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Dear Depression

Dear Depression,

Dammit, couldn’t you wait until the Santa Baby’s and Mistletoe were hid under the shelf.  No, you had to bring your grubby hands and mess up the only thing waking up for, that rich cup of coffee in the morning.  Not that I wanted you to go away entirely, but I just don’t want your face peeking over my shoulder at every opportunity, even in morning prayers.  Nevertheless, you are here basking in the glow of my self-deprecating spirit, mired in the fibers of my black attire.

I was certain that you were just an out-of-town friend staying at my place for the week, but upon arrival you showed your true colors, or shall I shall true venom.  But really, I do appreciate the state of mind I’m in, for I use the stupor state I’m in as a shield to all the hard and messy things in life, like kids, marriage conversations, and those oh so friendly in-laws.  I suppose that’s a good thing, my former self would’ve gone ape shit on others, discarding their feelings, and leaving them cut down like a felled Aspen in the Colorado landscape.     But that was the past, and this is now. 

I heard once a song about the Lord being a shield, something from the Psalms, going something like, “But you, LORD, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high (Psalm 3.3).”[1] Oh, I know this to be true, rattling around in my noggin.  But, often I want to insert my own phrase, But you, O Depression, are a shield around me, my glory, the all-encompassing one who lifts my head high to avoid anyone.  However irreverent this may be, the pangs of despair and loneliness that maintain their left corner pew in my heart are guarded by this thing called depression which forms a shield against the onslaught of the world. 

Not only a shield, but this whole down–in- the-dumps thing gives me real apathy.  Peas or carrots, working in the yard or watching a movie, feeding the dog or not, all these little decisions come at me with the speed of a racecar, and yet there is no pulse in my veins propelling me towards a decision.  Call it mental paralysis or indecisive groveling, I just really don’t care what happens next.  Now, you would suppose a person like me would be apathetic to all of life, but this kind of apathetic distaste for decisions doesn’t shade every area of life.  The sad part about this indecisiveness is that I tend to be high functioning and make decisions everyday about things that matter, but what I deem insignificant falls to the wayside.  Yet, what I deem insignificant is often not entirely such, for many of these seemingly trivial matters really do matter (yes that permission slip was really important for my daughter and her teacher).

Your friend,



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