Letters to God: Coping

Dear God,

Okay, whew, that last letter got really intense. I keep saying I’m going to write about the Eucharist, but I’m thinking maybe not. Right now, I’m trying to … feel human again.

Yesterday, I was talking to my friend in New Jersey as you know. It was good to talk to someone of the same mindset as me even though it couldn’t help but set up a Major Depressive Episode or pretty close to it, one of those spots where I … don’t even know what I’m thinking. I’ve decided to stop using numbers for these letters and that I’m going to allow myself to be a little chaotic in this one.

My friend in New Jersey is doing everything she can to protect herself, which is good because I think I might lose it if I lost her – because after I got off the phone it occurred to me it’s been 2 months since I’ve touched another human being. That can’t be good for my mental health. I know it isn’t.

I keep wanting to find a nice little closet to curl up in. Remember, dad, when I was in the mental hospital and for the first few days they taught us things like how to make a bed, because in my dysfunctional family we didn’t ever learn to make beds. I learned how to fold a sheet at the corners. And oh yes, they forced me to stop sitting in the corner facing the wall, which looking back is exactly the kind of thing that a crazy person would do.

Right now, I still kind of want to sit in the corner. I feel like given everything I’ve been through I would be entitled. No one would blame me right? But no, the therapists forced me out of the corner. And to do group therapy. And social activities, until I realized that the big bad monster of depression was just a mental game in my own head – and little by little I could beat it.

I still remember the one time I made this aide laugh and they were surprised and they said that I was actually funny and they actually meant it and I thought – for perhaps the first time in my life – maybe I can actually be of use, some small use to someone.

I am saying this because … I will never forget, heavenly father, how you walked me through the pain step by step. I remember it now when I’m mostly okay but also kind of not, trying to do my best to do my best. There are so many other things I could say, so many other things you’ve taught me over the years I’ve known you, but there’s nothing so much as that fighting depression, fighting paralyzing evil thing.

I can talk to people now. I can speak my mind. And I’m mostly glad, profoundly glad, to be able to be alive in order to do so. Because life is hard. One day, one step at a time, hard. I miss you so much, but I would be inexpressibly sad if you let me (fully) return to you before my time. The longer I live – really live – here, the more I come to think that I want to be me, human, and not *just* some glowy light being forever. That’s why we need a bodily resurrection and eternal life, without death. For me and for all the others who have died too soon. Spiritual life is okay, but it was only ever an interim measure. There are things about the physical world you can’t get anywhere else, like a decent cup of coffee.

Please remember your promises to me, to all of us. Please. Bodily, general, resurrection.

Anne

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