I fear the darkness inside of me. My exterior is rough and tough with a smile and a wink, but buried deep inside, too deep to arise except on occasion, is a crippling darkness. Darkness that comes from a void, a black hole of panic and pain.
I have always been melancholy, even as a child. My surroundings greatly affected(s) me. I fear failure and causing disappointment. I volunteer and take on more than I can handle. I allow people to walk all over me. I am a sad puppy looking for affection and acceptance.
Growing up enveloped by a legalistic Christian church and family, I was pressured to be ashamed of my melancholia. Good Christian girls do not get sad; a true follower of Christ does not feel doubt and shame. My right to feelings was stripped away from me. If I was not 100% utterly joyful, I felt like I was being sinful. I think the pressure to constantly be happy created so much shame when I wasn't happy that it turned simple discontent to panicked despair.
If you are a Christian, you will always be happy. Well, I am often having to stop myself from thinking thoughts of darkness. If you see me shaking my head, murmuring, "Stop, stop, stop; it's over, it's over, it's over," I'm trying to shake away the darkness. Sometimes it works, and sometimes (most times) I just look crazy. Maybe, I am crazy. Maybe the darkness has roots inside my brain, twisting my thoughts.
The smallest things can trigger the darkness to rear its ugly head and take control like a body-snatcher. Today, my sub did not give my students the handouts I printed out for them. I choked down tears at school. I was feeling numb and beyond exhausted, overwhelmed with trying to keep the darkness down. On the drive home, I would look back in the mirror at Ish and frantically pray, "God, please, not now. I can't. I can't. I have to think of Ish. Ish. Ish."
My husband could not understand why I wasn't responding warmly to him when he got home. I could not think. I was shutting the darkness out, and in the process, I shut out light as well. Others cannot understand how I do not want the darkness. I do not ask for the darkness. I fight it the best I can. He's too tired of playing this game, my game of melancholia. a game I always lose. When he drove off to go to the gym, I collapsed. Bawling, howling, moaning. "I can't, Oh God, I can't."
My darkness drives away friends and family. I do not connect well to others because I know they will eventually be tired of my darkness. It is why I graduated high school with no friends. It is why I only have a handful of friends now, friends who have never seen the darkness.
From what I have read of the Bible, there is no commandment to be happy. I think the personality God has given me leans towards extreme empathy and self-awareness. Perhaps, those are gifts. I wish I would have been taught how to turn the melancholia into a beautiful gift, a useful resource, instead of being castigated for not having a zombie-smile (a la the Duggars). Telling me I am being sinful because I am exhausted from fighting darkness only provides fuel for the next round.
Now that I have wiped my tears, I am going to hold my baby tightly.
*My blog title is from a Frank Peretti book. He's a prolific author, and one of the few Christian authors I enjoy.
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