I found this blog entry from a few years back, it was probably one of the darkest periods of my depression I had ever gone through. Rereading the post reminded me of one of the most dangerous symptoms of depression: becoming opaque. Here is an excerpt from the post to illustrate what I mean:
“The next struggle is to not pretend that I haven’t been crying. Most days I act like nothing has happened and plaster on the “Happy-go-lucky-my-heart-isn’t-really-broken” smile. It kills me each and every time but it is easier then dealing with reality, it is easier then telling people how I really feel and it is most definitely easier then connecting with a God who wants to heal me. Why is it easier? Because if I connect with a God who wants to heal me then I have to admit that something is wrong and it hurts so much…it just does.”
Something which is opaque cannot been seen through, it is impenetrable to light, it does not shine. Depression makes me opaque; I build walls so people cannot see who I really am. I don’t let the light of Christ penetrate into my life. I stop shinning. I cover myself in a thick skin, and learn to smile over the pain. I feel people often don’t believe that depression is a real struggle for me because I have become so good at learning to grin and bare it. There is danger there.
The danger is that there cannot be healing in solitude. The mask will eventually begin to chafe, and adds to the pain. People who genuinely care for you become thorns in your side because you wont’, you cant, share what is really going on inside. How can you explain that you would rather sleep then face the sunlight? How do you explain that getting dressed was an accomplishment today? How do you tell your husband, your parents, your friends that all you really want is to leave because you think starting over may be the only way to escape the pain?
How do you share the darkest part of your soul?
You can’t. There aren’t really words to explain it. Every time you try to give definition to what hurts, it shifts. It changes, and you don’t have a logical, reasonable or even plausible explanation as to why. So you hide it. You cover it up, coating yourself in fake smiles, assurances that “I’m fine”, and normal life. You die in your own creation.
I have learned the only way to fight is with optimism.
Not happy simplistic, “The sun will come out tomorrow”.
You have to have genuine hope that someday you will be healed. Optimism which takes root and leads to action, maybe to get counseling (which I went through for year, and then returned to last spring). Optimism which lets you share with someone what you are going through. Optimism which allows you to really believe the world won’t end if you begin to peel away the layers. Optimism which allows the light of Christ to begin its healing work, which allows who you were meant to be to shine through.
Optimism which helps you to remember you really aren’t alone.
Continuing the adventure,
Jess
Jess Boctor 