Today is World Mental Health Day-a day to raise awareness for the monsters of mental illness we who suffer battle every single day.
It doesn’t make me less than.
Or crazy. (Most of the time.)
It makes me cleave to God all the more because I desperately need Him to function with the appearance of a somewhat normal person.
But I also think living with anxiety and depression makes me more compassionate, more thoughtful, and maybe a little more interesting than I would be without it.
Oh, I’ve railed at God for creating me like this, begged Him for healing, and groaned prayers that only the Spirit could understand.
I’ve been ashamed to talk about it because I don’t want to face scorn. I don’t want people to see me as incapable, yet I desperately want to be understood in spite of it.
I am me, not in spite of my mental illness, but because of it. It’s a gift that keeps me in the folds of God’s love. I don’t understand it; I accept it.
Like the aspostle Paul wrote, I choose to see it as a gift to cause me to constantly and wholly rely on God. It’s not a gift I would’ve picked, but it has and is shaping me, molding me, changing me.
Maybe there will be a day without daily medications, therapists, panic attacks, and days I just can’t make it out my front door. Maybe not.
I just trust God to shine through all the broken places so people can see His love in my eyes.
I choose to live because of it, not in spite of it.