Today, I am the ocean. Unhappy, want-to-be hurricane.

Depression is the boat on my back that I can't scratch off. Howl and tantrum, toss and storm as much as I like, the boat remains. If it sinks, it is still with me. And as it floats, so do I.

Depression sneaks up on me easily these days. I want to change jobs, change houses, change everything. I know that happiness is just behind the next big transition. I also know that none of that is true. Unhappiness is inside of me. Happiness won't be found outside of me. There's some soul searching that needs to be done, some internal construction, some something. But I'm on hold. Waiting is one of those things that either becomes a spiritual discipline ...or it kills you. The jury is still out on which one I'll choose. Today, my body physically feels closer to death than discipline; but I think it's a red herring.

I wrote this for our housemates but I haven't given it to them. Every time I come close, I run into them and am convinced that they don't need more stress. I can't decide if it is selfish not to say anything or selfish to force them to listen to me. I can't decide if I'm more afraid of missing an opportunity to explain my self or of having been heard and rejected.

How do I explain this?

 

I have hated living with you. And I think you have hated living with us. I’m not sure where we went wrong and I’m sorry. I have an immense feeling of failure. Failure to communicate. Failure to live up to my own beliefs in things like grace, community, and vulnerability. I wanted so much more for us. I wanted to take care of each other rather than just survive each other. These past few months I have been trapped in various stages of grief fighting off anger and resentment and depression as I discovered yet another thing in between us and the type of community I hoped for.  

And I have been hurt. I’m sure we all have. But I want to say it externally, in this space so that I can be done saying it in my head. I have been so hurt. When I have been vulnerable, I have been ignored. When I have failed, I have felt like that is the only time I have ever met your expectations. I can’t help but notice and feel that at every moment that you had a choice between being present with us and being separate, you have chosen separateness and self-protection. It doesn’t matter if it was your spirituality, working hours, social life, hobbies, or meals. To choose separateness in any number of these categories is normal and good…to choose it in all of them makes me wonder why we share a home at all. It makes me feel used and unwanted. I have fought these feelings for a long time, unsuccessfully. And now I’m done. I don’t have the energy to fight them off anymore.  

I still want more for us. I know there’s more I can do and more I should have done but I don’t know what it is. I feel trapped and unequipped. I’m sorry for the ways I’ve hurt you and for the many ways in which I’ve failed to communicate.

So there it is. The monkey on my back that distracts me from my work, makes being home a chore, and otherwise complicates everything. And through all of this, I have heard the tiniest whisper "everyone is doing the best they can" which I hate because I want there to be a bad guy who has the power to give us justice. But there isn't. There's just us all trying badly because we don't know better. And we're all struggling with guilt and vanity, hurt and anxiety.

I desperately need something to hope for. And I'm waiting to see what that will be.