I am not for myself

I am not for myself: I persist for others. No, do not mistake that I feed off the approval of others, that somehow I need to be noticed and accepted or that I would wither in a world void of attention directed toward me.

No, I speak of something much more sober, tragic even. I am abandoned and alone. Left to live with the demon inside, to fend off his jabs with failing strength. For me, there is little hope. Perhaps I do see a faint spark on the horizon, but tumultuous storms rage between that spark and me. As much as I can, I place one foot in front of the other, pressing against a fury and power I could never anticipate.

But here I speak not of myself, but of others. For at this time, I can muster strength only for them. I made obligations, I must adhere to them. Failure for myself? Anticipated, expected. Failure for others? I cannot bear that burden.

My life is already broken; I will not allow my imperfections to impede the progress of others. I dread daily encounters; perhaps you have noticed? I promise that my desire is not to be distant. I long for human connection, but I fear failure--the failure to live up to my obligations. I'm sorry to those who have encountered the wall and my standoffish facade. 

How I wish to let you past. For truly, I do desire your friendship and to experience what you have to offer. I see the light in your eyes and feel your spirit. There is a goodness there, one that distracts me from my burden. With your attention the storms calm, my burden is light, and hope lingers just beyond my grasp.

I am not for myself, for I am alone and broken. I live for another, for only then am I free.

My depression is something I am choosing illuminate

My current experience is one of depression. It is overwhelming. Like a parasite, it saps my energy. Sleep is hard and eating isn't any better. Few activities carry interest and I have lost motivation to do much of anything. It is hard for me to accurately illustrate the true portrait of my emotions and feelings. Surprisingly to me I am eager to share what I am experiencing with others, although this is probably out of a desire to advertise the "depth of my emotional capacity." Maybe that is what I am doing here too. There is irony to be found, perhaps, as my burden is deep and penetrating in a way for which I am completely unprepared; but my ability to experience and appreciate a broad spectrum of feelings is severely limited.

At first, I thought I knew the causes. There was also a primary catalyst. The catalyst remains, but the causes are lost to me. Just yesterday, I was overwhelmed with sorrow and pain, a terrible aching which I have not experienced in a long while. My broken spirit recognizes some illness or intruder, but is terrifyingly unable to identify the threat.

But what is one to do? I naively thought that depression was merely an affected attitude. But as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said in his address Like a Broken Vessel, sometimes there is "affliction so severe that it significantly restricts a person’s ability to function fully, a crater in the mind so deep that no one can responsibly suggest it would surely go away if those victims would just square their shoulders and think more positively." I find myself in a position where I am unable to simply think more positively and laugh my problems away. There is a process and causality, perhaps chemical. I am no expert. All I can do is portray the experience as well I am able.

Something I have thought about during the past few weeks is this: there are others out there like me. Maybe they hide their burden well, but they need help. They need others to know. Maybe. Everyone deals with issues in different ways. I tell someone about my problems not to excuse behavior, but because I want that someone know. Me knowing that someone knows makes a difference. And I have wonderful friends who do know. I am grateful for that.

I ache and I hurt. Part of me allows the depression to stay, because perhaps by some logic I deserve my burden. Another part submits with apprehension to a torturous pain, begging for relief. There is a thought: why? There is another: I'm done. I beg God to allow my burden to pass. I long for any noticeable  progress toward the light, some small glimpse of hope that Grace is around the corner. I am left to bear my cross. I do not blame God or anyone for the pain. But I continue to ask why.