I hear people say all the time that there is no such thing as mental illness. There are those who genuinely feel that someone with depression only has to think “good thoughts” to be better. My reply would be, “If you break your leg, think good thoughts.”
This sentiment pours out from otherwise intelligent beings. Our brain is an organ. It is a part of our amazing bodies. Every part of our whole bodies can become ill. Every.
My own struggle with depression has been a difficult one. I have been at the bottom end of this battle where I just want the pain to stop. Many times. When the fog has seeped into my soul and I find little to cling to; it truly is a place you do not want to be. I hate it. I loathe it.
I can remember when my father was alive and he would call me on the telephone and cry. He was so depressed and he lived alone. He would curl into his own world of loneliness and often want to die. I would do everything to try to help him. But there was no help for my father. He chose to hide in the bottle. He drank more than he ate food. He drank until his skin was yellow. He drank until his liver no longer worked. He drank until he died. My heart breaks for what my father went through. I hurt when I see people suffering. As I am climbing out of my pit I find myself in, I have a little hope. I hope that I will have eyes to see other’s needs; their pain and suffering. I hope I will have ears to listen to what others tell me of their woes. To not jump to conclusions quickly in my mind on a preconceived notion of those who have mental illness. I hope I have a heart to help in whatever way I can when I see someone hurting. If I can get one thing from my depression— I want it to be a loving soul. If my suffering opens my eyes to others around me, then I’ll take it. God, open my eyes to all around me and thank you even for this affliction. (Even though I really do hate it God!!!)