A Letter to the Fanatic

stunning-smeared-sky-time-lapse-photography-matt-molloyNo words left in me, only tears. Rivers of tears streak and stain my face.  I can’t account for this deep despair. I did not lose a loved one, or my job, or my husband. It’s far beyond sadness. It’s soul wrenching pain. I am tethered to darkness. It follows me, breathes into me, consumes me, becomes me.  I feel so insignificant. So unloveable. So desperate for a way out.  The pain is unbearable. I know often times you do not see it. I carry on with the illusion all is well. Meanwhile on the inside I am dying.
burma-girls-in-pagoda-thomas-jeppesenI see people going about their day light in their step. Laughter and a smile come easy.  Sit comfortably. Just be. Breathing. In acceptance.
There was a time I felt that way. Maybe 6 yrs ago. It was about a year after my first hospitalization and then 30 day treatment center for alcohol. I was sober and my mental health issues had stabilized. Hallelujah! I gladly woke up at 5am to hit my bootcamp class. People called me to play tennis. I was at the top of my game literally. I picked up my racket after not playing for 10+ years and quickly became one of the best players in the valley. I had energy, drive, motivation. I was social, felt comfortable in my skin. Witty and sarcastic. I believed people actually wanted to be around me.
Then I guess the medications stopped working. The darkness came for me like a rolling fog. My racket is dusty. My sarcasm and laughter missing. My desire and drive plummeted as did my mood. I had a taste of the “good life.” Then I had another debilitating depression. Lost my sobriety. Committed a desperate act I will never forget. This beast is insidious.
kimAlston SkyHere I am 6 years later curled on the floor sobbing. Not able to function at work-AGAIN. Needing to attend an intensive outpatient program. I stand and stare at the river. I picture myself going under, complete silence, compete darkness. A short struggle for air, but then no need for air at all. No need to beg for relief.
I admit it’s a scary thought.  To picture the whole process, or how I imagine it to be. Sometimes I can feel it in my body. I think I can feel hitting the water if I were to jump from a bridge.
I visit the river often. I think about ending it all often. Sometimes I wonder if all these thoughts are messages from god that I should follow through. Maybe it’s a sign I’m not wanted here.  I’ve been on my knees this week. But I was never taught how to pray. I was never taught I am worthy or good enough.  Why would god want to help me? Deep down in the recesses of my existence I am sad to say I do not feel worthy of his love. It’s the truth of the matter and it hurts.

123 RV,  SA, JW   R.I.P. Jason



3 thoughts on “A Letter to the Fanatic

  1. I may not be able to understand exactly the pain you’re in at this moment and its impact on you, but I care, and I want to help. You may not believe it now, but, trust me, the way you’re feeling will change. You said you had a “taste of the good life.” That’s great that you can recall happier times. You said you lost your sobriety, committed a desperate act, and six years later you’re lying on the floor sobbing. Thank you for sharing and for being so raw, so honest, so vulnerable. Talking about it is good. Sobbing, believe it or not, is good too. I believe our tears wash away some of our darkness so a light can shine in.

    There is no right or wrong way to pray. A simple prayer of “God, please help me” is all he needs to hear. He loves you. He created you. He forgives you. You are worthy. That unworthiness you’re feeling is NOT a message from God. If you’re thinking about the bridge, you’re probably suffering from clinical depression, bipolar disorder, PTSD, or something similar. And if you have something along these lines, you actually have a chemical imbalance in your brain and you cannot possibly think straight because of it. It’s beyond your control. You are not weak. You just need some treatment. It is extremely common for people to have this imbalance, so do not feel like you are alone. You are not. YOU ARE LOVED!

  2. I can’t imagine what it feels like to sit in darkness for so long so I won’t pretend to have any solutions for you. But I shall be another voice to say that EVERYONE is worthy and has a light to shine. We just have to find it. There are never signs to tell you otherwise.
    -another voice of caring-

  3. I felt like I wrote what you wrote here…the river, everything. I struggle with the same thoughts, similar feelings. I know what you mean when you said you don’t know how to pray. I was raised in a christian home and taught to pray, but when things are that dark and feel that hopeless, I find it impossible to utter any prayer. I just know in the moments when things are not dark, I must pray, so I do, though the moments are few and far between.

    I know there is hope, I know there is light, that the surface of the water closing in doesn’t have to be your fate or mine, even though it often feels like it has to be. I am so sorry for what you are facing, and feeling, and I know the weight is unbearable at times. Just please know, you’re not alone and someone out there understands, and cares, and wants to offer you hope, even if it’s the tiniest bit I can. We are still both here, fighting, and that means we are both strong, and meant to be here today, for some reason, and I believe in that.
    Sending prayers your way and hoping today gets better.

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