In the Pit

Today I am in the pit.

Depression seems to be like this for me. I fall into a pit where it is dark, and I am on my own, and it’s not clear how I can get out. Then, later I am out of the pit. I don’t know how it happens. It’s like God airlifts me out after a while.

I’m busy down here. It looks like I’m doing almost nothing, but in my head and heart I am wearing myself out. I’m trying to stay away from unhelpful paths of thought. I’m arguing with my own feelings of helplessness or ineffectiveness. There are brief episodes during which I discuss with myself why not being could be preferable to being. I am never at risk of ending my life, but it is terrifying and exhausting to talk myself into wanting to be here. The pro/con list looks sort of like this:

Pro: decades ahead with my husband, three sweet kids who love and need me, a dozen or so other family and friends whom I love, piles and piles of books I still want to read, interesting people I have yet to meet, the runner I am not but still plan to be someday.

Con: my heart hurts.

Logically, the pro list wins by a landslide. But I have a sometimes-constant feeling like an aggravated cat is clawing my heart. The persistence of it can overwhelm logic, especially at night. I’m not sure why it’s worse at night, but it definitely is. In the morning it becomes like background noise and periodically other things can drown it out.

Someone told me that “sadness is a relentless foe.” I depend on the assurance that God is even more relentless.