Dani and I had a heart-to-heart tonight. More accurately, I had the heart-to-heart and she sat there in stunned silence. It was dark out. The only light came from the Tennessee moon. We sat on the pool's edge with our feet dangling in the water, watching the ripples make the moon's reflection go all wonky. That kind of atmosphere is condusive to honest speak. I need a pool in my backyard.
Sometimes, the truth is, when you need to make a point, there's only one word that'll do. Shit. There it is. I don't cuss often, and never around my kids. (Although, I do confess to having a potty mouth. I say "crap" way more than I ought to). I think that's why tonight, when the S word came out of my mouth, Dani sat up straight and listened.
Here's the deal. When I was 16, I came within 3 feet of killing myself and 10 friends who were crammed into my car with me. I was drunk. That night scared the SHIT out of me. I never drove drunk again. I never drove TIPSY again. Tonight, Dani needed to hear that story. And try as I might, I could not come up with a word that made my point any better. I know many of you will disagree. (My sweet husband is one of you.) But hey. I'm feeling honest.
And while I'm at it, there's this:
A beautiful, sweet, very observant friend mentioned to me that I've seemed distant. Funny thing is, she hasn't seen me or spoken to me in person. I've seemed distant online. Well. All I can say is, you should see me in person. I. am. not. myself. Most of my local friends haven't noticed because I've made myself scarse. A chronically, chemically depressed person becomes skilled at hiding it. I am the master.
As much as I hate it, it's time to admit that I need my medicine. The doc told me last November to get on it and STAY on it, and not to wean myself off or else. I weaned. Now I'm dealing with the "or else". Again. Depression is a beast. It's hideous. I fight against it because I don't want it to own me. I stop the medicine because I don't want to be "depressed". I am not a depressive person. I hate the label. It is not ME. My natural state of mind is that of JOY. When I feel the depression building, I compound the problem by getting angry at it. I know it's medical and that if it were cancer, I'd have no problem treating it. I KNOW THAT. But as always happens, I fight fight fight it until I just don't have anything left to fight with. And when that happens, I crash hard. This time, I'm catching myself mid-air. I won't crash. At least not hard.
Even so, as I sit here and admit to the world - to complete strangers and new acquaintances and people whose opinions of who they think I am are changing with every word I write - as I sit here and get honest and acknowledge the beast, the words that come to mind are: Shit. How did I get here again?
And the next words... the ones that sprang to the forefront of my mind and my soul and my heart as I typed that last sentence... are these:
Make me new, Lord Jesus. Make me new.
For it seems that in so many ways, I'm not enough like you.
Take this weary vessel I am in
And mold me once again.
Take my life, take my spirit, make me new.