When I am depressed or suicidal, I can always count on one friend to remind me that there’s light at the end of the tunnel, that it’s always darkest before the dawn, that everything happens for a reason, and that when God closes a door, he opens a window. This happens at the end of a conversation when she is trying to dismiss me nicely. It’s a little explanation of what I’m doing wrong Being depressed is a bad decision which I can correct by by force of will, and I have foolishly chosen not to. It’s a blame and shame game. My friend never doubts whether there really is light at the end of the tunnel, or where the window would be for young girls sold into slavery and prostitution in far-away countries.
You get bitter or you get better. Just let it go. Why can’t you just get on with it? Memories tend to fade for most people, but mine are as vivid and detailed as if they happened yesterday. But mine imprint. It plays horror movies and excruciating conversations in my head over and over and over and over. My friend assumes I could pick up the remote and shut it off, and just say: Be gone! Go! And all would be well. I just refuse to. Blame and shame, untrue and cruel. Like Trump sayings, repeated often enough, our clichés are believed.
Just believe in yourself, and you can be successful and happy. Just say over and over to yourself “I am worthy of love. I am worthy of healing. I am worthy of greatness.” Self-esteem is a floaty thing when you’re delusional: Sometimes I think I can run the world, and sometimes the voices tell me I am a worthless piece of shit and need to die immediately. Sometimes I’m a well-respected professor with a BFD Ph.D., and other times I’m an inmate in a psych ward unable to see what’s reality and what’s just in my head. Believing in yourself doesn’t have nearly the power to change the world that people think it does.
Replace negative thoughts with positive ones, and you’ll start having positive results.. If I only put the effort into changing to positive thoughts, I would be fine. It’s so simple; why haven’t I done it?
So stop telling me that there’s light at the end of my tunnel. I keep moving forward out of habit, not hope. I’ve made lemonade, and drank it, offered you some. It’s not communion wine, and I don’t get the salvation from it that my friend thinks I should. Down deep it’s blame and shame that I’m just not putting forth the effort. I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel because I’m stubborn, lazy and blind.