Finding My Voice

One thing I am realizing more and more is how much easier it is to learn from life in retrospect. The further away I get from a given situation, the better my perspective is on it, and the more likely I am to glean from what I went through. It's hard to put your finger on exactly what you're learning in the midst of it, but give it a few months or maybe even years, and chances are you can pinpoint at least one thing you walked away from the situation learning.

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Depression gave me a voice. For someone like myself who holds everything in, buries things in the deepest, most closed off parts of my soul, it's not always easy to vocalize things. I tend to be a stuffer. In my independence I think I should be able to do anything on my own, or at least figure out how to do things I don't already know how to do. In my pride I'm too poised to ask for help. In my shame I'm embarrassed I don't already know how to do the things laid before me.

But through depression all of those things came to a breaking point. Out of pure emotional, physical, and spiritual exhaustion I no longer had the ability nor the will to hold it together. In all honesty, I cried a lot. I cried in the shower, I cried in my bed. I cried in the closet and the kitchen at work. No place was immune to my tears, no person unsafe to let my emotions flow.

There is something very, very humanizing about tears. Although there are few out there in the world who might be able to cry on command, few humans actually delight in tears enough to share them unless totally, absolutely, utterly necessary. The beauty (and pain) of tears is that you can't control them. They are one of those things that just seem to happen. They are an outward manifestation of the inner state of your soul and intentionally invite others to join in your story, whether you intended for that or not.

In all my fear, shame, guilt, pride, and independence, depression broke down every one of those walls allowing rivers of tears to fall. In those tears I very unintentionally but necessarily invited others into my story. As you well know, when the tears fall, it's hard to hold back. Before you have a chance to wipe those first tears, you're spilling your soul and every honest emotion in it.

I'm so mad at God
Why is life so difficult 
I can't live like this anymore
I need help 
This isn't fair 
I am so scared 
My anxiety is overwhelming 
Why do I have to do this alone 
Why doesn't anyone notice me 
How can I fix my problems
Will life always be like this

I don't like to complain. We all do it sometimes, but I try not to overdo it or make small things out to be much bigger than they are. I hate to be the boy who cries wolf and I definitely don't want to be that annoying girl avoided by many and ignored by most because she always seems to be griping about something. However, by default of these things I often don't say or do anything. I don't ask for help. I don't invite others in or vocalize what I'm experiencing. While this may seem valiant to some, it also paralyzes me in a state of total anxiety and segregates me into a helpless world of my own where I drown in fear of life itself.

Depression has begun to change all that. Through depression I cried. Through tears I invited others in. Through the honesty of my tears and emotions I asked for help. I am no longer a prisoner of my independence. My soul has a voice. I may still be learning when and how to use it, but I know it's there, and like a young infant oohing and awing, I will one day have more words than you can count and they'll be my very best advocate.