Moments of Remembrance

Every once in awhile I have vivid memories of my time spent in the hospital. I can envision my room, the med station, the cafeteria. I can smell it. You know how places have distinct smells? The hospital has one- sterile. I can recall names and put them with faces and put them with stories. You're not supposed to share stories about where you've been with other patients outside of a controlled group therapy, but you hear it all. Some things make you feel very guilty... "Why am I here? This person has had such a hard life. Way harder than mine." I feel the constant cold in my toes, even though I am wearing socks... And sweatpants... And a sweatshirt. You can't escape the cold here. When I have these moments of remembrance, the same feeling comes over me. As if I were there at that exact moment.

Depression feels like you have a big hole in you and you try desperately to keep all your guts and vital organs inside you. But during my time in the unit it was as if I stopped trying to keep everything in. Like I just let everything ooze out everywhere. But it was okay because your roommate was oozing too. And then you go to group therapy and realize that everyone is oozing and it's a safe place so no one gawks at you. No one thinks it's pathetic that you can't keep yourself together. You're allowed to cry in front of them and say what you're mad about. You're taught that the oozing is okay for a little because we all understand. 

I don't know why this popped into my head tonight. Perhaps because it is freezing in my room and the way I was curled up on my bed flooded back the memories of me in the same position in the dark room of B2. I don't look at these times as happy. But really, they weren't sad. They were melancholy, but hopeful. They were, well, depressing. Mostly empty and numb. But there were moments of tender mercies that make me look back and laugh or smile. 

As I lay here and remember, I decided to get on my knees and pray for all the kids, adults, moms, dads, and grandparents that are there right now.  It makes my heart ache knowing that there are people in this world who cannot feel the love that our Savior has for them, for all of us. Not because they are unworthy of feeling His love, but because they are encompassed by the thick cloud of depression that chokes all good out of you. I felt very strongly tonight that these people need our prayers. I guess that is my message. Remember the forgotten. And if you see someone who is oozing, be sensitive. Ask how you can be there for your oozing friend if you are not sure how to help. Always encourage treatment. I will never regret getting help. And most importantly, TALK. Start the conversation. Make it a normal thing. The stigma of mental illness can never be erased if we do not TALK ABOUT IT.