Fragile GreyWhen the gray descends I feel the victim, a status most times I refuse. But the fog robs me of my fight and all that is left is the fragile. Only a thin veneer keep me from the unflattering sobs. This facade is so easily pierced and I am left exposed.
|My thin veneer|
The skill of camouflage never properly learned, I leave others uncomfortable with my unconcealed need. I hate the tears, yet they flow unable to be checked, they come and I attempt to mask the deepness with a Mona Lisa smile.
Job's cries and David's tears serve as my expression. Nothing "bad" need happen for my visitor; in fact, I am blessed beyond measure. This too feels condemning, I should have no need for tears. Many others suffer so much. I don't see these warrior Pollyannas with tears streaming down their faces. Those who rejoice when starving or feel God's presence in their child's terminal illness seem so much more deserving of moments of self-pity. But even still my enemy, depression, comes and causes me to sink.