“God, I am so lonely….” As I drive through Fountain, Colorado tears fill my eyes. I can tell it is fall. The fresh cut football field is proof that fall is in the air. However, when I view it, I can’t smell the fresh cut grass, nor can I see the vibrant colors of the leaves. Everything appears to be brown. Either dead or dying, my depression cuts into the very soul of me.
My marriage has fallen on hard times. There is no common ground, I either spend all my time at work, or I stay away from my house. The Hemi-powered truck is not great on gas mileage, but it beats sitting at home and spending the day fighting with my spouse. “I give up.” My wife has given up as well. She asks for a divorce, and I don’t want her to be any unhappier than she already is, so I have the papers drawn up. “You are a failure! What kind of man can’t keep his wife satisfied? Kill yourself already.”
The Zoloft can’t help me. Self-medication is destroying my body, not to mention the damage it is wreaking upon my mind. I often call home, and for a moment it seems that things might turn around, until I realize that my marriage changing would require both of us to compromise. “That is not going to happen. We can’t even be in the same room together.”
When the day of my divorce arrives, I walk into the courthouse in a daze. Standing there, it feels like all my failures are on full display. The judge asks if I agree to everything listed in the document. “Yes sir, I agree.” Nodding his head, he tacks on the rest of my obligations that I owe to my estranged family. Outwardly, I show little emotion, however, inwardly I feel like I have been impaled upon a sword of my own making.
As I walk out into the brisk air, I realize that it is over. There will never be any going back. Too much hurt has been said, to much pain and suffering caused by both pairs of hands has been wrought. It was a bloody, horrible fight but now it is over. Forgiveness seems like a foreign concept. “God, I need a drink!” I walk to the minivan that brought me to the courthouse. The ride home is silent and foreboding. I have never had to pay people to leave me alone, and now I am left with nothing but an empty apartment and my depression. Never have I felt so totally abandoned.
When people ask me what I want from a future relationship I always reply: A sugar momma, who owns a fleet of private planes, a chain of uninhabited islands and enough money that she won’t miss it when I splurge on my new toys. I will live on the island and she can live where ever she chooses. We can get together twice a year to rekindle the flames of love.” Jaded much? Eventually my answer becomes shorter. “I want icing. I don’t want the whole relationship cake.” However, none of this cures the loneliness in my heart.
Gradually, I come to realize that I can never love anyone when I hate myself. The first step in my recovery must be self-care. The heart will heal in time, but the self-inflicted wounds upon my own psyche will require an extensive amount of care to heal. There is no feeling like you are unlovable. Or that you will never be enough for someone. Coupled with depression it is a fatal combination (or near fatal in my experience). However, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. In my case it makes me bitter.
Today, I am better. My wounds have not healed, they still hurt, but the scars do not scare me. In my own way, I am learning to live again. Writing A Walk in Darkness extracts a heavy toll. However, it is therapeutic for me to get it out of my heart. Seeing it on the screen and being able to deal with it is a great feeling. Who knows, it may help me overcome the remaining hurt in my heart.