“I don’t want to live like a vagrant anymore,” I pray. “I don’t want to be known for my lack, my weakness, my constant recurring despair.”
I inhabit a limited soul longing for the wide expanse of eternity. Sometimes I wonder aloud, “How long, Lord? How long must I wait?”
I first stood in line in the Walmart pharmacy to pick up my tiny orange bottle of pills that were prescribed like a life-line, a desperate measure I didn’t want to believe I needed even after the tears crashed down as I sat in my crinkly gown, feeling exposed and naked in every way, and my doctor reached out and took my hand in his and called me kiddo and promised we’d figure this out.
But the sadness made sense then. I had lost my baby. Who could blame me for my despair?
And when it didn’t relent, he scribbled a prescription out on his pad, ripped it off, and handed it to me.
I sat in the parking lot as I fingered the side of the bottle and slipped a tiny white pill up and onto my open palm, placing it on my tongue and gulping it down like bitter wine. I tore at the label, scratching at the sticker with my thumbnail. I didn’t want anyone to know I was taking an antidepressant….Continue Reading
I’m at (in)courage today sharing about those times When You Are Not Fine.
