A loving relative responded to “My love letter to you“:
It is one thing to be sad about something, but if it persists and disrupts your life, you may not have “sadness”, you may have clinical depression. If so, please find help.
There’s no doubt I was disabled for a little while by clinical depression. That was about two years ago now. Five different pills, none good. By the grace of God, I stuck with my 4 forms of therapy, down to 1 today, and the other 3 not ruled out if I feel the needs again.
“Help” doesn’t mean any more than help. Help doesn’t do the work for me. But it led to answering my soul’s summons. Pills and therapy transference ran their course. “Persists” and “disrupts” are tricky words. Impatience to feel better is trickier. The clinic can’t be a home. The depression couldn’t be chased away. And it’s still there in the form of sadness and my soul’s dark night, so the transformation that depression began is still underway. That’s what the depression wanted.
Darkness is where I’m befriending my Shadows. And they are as deeply beautiful as all that is found in light. As the transformation proceeds, I’m growing more willing to turn my eyes to both the darkness and light, without looking away from either in overwhelm, disgust, fear, or numbing. Only *I* can grow *me*. “Without God, I can’t; without me, God won’t.”
Those angels who loved/love me were/are my pills and ‘help’ which helped me survive long enough to wander into the beautiful darkness that awaited me, without mortally wounding my Self first. Thank you for love.