struggles

I had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. My cycles have started flaring up again, insanely at times. I have found myself dancing in the valley of depression, and it’s not a dance I want to keep up. Mom told me, “I can tell when your cycles are going. You think life isn’t worth living, you think you’re spiritually worthless, you think you have no friends and no one who cares, you’re irritable and grouchy, and you don’t smile.” This whole “bipolar disorder” feels like a sad curse. My mom is right, though; when I’m not doing well in dealing with my problems—“You’re not normal,” my aunt compassionately told me—it is easily seen by those closest to me. And those not close to me… Well, they don’t see it, because I hole up in my room and don’t come out. I’ve thought a lot about how this disease affects me when it’s kept unchecked:

I think life isn’t worth living. I find myself locked up in my room, curled under the covers, with tears crawling down my cheeks. It is a feeling I can’t shake and a feeling that haunts me. It’s there when I sleep, overshadowing my dreams; and when I awake, it casts itself over me as a blanket of dread and depression. I go to work, go to class, walk the hallways of my college, my eyes vacant and empty, my face locked in a stoic non-expression. Inside my mind is a whirlwind of cascading, torrential thoughts that won’t let me go. My regrets, my shame, my guilt (maybe I have a guilt complex?) shroud me. All my disappointments and heartbreaks throw themselves in my face, suffocating me. I take long drives at night, and end up at places like Mt. Echo, looking out over the city. I hang my head low and bury it in my hands, and I dread going back to that campus where so many memories—once sweet, now venomous—reign.

I think I am spiritually worthless. Guilt and shame covers me. I hold the Bible in my hands and cannot open it. I try to pray, but I never get past “God…” I hear people talking about God’s goodness, God’s favor towards me, God’s affections for me, how God will come through on His promises… But I look at my life, and see how I’ve failed Him time and time again, how I’ve royally screwed-up the greatest gift He gave me. And I think, God may be good… But not toward me. God may extend favor towards His children… but not towards me. God may love other people… but His love for me is a burden. God will come through on His promises for others… but when it comes to me, I’ve messed it up too much. I crave and hunger for an intimate, rich, and deep friendship with Him, but I don’t take the steps to experience it because I think it’s not what He wants. I begin to believe that He wants nothing to do with me, and I have no part in His kingdom.

I think I have no friends and no one who cares. I wrote in my journal some time ago, “All my friends have abandoned me… They’ve cast me out of their life as if I were a contagious leper.” Yes, people who were my best friends two years—one year!—from now have moved on. Some have married and moved away. Others have just up and abandoned our friendship. And others have moved to different groups and given me, for lack of a better word, the backhand. And I find myself wanting deep relationships again. But I have many friends, and as time goes on, some of these friendships will become deeper, richer, and more beautiful. I will be able to share my life with these people and they will share their lives with mine. And as for no one caring, there are still those who care: my family, for instance. My mom is constantly worried sick for me. My dad calls all the time to see how I’m doing. My sister is always texting me and calling me.

I am irritable, grouchy, and I don’t smile. And who can blame me, when I am locked in the prison of the cycles? When these cycles come, when I dwell in the pits of despair and hopelessness, why should I smile? Why should I pretend like everything is okay? Sure, I do pretend in public. I put on a fake smile… But my eyes always lie. And I am quiet, sullen. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to be talked to. Most of the time I just want a big bear hug, someone to tell me—and mean—that they really care.

My doctor thinks that much of my current depression stems from the situation I find myself in: the girl I loved dating another boy on campus. It is very difficult to deal with. She leaned over her table, folded her hands, told me, “I was young once. I had my own fair share of heartbreaks. They’re hell. Everyone goes through them. But as time goes on, it gets easier to deal with them.” And, in all honesty, dealing with the whole “Courtney” thing is easier than my break-up with Julie nearly a year ago. After Julie, I became suicidal for several months (much of this due to emotional baggage received from childhood that came to the surface during the days of the breakup). I liked Courtney much more than I liked Julie; I loved Courtney, and I didn’t love Julie. And yet it is thanks to Julie that I can survive Courtney; in time, things will be okay. My friend Trista knows what’s going on, and I told her, “I’m glad that Courtney is happy. I really am. I think what bothers me is that God so earnestly answered her prayers and made her happy… I just want God to answer my prayers every once in a while, and to let me be happy. I haven’t been happy in so long. I forget what being happy is like.”