My left side presses heavily against the floor, and my arms clasp my legs to my chest. Everything is falling apart, and I feel I should be able to fix things. I should be well enough to stand up and continue my life. Instead, my face contorts as my jaw stretches open, and I finally let out a hoarse scream. I hurt too much to keep all the pain inside, and the scream echoes my agony. My voice is nearly gone when the screaming dies, and as I bury my face into the coarse brown carpet, I whisper.
“Please.”
When no other sound comes, my thoughts plead to the heavens, let it stop.
I wait, and eventually my arms relax their grip on my legs. I inch out of the fetal position and my breathing begins to slow. My mind grows weary, and I welcome the respite. I lie on the floor a while longer, grateful that the pain is, at last, beginning to fade.
In this world, many people believe that depression is an illusion of the mind and can be cured through willpower. Not many understand that depression is an illness, and not a matter of choice.
Those who have never suffered from depression can’t fathom the never-ending pit of despair with which I have constantly struggled.
I can’t choose how I feel, but I can choose to rely on the Lord. It hasn’t been easy. Part of this mental illness is feeling alone. While I’ve always known that God lives, it’s often hard to reach out to Him when I feel stranded, wading through this dark abyss called chronic depression. But I know that Christ has been here. He bled from each pore and trembled in unimaginable agony so He could carry me through my personal Gethsemane. Relying on the arms of Jehovah has brought me more relief than anything else. Sometimes, just living day-by-day is overwhelming, yet with everything I have gone through, I’m grateful that God loves me enough to keep me alive.
So I turn to the Lord.
Nightly scripture study, constant prayer, asking worthy priesthood holders for blessings, and attending the temple helps me stay strong. Some people are surprised that I get up each day. Those who see past my walls and catch glimpses of the awful pain I somehow endure are amazed that I work, attend college, go to church, and participate in choir and service activities.
“How can you keep going,” they ask, “when you are so miserable?” They say it’s because I’m strong, and they think I have courage. I say it is because of the Lord.
Still I am plagued by doubt. I have frequently thought that I must have done something wrong to be going through this. But if I allow myself to listen to the voice of my Savior, I am reminded of these words:
Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God…I am the light that shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not. Verily, verily, I say unto you…cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart... Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God? (Doctrine and Covenants 6:21-23)
My eyes are blurry from the tears that have streamed down my face. I am so very tired, but I’m glad that, for now, the pain has finally stopped.
Slowly, I lift my head from the floor. My body complains about moving; I have been tense and still for too long. Eventually, I manage to sit up. Exhausted from the emotional attack I just survived, I lean against the table. While I’m grateful no one saw me break down, I don’t feel ashamed about what I just endured. Despite the intense pain, I’ve learned a great lesson. My God has just reminded me that He loves me enough to send His Son to bleed for me. I close my eyes, and a small smile flickers across my face.
I am not alone.
