Part of the last letter to my counselor

I feel like crap.  I don’t want to talk to people, don’t feel like writing, don’t even feel like eating.  Everyday is a struggle to get through, a struggle I don’t feel like battling.  I know there isn’t anyone who would care if I left this Earth, well except my husband who would miss my paycheck.  I know I can’t kill myself.  At least when I accepted that as an option, I had hope.  I know as weird as it might sound, I had hope that the pain would stop, and soon, if need be.  Now there is no hope.  I don’t believe that the feelings will ever stop.  Why should I?  I’ve been like this for so long.  I’ve spent so much time in my life battling just to get to the next day.  Half hoping I would, half sad that I did.

I’m tired of being told I’m a bad Christian because I’m so depressed.  Apparently I can’t be a good Christian if I’m depressed. But the same person in the same breath will tell me that depression is a disease, just like diabetes, and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of it.  I don’t understand the reasoning.  But in some ways, it’s easy to accept the fact that I’m a horrible person, and that I deserve the depression.  After all, it has to be someone’s fault, and I’m the easiest target to blame. 

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