my armpit on Monday. It wasn't a big deal. Really, it was something that was just kinda hanging there, sort of getting in the way, sort of getting played with by my daughter sometimes which would totally give me the creeps. When I told my husband that I got it cut off, he knew exactly what I was talking about and said, "Oh yeah. Good call."

Just a little local anesthetic and a very sharp razor and I was rid of the thing forever.

Here's the part where I wish that I had taken a "before" picture (for now you'll have to rely on trusty Google images, aren't you lucky) because it was this teeny little hangey skin mole thing and getting it taken off was not a big deal. The next day? And even, what are we - Wednesday? - and my arm still isn't quite right. It's sore, it's bruised, it's lingering. So naturally, I started waxing poetic about my mole (or as my hubs so fondly named it, the naked mole rat) and thinking about depression.

This is my first time posting on here so you don't know me yet. The short version of my depression history is that in high school my parents divorced, my grandfather died, and my friend jumped off a bridge kind of all at the same time. Fast forward to the end of 2010 when I had a really intense birth experience (and a gorgeous baby), went back to work, woke up terrified in cold sweaty anxiety attacks, checked myself into therapy and ended up quitting my dream job - life's work, really - to stay at home with my nugget. 

I found myself wishing these last few days that depression and everything that goes with it should be like an actual physical manifestation. A growth on your body that people can look at and go "Whoa check out that thing on her face. I need to give her some extra love and grace. That is some major depression." THEN! Super bonus: we could use creams and anesthesia and knives to cut it off. Maybe it would grow back, maybe it would scab over, but hallelujah we would be free!

But then the scar would still be there. Something is always left behind. The pain remains for awhile. I didn't even notice the thing until it was gone and now it haunts me. When I'm grabbing a coffee mug from the top shelf. Washing my hair. Maybe it will always be there. Maybe my sadness will just be my thing. I'll be that girl who's really super bubbly and friendly but that you'll never really get to know deeply because I won't let you far enough into my life. I'll be the one who if you look closely you can see a shadow of it in my eyes or the way I smile. 

And you know what? I'm okay with that. It's just a part of who I am.

Quitting Time

Nicholas L. Laning

I just turned thirty.  That is not old, but it is long enough for me to have learned some things.  One thing that I have learned is that you can never rest in this life.  God gives reprieve so that we can recharge for the next battle.  Death is when we get to stop, not before.  So it is that I tell you that I have struggled since early November.

What have I struggled with?  Many things, but what matters here is that I would say all of them are the remaining battle I have left with depression.  By and large, I am well.  I am so well in comparison to how I was just three years ago, that sometimes I forget that I am not whole yet.  Does that make sense?  That because it hurt so bad, that even though I still have some hurt left, it can seem like I am well because I am comparing it to the torture previously felt?  Call it "getting ahead of myself".

I have warred within myself, trying to fight my back to normal.  To simplify the issue, I have been fighting to be whole again, to struggle, but struggle with healthy problems, not ones stemming from the Abyss.  I want desperately to feel normal, this includes normal pain.  Don't think I am seeking perfection in this life.  I know that heaven is the only place I will find that.  No, I am seeking normal pain, normal sorrow, normal joy, normal whatever.

If you wonder what I mean by normal, I mean this... when something bad happens I want to feel sorrow.  When something good happens I want to feel joy.  It's not that simple.  There are shades, and sometimes you just don't feel right, but on the whole is what I am talking about. 

In this fight, as of late, I have found myself sinking into a pit of self pity.  I have been angry, angry at God for allowing it.  The whole time I am then angry at myself, for being angry at God is really really stupid.  I am wrong and I know it.  So, I have cried out to God, and He reminded me of myself during the midst of my depression.  It was like I could see myself back then, peering into me, seeing my current struggle and how I was reacting.  I could see that past me shake his head, for I was once a warrior.  I remember being in the midst of the Abyss. fighting off a seemingly endless waive of mental and emotional anguish, and in my mind, I made a resolve.  My resolve was this... that no matter how far I fell, I would never quit.  I could be at the bottom, I could STAY at the bottom, but I damn sure was going to fight, even it was in vain, even if it were forever.

And so it is, that I see myself again, now, and my resolve is renewed.  I will not quit.  I will fight for hope and faith and love and goodness for... however long it takes, period.  There is no point to which I can fall that I will stop.  I only hope you'll forgive me for taking so long, for sitting in my own you know what and pouting.   I don't know when I stopped seeing the battle.  I see it again.  By the power of Jesus' name, it ends here.

It is my sincere hope that you will join me, that you too will stop sitting, and regardless of where you are, no matter how far under the much you are, no matter how much you have messed up, fallen, been chewed up, beaten, tattered, whatever, that you would stand up, turn around, and start swinging like mad, and fight for all the good things.