After several months of exhaustion, I finally had some energy. Every day I got more done, and felt better about the way my life was going. And then…
It rained for days, and I felt myself growing more and more hopeless and tired. Try as I might, I could not bring myself past the depression, or regain the hope I had so recently held. For rain? I wondered. And likely that was a lot of it. Certainly it was all I could think of. Until…
I went to life group (Bible Study) and was reminded of what we had talked about in church last week. I guess I had blocked it out. I used to be pretty good at that – or so I thought. I spent years dealing with that very issue. I should have been past it already! At least I thought I was mostly past it.
Sure, there were moments when the memories overwhelmed me, but it isn’t like I think about it all the time. It isn’t like it affects me all the time. I mean, lots of woman have gone through it, right? But most women still live okay. Isn’t the statistic like 1 in 5, or 1 in 3 even? If so many people have experienced it, why should it cause me so much pain?
I dealt with it for years. Most people close to me know about it, it isn’t like I am carrying this big secret alone or anything. Plus I have my faith. So many people don’t even have that.
Forgiveness has been given. The man died long ago. I don’t experience that anymore.
Unlike for most of my teens and early twenties, I am able to close my eyes without having to battle against flashbacks most of the time. They only come when I am talking about it, or thinking about it, or… someone asks about it.
Maybe that is why the week has been so hard. They weren’t talking specifically to me, but I still knew this was my history, too. It made me think about it. It made me remember.
But the week wasn’t so bad. Sure, Sunday at church was hard – but the afternoon was nice, and I spent it outside. I forgot, as I replaced my negative thoughts with plans for my garden. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were alright, too. I had energy, and got a lot done in my house. Thursday it rained, and though I forgot the message, as the time for life group grew nearer, I realized I really didn’t want to go.
Only, aside from how chilled I felt due to the rainy day, and how much I would have rather spend the evening with my dogs, under my blanket, watching Netflix – there was no good reason I could find not to go. So I went. And then I remembered, and realized it would have been better for me had I stayed at home.
So Friday was really hard. I was so depressed that nothing at all seemed to have any hope. “What is the point,” I thought. “Nothing I do will make any difference anyway.” It rained and rained. It rained so much that a couple of houses not far out of town were flooded, and destroyed by mudslides. (The people were okay, but maybe the pets weren’t.)
Well, the days were rainy, and the days were hard – and I thought it was all about the weather. But perhaps there was more to it than that.