When We Don’t Feel Strong Enough for Our Own Lives

Ann Voskamp | 5/22/2019 | Staff
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I fingered the bottle’s side and slipped a tiny white pill up and onto my palm, placing it on my tongue, gulping it down.

I tore the label, scratching the sticker with my thumbnail. I didn’t want anyone to know I was taking an antidepressant.

I was embarrassed I wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t fix myself with more faith and more prayer and more hours dragged off the clock spent in quiet seeking.

Depression - Times

“I’ve barely survived depression at times.”

So I searched for sin in the wreckage, a sign that if I repented hard enough for my lack, the darkness would lift and His presence would fill the empty places where nerves and neurons had stopped being receptive and the deep pull of sadness had taken their place.

Amount - Weakness - Inability - Pieces - Christian

But no amount of repenting for my weakness, for my inability to hold all the pieces of me together and be a good Christian girl who chose joy and fought the darkness with well-memorized Scripture, worked. My anguish grew.

I’ve barely survived depression at times.

Nights - Fangs - Teeth - Moon - Thick

There are nights so dark they wolf down my days—all fangs and bared teeth under a moon thick as a lemon wedge bobbing in a sky full of sweet tea. But all I taste is bitter. And even still, I thirst.

My tongue has been long trained by Sunday school etiquette and polite society never to cough up unpalatable words like depression or suicide or antidepressant in church company.

Becomes - Answer - Words - Fear - Guest

“Fine” becomes my answer, so I choke down the unsavory words for fear of being the guest who fumbles the finery and dribbles wine down the front of my shirt.

Afraid I would forget my manners in the house of God and rip into the bread with white-knuckled fists like it was life and gulp down the wine like my tongue was on fire.

Bites

We’re practiced at nibbling tiny, digestible bites...
(Excerpt) Read more at: Ann Voskamp
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