Sunday, November 29, 2015

A Prayer?

I don't know what else to do, but ask God to help me.  I've felt selfish, to imagine praying for myself, but prayed for others...  I also wonder if God would want to listen to me, or if even he can heal me, or ease this horror that I feel...  Because I feel hopeless:  And God deserves faith and hope and love.  I feel hopeless, after all this time.

Times when I have felt better, have led to the lowest dips in my depression and I'm scared how far down I can go.  I know I'm at the bottom, the very bottom, yet then I guess I can't be.  Isn't it said that some people have to hit rock bottom, before they can get back up and get better, or want to get better?  I do want to get better!  I pray to God, that I will get better.

I think I'm still falling... Or maybe I motivate myself up, up, then fall back down, down.  Isn't that what PMDD is?  Fine, Fine, Terrible, Terrible.  Two weeks on, two weeks off.  And I'm always bracing for the fall back down, not living fully when I can actually feel and do and burn, burn, burn. I'm too scared that the higher up I get, the farther I will fall when darkness comes back upon me. There have been times, I wasn't so very scared... I felt arms around me, that would keep me from crashing and smashing to bits.

Should I feel God's love wrapped around me?  Don't I believe in God?  Don't I believe there is hope for everyone else?  I do.  I think I do.  I'm scared to believe fully sometimes, because that means maybe God has done all he can for me... and I fucked it up, or I'm fucking it up: I missed my chance. My light is flickering, dangerously.  My soul...

I should be coming out of this any day now.  Any day now, I'll have energy and think normally, and want to do things, anything at all, just something!  I'll believe I'm human, and I deserve to be alive.  Without feelings, there is a lack of humanity... I'm as important as our living room couch.  I'm worth less than a piece of old furniture.  I'm inanimate.  Un-animated.  Inhuman.

I used to find relief in sleep, but I'm scared to sleep, now.  I'm scared of waking up again, and again... and knowing there is no relief most days.  I want to stay awake, as if I'm waiting for something amazing and miraculous to happen and make everything okay.  I wait, wanting so desperately for to good to come, and to come alive.  I wait to wake up so I can go to sleep.




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