Pouring My Heart Out

So I have seen this before, but never really knew how to participate or how to link up, and it seemed I was always on the wrong day...well, I'm up early, it's {dare I say it} quiet, and so I actually got to poke around a little bit, and viola...here I am on the right day and everything.  Miracles never cease.

Then I'm thinking, well, I probably do this all the time...pour my heart out.  There really isn't anything I don't share on my blog.  I'm pretty much an open book.  But sometimes there are things I don't talk about, because of who might read them, or who I might offend, or who I might freak out, (mom) but today, I'm throwing caution to the wind.

Today, it's about depression.  Now everyone in my family knows that I struggle with depression, because half of them do too.  Mental illness runs in my family.  Yes I said mental illness.  Because that's what depression is: it's mental, not physical (although it affects you physically as well), and it's an illness.  It's not a mood, it's not a choice, it's not something that will "go away if you try hard enough."

It's a horrible, life-stealing, spirit-sucking, all-encompassing agony that people who DON'T suffer with it will never understand.  People who suffer from depression CAN have great days, yes.  They CAN be happy.  But when I am in the midst of a depressive episode, I can't just "snap out of it."  I can't just "cheer up."  I can't just "grin and bear it" as much as I wish I could.  As much as I will myself to just blow it off....I cannot.

My depression has been really bad lately, for many reasons.  Obviously, having a wonderful, normal, productive life and having it ripped away by a debilitating chronic illness doesn't help.  And it's been so hot that even though I may feel okay MG-wise in the house, I can't step outside because of the bizarre, record breaking heat wave.  I'm a prisoner in my own home, even when I'm not a prisoner in my own body. Talk about double whammy. 

And then there's just the stress of being chronically ill and all the BS that comes along with it.

Depression makes me want to just stop.  All my medication, all my treatments.   It makes me want to stop living, stop breathing, stop fighting so. damn. hard. for every minute.  Joyce Meyer has a book called "Battlefield of the Mind."  And that's exactly what it is: a battle.  And it's not an easy one.

Think about it:  do you know how much EASIER it would be for me to just swallow every pill in my house and call it a day? A life?  To NOT have to deal with MG and a trach and depression and pain and fibromyalgia and doctors and medications and prescriptions and fighting insurance companies for equipment I don't want to need and procedures I don't want to have?  Seriously.  Do you have ANY idea what it takes for me to make it through ONE DAY in my life???  There are days when it's all too much.

It is SO much harder to FIGHT than to just give up.

So why am I here?  Honestly, sometimes I don't know. But I know Who does.  God has obviously spared my life, because medically, scientifically, in the physical realm of life, I should not exist.  My body has gone through such turmoil and trauma that it physically should not have survived.  So how can I throw that away?

I cannot.

I am, at the core of my being, an optimist.  I love to love more than I hate to hurt.  I don't have the "give-up" gene.  It's not in my DNA.  And God knew I would need that when I was knit in my mother's womb.

Most of all, I have Hope.  I KNOW that when this life is over, I will be forever made perfect.  Physically, mentally, spiritually.  It will be as if a thick, hardened shell will be broken, and the REAL me will be allowed to come out and live eternally in physical and emotional perfection.

And no matter how long I am on this earth, compared to forever it's a drop in the bucket.  So when I am really, really down, I look into the eyes of my miracle child.

I think of the friends I have BECAUSE of this hideous illness called MG.

I think of the husband who stayed after finding out his wife might die, and finding out his wife would never be the person they both thought she would be, after only six weeks of marriage.

And I think of my God.  My Hope.  My Salvation.  My Rock.
I KNOW my Redeemer lives.

Do you?