During my seven years of blogging, I've often had the experience of writing a post then being forced to 'live' it later. I've been quick to voice my opinion or thoughts on something, then have gone through almost exactly what I'd recently written about.
One example was this post.
After a difficult past few weeks, I've had to live my posts again. I said I was content to trust God and not need to know the reason for my suffering. Well, I've asked Him why. I don't understand why He allowed me to taste wellness only to take it from me again. I read some of Job recently and in the state of mind I'm in at the moment it seems like God allowed Satan to take everything from Job just to prove a point, that Job was like an unsuspecting pawn. I've been finding it really hard to not get angry at God at the moment. I'm sure there will be plenty of Christians who'll tell me off shrilly and bat me over the head with their Bibles for admitting that, but I know that God knows my mind anyway so I might as well admit it. I told Him honestly that I want to love Him, to trust Him, to not ask why, to acknowledge He is the Creator of the universe and such things are His business, but I'm really struggling. I don't want to turn away from Him, but I feel such anger towards everything. Yet, where else am I to go when He alone has words of eternal life? So now I'm just asking Him to hold me while the storm rages.
I've found it hard not to rush my recovery. I've felt guilty because I'm so crippled with depression some days I can't get out of bed. That happened on Friday. Duncan had to take yet another day off work because I lost the plot at 6am. I want to serve others, but I can't. I want to do stuff, but I can't. I want to socialise and brighten someone else's day, but often I can't. I want to do stuff at church, but I can't. I just want to be a normal mum who stays home and takes care of my child without needing a whole army of helpers. I want to be able to cook meals for my husband. It's not about being Martha Stewart, it's about wanting to do the basics. Some days I can. Other days it's just all too much.
Unless you've had depression, it can be hard to understand. I didn't understand before this year. I was naïve and ignorant. Some people describe it as a black dog which follows them around. To me, it's like a slimy pit or cave. I desperately want to climb out of it, but I keep sliding downwards, scrabbling frantically, but unable to get to the top. I feel like I'm trapped in my own head some days, unable to really care or comprehend what's going on in other people's lives. It's like being tortured; even though the pain is not physical, I still scream. The fatigue some days is crippling. I've been going to a support group for women with postnatal depression in Albany each week and it's been a wonderful blessing. These women get me. I get them. Their presence is tangible proof that I'm not alone. We can relate in ways that I can't even with normal mums. Other friends who are mums are sympathetic, but don't really get it. They think I'm just talking about the ordinary everyday trials and tribulations that come with motherhood. It's more than that. Often I feel like I don't want to live, that I just want to die and be with Jesus, and I start fantasising about ways to make that happen. This is terribly difficult for Duncan to hear me talking that way. Other people have told me, "It's not you, it's the depression talking," but I have a hard time distinguishing between the two. I get angry at myself for not having the courage to take my own life, but Duncan keeps telling me it takes more courage to live when feeling this way than it does to end it.
I'm on a different sort of anti-depressant now and it hasn't kicked in yet. Due to this we've had to postpone our upcoming holiday to Sydney. I was terribly disappointed, but in my heart of hearts, I know it's for the best.