Darkness of Mine

I've been silent on this blog for a couple of months now, largely from a lack of inspiration or from scattered thoughts. I generally like writing, because it's helpful in anchoring the ideas that I have, providing a medium upon which I can expand and develop them. But lately it's been difficult, because not only are the ideas are all partially formed and lacking in any real consistency, but also because I haven't felt motivated. I suppose it's natural that these things result from depression.

As anyone who knows me can probably attest, I go through phases of being depressed, sometimes punctuated by brief periods of inspiration, which convince me that I can do anything to which I set my mind. Unfortunately, "brief" is all too adequate a description of those times, and soon I'm back in a state somewhere between sadness and void of feeling.

However, what frightens me about that "dark place," as I've come to call it, is not even its frequency or duration. While those aspects can be frustrating, they don't necessarily indicate infinity. That is to say, there's hope for an end to that form of suffering.

But you see, I often long for the times before I was prone to depression. I'll wish I could go back to a simpler, happier state of mind, which I theoretically inhabited earlier in life. But the truly terrifying thing about that is my uncertainty that such a time and state ever existed for me. While I do long for it, it's difficult for me to envision, and I can't seem to think of any specific instances in which I was truly "happy." To clarify, I can think of happy moments and periods of my life, but on deeper thought I'll also remember negative thoughts and feelings of inadequacy that were always present, even amidst those happy times.

I've had people imply, or even outright suggest, that this depression is just part of who I am, tied to my temperament, and that there's no cure or solution. That's a disheartening thought, especially when it comes from the mouth of a fellow Christian. The notion that I have a joy-inhibitor hardwired into my brain seems to fly in the face of the theology of a God who wants us to have abundantly joyful lives.

I have, of course, had the thought that I misunderstand what true joy is. I know it's more than just a feeling, and so it doesn't mean we'll always be happy and carefree. But my impression has always been that joy can't exist in the same space as depression; they contradict each other. So unless that's wrong and I truly don't understand, there must be hope for freedom from this. And unlike everyone else in my life (whether they actually do this or not), I can't just give up on me. I have to believe there's hope.