In a row of anxieties soaked in depression, we fight our way armed with hope. A hope so timid and weak, cloaked by regrets that overwhelm a tortured soul.
It is a foxhole lacking non-believers, still so deep one cannot climb up. Depressed have no luxury of hopelessness. We would die instantly. Forever. Still, many of us will scream desperation and would surrender to any proposal of relief.
But that proposal never comes. It cannot be given from the outside. It is not a hot chocolate that melts the despair away.
The only way out is insisting on the mechanism that gradually builds a belief of hope. That there is a way out.
That there is a way out. That there is a way out. That there is a way out.
Depression is neither good nor evil. It is suffering. But also a blessing. Because a troubled soul is not an arrogant soul. Not infected with pride, lust. Only lust for life.
Arrogance and pride and even persistence in evil are on the other side of good to bad spectrum. The side of freedom to do as one pleases. With no responsibilities to eternal principles.
The depressed and the anxious are closer to heaven. Closer than we think.
Mental illness takes everything away. Especially earthly things. We feel no taste. No smell. No colors. No sound. No emotions. We are detached. Alone. Hanging in a vacuum surrounded by demons. Worthlessness. In 3D surround.
Special effects that amplify sorrow. Many times. Always too many.
But hanging in space means not falling. It means we hang by a thread. Tiny but strong. Hanging all the way from the blue skies above. It is our umbilical cord. It cannot be cut unless we do it ourselves and sometimes the temptation is strong. But we never do it. Otherwise we start to fall and never reach the bottom. And the Heaven is farther and farther away.
Concentrate on that cord. It is a lifeline to Heaven. Our ticket. Straight up. No deviations to evil. We have been rendered unable to do harm. Because we are harmed deeply.
Blessed by anxiety and depression our souls shine in the darkness. We fight the oily petroleum substance of death. Every day. Exercising light as a reflection of Heaven.
One day our lights will meet. And we’ll outshine the Sun.