What Depression Feels Like? (self-portrait)
how someone rescued me
a lighthouse — static traffic light of the sea — sets the shoreline as home, blinks at the waves, guides lost ships. but you — you start drifting. thoughts drift into grey-blue hues, like erratic tides: north, south, west, east — unanchored, refusing to be policed. major depression takes over your ship, stands at the helm — new captain by default — steering with empty eyes. and you — so tired — set the course to autopilot. you wrestle with what looks like your reflection — and let me tell you, it's no picnic. you tried to fight it with a fake smile, hoping it would give you joy. still, nothing fixes anything inside. so you clock out on your life, leap overboard. for a moment — peace. floating on your back, oceanic curves relax every muscle. a thousand kisses from each droplet. the sea shelters you with every wave. but something grabs your feet, pulls you into the deep. a wave crash, then a current. you lose sight of everything — the shore, the lighthouse, even your ship. you're lost. that’s when you realize — the sea lied. it never meant to hug you. it waited to catch you. hopelessness wraps around you, each second under, like water locked inside a cylinder, pressing on every side. "i can’t breathe!" you scream — but only bubbles rise. time ticks. you accept defeat. your nostrils befriend the water. your lungs sigh heavy. each breath feels like forever. you ask: "when will this — finally — be over?" But then a beam appears — a bright light bending the water. Hope swims toward you, offering a hand. Palm open. Scared, you hesitate — looking inside first, wondering if this hand can be trusted. We’re no strangers to betrayal. Seeing a deep hole in its center, you grab it like a child clinging to their Father’s hand. It pulls you back to the ship — your forgotten wooden home, lost decks you once abandoned, believing you weren’t fit to lead. It wraps you in well-loved, cotton-threaded Turkish towels, sits you at the helm, untangles thought spirals like no other. And gently says: My Darling, you navigate this ship. It doesn’t lead you. You tilt your head toward the wind. Rays of sun kiss your skin. Ruach — new breath rushes through your nose, fills every traumatized bone, this time, with something different. New life moves onto your lips. And somehow — you're now steering this ship.
Heart Call:
Mental health is so layered, right?
Unless Jesus was involved... I’d already be gone.
I’d be like: “Okay, we’ve got therapy or the psychiatrist today. Wanna come with me?”
And I wonder:
What silent battles are you fighting today alone (no one knows about…)?
Now close your eyes, Imagine He’s holding your hand, how do you feel?
And, release your unfiltered emotions (scream, cry, whatever….)?
Photo Credits: Michele Canciello, Joshua Hibbert.