Skip to main content

A letter to God from a depressed Christian


Dear God,


This is your daughter.

I am writing instead of talking because my voice is gone.

It’s lost somewhere inside of me, in the midst of the violent storm raging.

I try to speak to you but I can’t find the words.

My heart is aching with emotions that I cannot name.

My throat is closed up with what feels like years and years of unshed tears.

Which can’t be…because I have done nothing but cry this year, and the year before that.

I have done nothing but sob in that deep agonizing animalistic way that has terrified even me.

So why do I still feel like there is more inside that needs to come out?

I want to talk to you, but then I say to myself, “you already know where I am, you know how I am, you know why I am, is there any need to speak to you?”

I want to blame you for this fire, for putting me in front of this mirror and making me look at this reflection.

I want to blame you for putting me on this wine press, for pressing on me and making me bleed.
I want to blame you…and I do.

I asked you to purify my motives didn’t I?

Is that what this is?

The purification of my motives for things I thought I wanted?

Dear God,

I am exhausted.

You know that I have been saying that to you for months now, yes? Even years.

I tried to tell a few people how I feel; they said speaking like that was not right.

I needed to be strong, for my sake, for my baby’s sake.

But Lord, I am tired.

Every bone in my body is tired.

I feel it down to the movement of blood in my veins.

I feel it in the sluggish chug of blood flow,

The slow trudge of thoughts in my head,

The slow thump of my heart.

Every part of me is tired.

How many times do I ask for your help Lord?

How many times have I said, “I am tired, help me?”

Or have just whispered “help me” over and over again?

These days the cloud of depression is heavier.

Its weight is dragging my lifeline down.

And the “why” is hard to point out.

But I am a Christian right?

I should not be feeling depressed.

I have gone online, read articles, listened to messages about depression. Some days, it helps.

Some days I feel the weight lift away and I am fine for some seconds, minutes. Then it comes back, with a vengeance.

Working out used to help Lord…now I can’t even find the energy to do that.

Waking up is hard.

Breathing is hard.

Going through the motions is my saving grace.

Showing up used to be enough.

Now showing up no longer counts.

Dear Lord,

Sometimes, I feel guilty for feeling this way.

There is so much that I have, so much that I am capable of.

I feel like the one burying his talent in the ground, waiting for you to come so that I can complain that you were a hard master and weren’t there for me.

But that would be a lie.

Yes…I am not sure of what my divine assignment is.

I simply know that I have been dogged by the persistent knowing that I am meant to do something really great.

But today, at 36 with all the things I thought I would accomplish vanishing into thin air, I feel like I am nothing, like I have nothing.

Deep down though…I know it’s a lie…I have everything Lord.

You…I have you.

But right now…even the knowledge that I have you is not enough.

I am tired dear Lord.

Really tired.

Please help me…

Your Daughter in the fog
Picture credit: Flickr


Comments

  1. Christians are human too with the singular advantage of having the word of God to dig themselves out of depression. Yet many of us have the word and don't believe it. The fog started to lift when I started taking God at his word. Have you had any struggles with depression as a christian? How did you get out?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

I finally called God Daddy

The waiting room

It went down like hot eba with slippery ogbono soup. Quick, fast, fleeting, barely leaving any taste in the mouth; Just the brief memory that something had slid in and gone down quick as lightening. It should have done the work it was meant to do, but it didn’t. And she didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand how something that was meant to be quick and powerful turned weak and feeble inside her. She willed it to life. Manifested it into being. Held the image of it in her mind’s eye until she felt the eye of her mind turn red from not blinking. She was exhausted. It was supposed to work. They promised her it would. She was only meant to believe they said, and it would happen. She believed. She really did. She felt her sinews and joints coursing with the belief, she really did. But still, she felt deflated too, as if the course of belief stopped shy of inflating her flesh with its presence. She was exhausted. *************************** Someone should have ...

Fiction: The Lights

Eno was only six years old when he saw became born again and began to see the light. It started out as a beam of colours. One minute, he was playing with Teni, his best friend from next door and the next minute, he was knocked off his feet by a burst of light that exploded right in front of him. When he came to, he saw soft beams of different colours  of light surrounding Teni’s face as he stared at him anxiously. He was silent for so long, not answering Teni’s “What happened? Can you hear me?, that Teni ran off to call his mother from the kitchen. By the time his mother got to him, the light was gone so, he thought he had imagined it and forgot about it until it happened again. This time, he was eleven and his father was sitting astride his mother, slapping her as hard as he usually did. Eno was cowering behind the mustard coloured sofa in the living room, whimpering and crying, telling his father to stop, when the light exploded around him, knocking him against the stand...

I DON'T...

I was only eight years old when I told my mother I didn’t want to get married. Her reaction is quite hard to forget considering the fact that I still have a scar to remind me. She calmly went outside, plucked a whip from the tree in front of our home and gave me the swiping of my life. (Just kidding) What she really did was burst into tears. Needless to say, I never said that to her again. Fast forward nineteen years and a five year relationship later and my views about marriage are still pretty much the same. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to marry Joe...He is like the sweetest man I have ever known and besides, he’s the only man who even made me reconsider my vows to stay single for life; If I ever do get married, it would be to him. That doesn’t mean that if this five year relationship doesn’t end up in marriage I would go on a frantic man hunt to still the wagging tongues of fellow colleagues or to smoothen out the disapproving glances my relatives throw at me during f...