Fragile Grey

Fragile Grey

When 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. 

I don't understand the source, this unintelligent, illogical, untruthful pain that whispers lies of unworthiness, yet no intellectual argument lifts me.  The intensity is beyond logic.  I watch the static come, praying it will be a brief visitor, a reminder of my need, hopeful it won't rob me of days or even months like the one summer. The summer where I surrendered to its haze, unable to get out of beds with a pile of books, dirtied dishes, and unwashed laundry creating walls against the exposure of fellowship. 

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.