Imagine mourning your own life while you are still alive.
My life has been stolen by depression – my whole life. It’s stolen family, friends, jobs, joy, peace, creativity, productivity.
It’s no one’s fault. Even though I inherited this illness from my father and his family, I cannot blame them.
But I mourn my loss.
I once wrote a paper for a college class entitled “The Person.”
It told about a recurrent dream I had, where I was locked inside a clear plastic bubble. I could see and hear what was going on outside, but no one could see or hear me. I would bang on the bubble’s walls and scream, “I’m in here”, but no one responded. The ultimate isolation dream.
That dream pretty much sums up my life. That old rock and a hard place – the deep desire to participate in life in a never ending battle with the paralysis of depression. Perhaps if I were not so intelligent I would not know what I was missing. Is oblivion really bliss?
This too will pass.
ReplyDeleteIn a play by Athol Fugard, "Bosman and Lena", there is a wonderful scene. Bosman and Lena have been driven from their homeland in South Africa during aparthied. They have walked a long long long way and have stopped for the night. Bosman gets drunk and crawls into the tent to sleep leaving Lena alone by the fire. She talks to the night sounds, sad and lonely. Then, another displaced person stumbles by and she begs him to sit, join her by the fire and talk. He is too tired to talk but he sits down and he sighs. She sees his burden and says, "Ah, my friend, do not worry. Yes, the night is long - but - it does not last forever!"