See, suffering for me is not a matter of fairness, but rather an honor. God has chosen me for the difficult mission. The dangerous one. The one with great glory and reward and joy at the end. (Even though I want all glory to go to Him because He deserves it!) "For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison." (2 Corinthians 4:17)
Another poem about that one word.
Depression is more like grief. It's a crushed feeling. A grinding into dust. A shattering. A grating apart like flour forced through a sifter. A parasitic tapeworm of the soul. A weight on my chest, so heavy I can hardly breathe, producing the panic of an asthma attack, as if I am about to die.
Gratitude is never first on the scene. Like anger, it's a reaction only, more often a choice, and when consistently pursued, a habit. Like other emotions, it's a fuel. But unlike depressive states, it's not a fuel that burns me down to ashes, it's a fuel that drives me forward. It's flexible to any kind of attack, has no end, and it can roll any which way. Like a sphere, I suppose. Love is also like that. To me, gratitude in the midst of my circumstances, no matter what they are, is an expression of love toward my God; an unwritten love letter lived out.
A poem about the relentless pursuit of my Love through all my darkness and storms.
I've written a lot while in the throes of depression to give you a glimpse into my mindset while I'm in the deep, but I haven't written about mania while I'm in the midst of it yet. ...Well. This should be interesting.
25 days and 8 hours. That is the amount of time that has passed since my last post. I've responded to a few comments, liked a few posts, but the words have dried up at the tips of my fingers like the petals of a flower in the desert.