Christians with Depression
Signs of Depression and Hope in the Church
Depression And Sexuality
Depression and Sexuality by Bob Sometimes I just want to die. A lot of times really. No. That’s not right. It’s not that I want to die. I'm not attracted to the process of dying at all. It’s just that I want to be dead, want it to be over. I want to rest. And I want to rest with my record standing as it is. I don’t want to loose this fight. I don’t want to give in to my drives. I want to stop thinking about women. I don’t want to give in - to do what comes natural. I want to be able to go to my grave with dignity. I hate it. I hate who I am. I hate the fact that I can’t stop my mind constantly wandering - that girl, that beautiful girl - in the magazine, on the billboard, walking down the street, in church in the pew in front of me, talking to me, smiling at me - that smile, my God, that smile, and the way she flicked her hair, I almost fell over, and then she bent over in front of me to pick something up and gave me an eyeful of cleavage, and I know I’m not supposed to look and I tried not to look (well, I sorta tried, half-tried, I'm sure I did) but now it’s three hours later and I’m still thinking about them, I mean 'it', I mean ... I don't know what I mean but I can't get her out of my head! I hate the way my brain works. I hate the fact that I’m such an animal, and I hate the fact that I can’t talk about it and I hate the fact that nobody understands and that most people aren’t even remotely aware! There’s a war going on inside of me. So much of the time I want to scream but I keep silent, like the ocean‘s surface, all blood and violence underneath. What was that? No, I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little sore, a little tired, a little distracted, got something on my mind, don’t worry about it, yeah .. I’ll be fine, just let it go, please let it go, please let it go. I want it to end. I want to end the struggle, finish the game while I’m still ahead. I can’t talk about it, don’t want to think about it. When my girlfriend picks up on it, it’s all about her, how I don’t love her, don’t care about her feelings, don’t find her attractive. Of course she sees it that way. That’s never going to change. She’s never going to understand. I need to tell somebody, anybody. I wish I could tell everybody. Those that love me enough to help me get through this, they don’t understand, totally don’t understand. Those that do understand, they can’t help me because they don't see it as a problem. And they’re not here in church with me anyway. They’re up at the pub or down at the brothel or somewhere where I can’t be, and if they are in church, they’re full-on fighting to keep it under wraps just like I am and they dare not talk about it either. I can’t talk about it, must stop thinking about it. I can't keep going like this. I'll get my mind on to something else, anything else: check that chart, answer that email, click that link ... oh my God, that girl in the picture, that smile! ... I so want to be dead. This is a preview of the article click here for the complete article on depression
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