Sixteen years ago I spent my nights working on a puzzle into the wee hours of the morning. While I should have been resting for school the next day (I was only seventeen), my mind was too busy for sleep.
I have spent far too many nights staring into my device as if it was some magical cure for my restlessness. Every time it would disappoint.
We don’t suffer from it but we often suffer because of it.
We are the ones who see the darkest parts of what depression does to a person. We have sat for hours in beds, on the floor & in bathtubs with it.
If you’ve ever walked into a church you’ve probably been hurt by it.
Old wounds heal slow sometimes. It took me 30 years to realize my earthly father had never really been a father to me. Though I pray and cried much and received healing, the “loss” of my father could not be mourned in one day.
We call it many different things. A “white lie”, “twisting” or “stretching” the truth, “impression management”
We are afraid, somewhere deep down, that we will be intentionally left out, neglected, or worse… that no one will even see us.