My life had been that of a sworn cat person, not even having one of my own until I was 20, but in my late forties, I got a dog. I still have a cat that has been my baby since she was a kitten and I love her, but this crazy little dog has changed my life entirely. She has captured my heart, and I don’t even really mind when she’s bad, except for when she’s really bad, like when she wants to jump my husband after he had surgery, which is my current state of affairs. My stern commands have kept her off of my husband, and I think that she’s learning just to lay quietly beside him with her cuteness.
So, yes, please cherish the life that we all are blessed to have. I will never be able to fully explain what it was like to have wanted to die so sincerely for so long, just because I didn’t think that I was good enough, after have been so purely loved by a wondeful family for so long. Really it had been my family that had kept me alive through most of my bad moods, but it was not until that pivotal moment when I actually did try to make my life be over because I was so not good at it. I really looked at my psych meds, and thought that maybe that shit could really make it stop and I could quit trying so hard. Like an inexperienced fool, I grabbed my newly filled bottle of antidepressants, and just kept swallowing them beyond my regimented dose. At this point I rejected everything that I had ever loved, and at once failed to any more care about the pain that I would cause all of my loved ones, that were and still are some of the best people ever made.
This was not even my “rock bottom,” as I had been there a few times before already. I know, it sounds miserable, right. I’m really not doing my story justice, because it was actually significantly more terrible than that, and I just don’t really think that I want to carry you all to that bad place just to show off how well I might describe it. Nope.
I can only move forward now, and my count only got to seven antidepressants before I stopped and remembered that life is indeed beautiful, despite my inability to adequately describe it, with anyone at all. They didn’t even pump my stomach at the ER, but gave me some charcoal and put me on the psych ward (again, third time), only with a much more devastating sentence of doom.
This is what I learned, that life is horrible for each and every one of us. We all suffer, and some of us get pulled out of the bad place more quickly than others. To even think that anyone does not suffer is cruel of itself, because life is unruly and unfair and nobody gets it right. Those fuckers that have it all probably don’t really, and they can all fuck themselves anyway. Sorry about the f word, and the exasperation, but I don’t know how else to describe the despair.
This is how I healed: I take my meds, I go to work, and I believe. Yes, I believe in Jesus, but also, I just believe and trust God Almighty who made me, that I’m okay despite my inabilities. He gives me hope, mainly because He acknowledged just how shitty life can be by dying on a cross because everybody put Him there, just because they could and felt like they should. Yet He still found that place where He could come back to the really difficult yet wondrous life that is, and who knows how all of that even worked, so some folks just won’t believe. I hope that they will. I trust that the Good Lord will bring them there, to faith.
That Jesus might bring a little dog to each of those in need.
#Faith #Mystery #Life #Hope #KeepTrying