Monday, December 17, 2012
How Does it Feel?
One of the things that has been popping up in the media with the devastating shootings in CT is the question of mental health and its effect on crime. I hate this. Does ones mental illness cause one to commit crimes? It is likely. But roughly fifty percent of America suffers from some form of mental illness and I do not believe the crime rates reflect that even the majority of these are responsible for violent crime. Perhaps I am too sensitive. Maybe my mental state makes me that way. :-) However, I do feel attacked when the media, who shockingly enough do not always get it right, find someone to blame in the form of mental illness. There seems to be no synonyms. I am tired of writing "mental illness." So to my brethren of depressives, bipolars, and others out there, I feel you. Here is what I wrote the last time a major depressive episode hit me. Does this seem familiar to anyone else out there? Set me free. I am surrounded and there is no escape. How do you escape from something inside you? I feel heavy and weighted down. There is no joy, no freshness, no light, no life. How can I be free? Who can save me from myself? All I know is darkness. I fumble around looking for the way out. I cannot feel. I cannot sense others or their pain. All I can understand is my own hurt, my own darkness. All I know is I am not good enough, I am not clean enough, I am not worthy. I am completely disconnected from what is going on around me. I see nothing beyond myself. Everything I see is distorted as though I am looking through a foggy window. The anger grows strong within me. Why am I so angry? What is it that causes such rage? I do not know. It can come from the smallest of perceived insults, such as why the physical world does not bend to my wishes. Why does the outside world not bend to my wishes? Why cannot things simply go my way? Why am I a constant failure, a constant disappointment to myself? Why am I not strong enough, while others go about their days successfully, fully functioning? Why can’t I be more like them? Why can’t I be like those who know true satisfaction? Why can’t I see that perhaps their lives are not perfect either, that they struggle the same way I do. Why can’t I get up? Why can’t I pull myself up and shake off the dust of the old days? It is not because I don’t want to. Is it because I truly can’t? What is wrong with me? I want to be productive, successful. But I don’t know the way there. It is like a path that is hidden by the woods. If I pray hard enough can I find it? Is my faith so weak that I have missed it? I feel unloved, unworthy and unreceiving of the love of others. I feel like people do not see me for what I am capable of and therefore I am incapable of producing. Is it fair to blame others? Is this the failure of the outside world or something inside me? I know I do not struggle alone, but everyone is gone. All of my compatriots are in their own pits of despair and I cannot find anyone who feels the way that I feel right now. We are all alone because we choose to be alone. Perhaps if we wandered outside we would find that there are many others just like us – lost like us, hurt like us, in pain like us, and capable of healing. God is the only one who can take this burden off of my shoulders. He is the only one who fully recognizes my pain for what it is and appreciates how it affects my daily living. He is always there, even when I retreat from the world. God is my constant in a world that feels constantly in flux. Although the ground beneath me is shifting, God stands firm in His belief that He can do something purposeful with my life. If you survived that wandering thought train than thank you. Good night to you all, from all walks of life.