I’ve been up for an hour and a half, and I can already tell that this is going to be a terrible day.
The drive home from my parent’s house yesterday was awful–emotionally I mean, traffic and weather were quite good. But I did have to pull over at one point and just sob.
I wrote something last night, then deleted it because I knew that I was uber-depressed, and I’d feel better in the morning. Well, I’m not feeling better.
This is definitely the worst funk I’ve been in since starting the Lexapro. It doesn’t help to know that the cause of this particular depression is my own damn fault.
I’ve been thinking about trials, and love a lot lately. Not so much romantic love (although, that would be nice) but the love between a parent and a child, or between God and man. (The English language is woefully lacking words to describe these different kinds of love.)
I realized when I was in the temple the other day that everything that God does is out of love–and yes bad things happen, but that doesn’t mean He doesn’t love us. Trials help us to grow–and become strong. In theory, anyway.
If I could be rid of my depression, I would be, but a loving Heavenly Father knows that in learning to live with it, I will become the person that I need to be. It’s a bit trite to repeat that everything happens for a reason, but I absolutely believe it to be true.
I’m rambling. I should stop.
Anyway, I know things will turn out. I know the result will be better than anything I can imagine–both in this life and in the next, but sometimes it’s hard not being able to see the end from the beginning.