This was written during a time of depression in my recent past while I was a Christian and still am one.

Listen to me. Would you hear my voice if I screamed at you? Would you listen to me if I laughed in your face? Would you pay attention if I wailed about my pain? Would you notice if I crashed and burned in front of you? Would you stop to look if I shouted at you and yelled at you and made my voice hoarse with swearing and cursing at you? I choose to speak. Maybe you will hear me, maybe you won’t. But at least I spoke.
So you have a lot of friends. You have fun, you go places, you do things. You then turn around and tell me you wish you had something else, more. Well I can see you don’t have a special someone yet, but at least you have lots of friends. At least you have people do to things with. Oh, you are trying to distract yourself from what you don’t have? I see, well you can shut up and be thankful that you have bodies around to help you with that. You’re so fun to be with that your friends want to be with you a lot. You talk so much that they badly want to listen. They beg you to be around them because you’re the best, you’re so funny and you make them feel good. How can you think of the significant other you don’t have when there are so many other people who want you, need you in their lives? After all, if you didn’t be with them, they’d be lonely. But you’re not lonely because you surround yourself with faces. Yeah you tell me you’re sad about yourself and that you don’t have a chosen someone. I hold back my horrific attack reserved for you. I hear the sound of your talking but I don’t listen.
How dare you tell me of your troubles when you are unalone. Don’t you ever tell me of what you carry when you have someone to help you with your trifles. If someone has chosen to love you, don’t expect me to believe you when you tell me something in your life is hard. I don’t want to hear about your petty wants that are not being met when someone chose you above all others and wants to be with you, precious you, special and unique. You’re so beautiful to one person, so don’t you tell me that your little desires are unsatisfied. Someone made you a whole with their half and now you want something else? How can you tell me there’s something difficult when all is right in your world of sharingfulness? Your sorry little mind must be all confused, a little ungrateful, and slightly misled to be saying these things. I hold back my rageful assault you deserve. I hear you but I don’t listen.
I’m the one I should scream at and laugh at. I am the most blameful. I have friends but I am the unhappy one who has the friends. I would be the unsatisfied one who’s loved but is still discontent. I deserve the cursing wailing swearing raging anger wrath coursing shouting upon my head. I am those I hate and I am those I don’t listen to. I am those I care nothing for. I am those I don’t believe. I shouldn’t be listened to. I am judged.
I am afraid of myself because I have been cured of loneliness forever and yet I choose to make myself sick for the fun of it. I am proud, aloof, and selfish. I am ungrateful, unpeaceful, and unaccepting. I possess all things yet believe I have nothing. I am the richest yet think I’m the poorest. I am the most saved yet I say I am sad. I am the most found yet I cry out that I’m lost. How can I not be scared of me? I’m completely opposite of the truth.
I am childish. I don’t know anything. I am confused. I am coping with something that eludes me. I fear. I have it all yet don’t believe it. I am angry but see that I am those I’m mad at. I am those I condemn. I am what I don’t understand. I am with others yet think I’m alone. I am around people yet think I’m by myself. I am who I am and I don’t like it. This is me and it’s not good to look at. I can’t explain my frustration. I want to fight to fling out my voice for the world to hear and listen but I can’t make them or me stop to be here. There’s nothing going on that I understand. I just go by through the day and think and notice and think and feel and think and it all goes around and around in the cement block I am. So what? Who cares. Whatever happens is fine. There’s nothing I can do anyway and it’s better that way.
Fire heart intense surrounding blood pounding inwardly future finite can’t hold anything please forward rain sky skin forever stained vain shaken vein broken burning smoke due suffer paining sound inside fake sign eyes blue false lack rasp valve shriek increase down yelp hurt scale me sure pulse beat feel wince slave what don’t lower skeleton lessen lament cold alone passive sad leave quake powder wrenching inner now nothing question up.


This was written during a time of depression in my recent past while I was a Christian and still am one.

I am trapped. Can’t You see? I don’t want to be this way. But they hold me back. They pull me with ropes tied knotted around my neck waist wrists ankles. They yell at me that I mustn’t be different it’s not right not okay. There is no deliverance no acceptance. They yank at the ropes, I feel the burning scathing intoxicating race through my flesh. I can’t resist their force. I wish I could run away and escape. I long for freedom, for liberty. Who will rescue me? I’m weak and tired, the pain binds me, the resistance overcomes me. All these people pull me down pull me back dragging me along the ground behind them as they march along stately with saintly duty. I am a prisoner I can’t get away. They won’t let me. There’s too many, they are big I am small. So I am scraped ripped along on the rocky ground behind them, my bones powdered, skin lacerated, lungs holed, heart quenched of blood. Until I’m nothing, nothing at all anymore. The vultures come to eat my remains that cling to the rocks. The crowd who destroyed me stomps on into the distance not even knowing I’m gone. If they did, they wouldn’t care. Because me being gone is better than what I would have chosen for myself.
I would have chosen to be free. I want to be loved, to love, to reach out and care, to make a difference, I want to matter. I want to live my life without everyone telling me what to do. I want to not regret every thought, action, everything I have to do, don’t get to do, think to do, want to do. I don’t want to live with the guilt, the fear anymore. I can’t live the life I want because it’s not real. What I want doesn’t exist. I am self-induced in my miserability. I will never find what I crave, search for, long for because it can’t be found. What am I supposed to do? I’m lost, I have nowhere to go, I’m gone. I can only wish there’s a way out of this trap. If You don’t save me I will die here nothing and alone. I will fade away. Is that what You want? What do You want? I am immobilized, incapacitated, dismembered and trapped. So what now?

