Count Your Blessings

by irenedavid

I have had a rough week.  Too many lows and not enough highs. It’s the “dark night of the soul.”  I first read that phrase in The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning, and it is spot on for what I am dealing with.

I went through a very similar period during the late summer of 2012.  My husband had been arrested, he lost his job, he was going to do 30 days in jail, our life was turned upside-down.  I grieved, raged, became despondent and felt as though it would never end.  Then my husband finished his jail time, the court released him and things got better.

But here is the problem for a lot of borderlines: by the time they are diagnosed, the “darkness” in most of them is well-rooted and takes the therapeutic equivalent of a backhoe to get rid of it.  And even though my therapist is himself a borderline, he didn’t really suffer that much from the “darkness.”  Plus, he’s younger than I, so my roots are years deeper than any he would have had.

It has become a huge point of frustration for me that my husband, my therapist, my friends, my family cannot understand this.  I imagine that many people who are clinically depressed may understand it.  I know other borderlines do because I’ve read their posts on a support site and the feelings they describe are just like my own.

So how does this work for me and my relationship with God?  I can’t figure that out.  It’s a puzzle with a solution that the puzzle keeps hidden.  And it makes me crazy.  Had therapy today and came away with a sense of hopelessness.

On the up side, I saw my 39.5 weeks pregnant daughter, her husband and their two little girls (my grandkids).  What a merciful blessing that was.  Little girls that run to me screaming, “Gigi, Gigi!” and then kiss me and hug me.  There is nothing else like it.  Sometimes they will stop moving long enough to sit on my lap and let me cuddle them.  Sheer bliss.

Christ is close to the brokenhearted and binds up the wounds of the suffering.  I just never expected that it would take so long to bind up my wounds.  The wounds are very deep, though.  Maybe the healing is just a long, slow process that I can’t appreciate because I so want it to be over.

Pray for me and my husband, please.  And for the third granddaughter to be who will bless my soul even more.