Desolation of the Soul

It arrives unannounced. Exhaustion first, then the ability to cope vanishes. Sadness turns to hopelessness; every thought, every motion, every feeling becomes a burden too heavy to manage. In fleeting moments such as this I know this isn't the truth of my life, but in other moments I can't see through the depression to reality. Feeling utterly alone, entombed in despair, turned to stone.

Everything is wrong with life. But I act fine. Content with life. Happy. Every second, happy. Every second, agony.

I don't want to clean, to cook, to pay bills, to do anything but lose myself in someone else's world. Books and reality tv are my drugs of choice. I want to feel someone else's feelings for a while, not my own.

Longing for love, for someone to care for and take care of me, yet unable to receive, accept or feel it when offered devastates my spirit. I'm homesick, yet I'm home. I'm God-sick, yet God is with me. Everyone and everything seems distant - far removed from my world of emotional anguish. Love-parched, I am not able to take in that which can revive me. 

I don't want to be here. I don't choose to be here. But the more I struggle against it, the more it paralyzes me. Depression is killing me - my mind, my body, my spirit. No amount of love, or Light, or anything can reach me where I am. I can hear the words, but they have no impact, their meaning, lost.

Pure desolation of the soul. 

No beacon in the darkness can reach me, yet somewhere within me there is a spark. A spark of something that reminds me that although I sojourn here, it is not my eternity. That spark is why I continue forward, unsure of when I'll leave this desolate place, but knowing that Love will meet me on the other side, arms wide open.