“At the acceptable time I have listened to you, and on the day of salvation I helped you.
Now is the acceptable time, now is the day of salvation.” 2 Cor. 6:2

Poem of my thoughts

This was written during a time of depression in my recent past while I was a Christian and still am one.

Help me please can you hear me God? I’m waiting floating in the thick air of the temporal space I roam wandering as I suffer the pain that must be my fault. I can’t fix the hurt I feel because I don’t know how I am become this way I can’t see the cause I don’t know the problem. I feel confusion overreigning me what’s happening? I must be wrong because I don’t know what’s right.
Every word from my mouth is a faltering excuse that covers a cry of desperation to anyone who will hear and reach out and care but I know I’m not worth it so they don’t. I am only a purposeless being prone to mistakes. My blood burns with searing anger because my dungeon is full of darkness and the aching loss of what I wish I had and was. The light of God is too far away I can’t see it I’m not strong enough. I don’t understand I am lost broken agonized.
My smile is a mask, my tears are hidden in my eyes that blink at the world unseen. The commotion around me is just meaningless chatter and pointless. Do I have to prove myself to these speakers of nothing? I am a waste I am invisible to them. Their faces look through me. Their hearts of stone laugh at my heart crumbled into a pile of ashes. I don’t have a heart anymore it’s gone over finished no more beating or thumping to hear or feel.
Religion is a prison better than the torture of life that has no future in heaven so why can’t I go now to walk the golden streets? I can’t do anything here. Won’t I be of better use to You there? I am not brave. My head screams at me to do something worthwhile but I can’t. I’m not important, I can’t stop the drive to be perfect. If You’re so sovereign, why did You make me this way?
I have melted in the heat of a bleeding fire of loneliness. I’m tired of trying I collapse after every step each moment under the burden I carry. My back is laden with boulders that weigh me down crushing my bones and piercing my skin. The voices around me tell me what to do, what I should do, adding more and more weight to my shoulders. I sink further and further. When will I be free?
I can’t breathe. The eyes of people look on me without caring and then look away as if they never saw me. Suffering is mine to bear so they laugh because that’s all they do. They talk and talk, getting louder and louder. They don’t see my bleeding body, they don’t see my vacant heart chasm, they don’t see the cuts, the scabs, the burns, the pain oozing, the exhaustion, the hopelessness. They see nothing, they hear nothing, they feel nothing but a pride in themselves.
Hope, is it a lie, and light, is it an illusion? Comfort is void and gone from my existence. No one understands me because no one wants to. I have to show them I’m interested in them to get them to pay me attention. I have to pretend to be happy to get them to talk to me. I am an actress in a world full of robots, a living corpse among mannequins.
I am torn up, my life has been scattered among the stars, never to be recovered. I wish to become soon numb with a pain so great that I forget all else. When can I be delivered from the pain inside by a pain outside? Who will rain on me soothing drops from clouds of peace? No one. I can’t try anymore I just can’t. I have no idea what to do how to feel what to think.
How am I supposed to live a life when I’m nothing but a passive skeleton of bone covered in muscle, sinew, nerves, all coursing with blood, pure red blood rich with color? As deep as the ocean is blue is as deep is the red of my blood. My insides pulse with blood that remains. The red is as bright as the black of the dark of night.
The fear suffocates me the regulations paralyze me. I have nowhere to turn so I fall. I abandon myself, I am alone, I am run out. What more is there to say? I am finished. I am failed.
If You see fit to do anything, God of the universe, I wait. If You don’t do anything, I wait, waiting as long as You want. Thy will be done. If You are there, I wait because I can do nothing else.
Except believe. I have to believe. I choose to muster only the strength to decide that I need you. I am an emptiness at Your feet. You are the only healing that can possibly cover my soul and I beg for You with every breath I have.

For the Forgotten

In the world I hear so many voices competing for my attention. And yet one voice I do not hear is the voice of depression colliding with Christianity. Maybe that is because it is a voice so soft I cannot hear it above the blaring sound of everything else. If it is a voice that exists, it is a quiet one. But it needs to be heard.
I am a Christian and I have experienced real depression in my recent past. I have been mostly silent while I was in this dark depression for a long time. But now I will speak out. My heart feels for my brothers and sisters who are in the same place I was.
I wrote about depression while I was in the midst of it. It is my desire to share what I wrote then. I wish to be a voice for those unable to speak. For the words unspoken, here I have cried out. For the feelings unshown, I am standing. For the hidden faces, I fight.
I will finally speak about my experience and I will no longer keep silent. I have quieted my voice so much before and I will not do so any more. Christianity is sometimes plagued by depression inside people. When this happens, it deserves to have a voice. While it may be a voice that is barely heard, it needs to be listened to. It is a voice begging for life.