Darkness engulfs the light and I slip under it’s power. I’ve been here so many times. It’s like the comfortable embrace of an old friend, but the quiet tears remind me this is no friend.
I try to be strong, but I’m too weak. I give up and allow the darkness to surround me.
I’m in a new place of awareness. I recognize my depression, and I know this is not the end. So, I trust myself, and listen to what is going on inside. I pay attention to the voices of self-doubt, fear and anxiety. My heart is wounded and I search for what’s bringing it pain now. I look at the reason. I give it a name. I visualize it’s face, and I grieve deeply the inflicted wound, not with self-pity, but with self-appreciation. In a way one would tenderly care for a cut in one’s arm.
It takes all my strength to turn my face toward Love. I meet His eyes and I stagger at how my one loving glance overwhelms Him, delights Him, moves Him. I let Him in and His love washes over me and before long I emerge back into the light, and I realize: My weak love is a real love.