Dear Friend,
This isn’t easy for me to write. I suppose it’s never easy to admit your fault, to face the failures of yourself, or to see clearly where you have been so obviously incorrect in your assumptions. But I felt I owed you this confession. You deserve my apology and my admittance of grievous error.
You see, I have been that person you hate. I have been that friend who loves you, but silently watches you and wonders why you make it so hard. I’m that Christian you roll your eyes at who unknowingly judges you for not being able to just get over your illness already. Please don’t stop reading here. Please let me try and explain.
I had experienced depression in the past. I had faced suicidal thoughts, to the point of a failed hanging attempt. I had abused alcohol to numb the pain, and I had been on a number of antidepressants over the years. I had heard doctors use words like “bipolar” to diagnose me, and I had sat by myself, totally empty, wishing I was dead rather than having to face the way I felt. I had seen generations of my family suffer with [sic] alcoholism, mental hospitals, and suicide. I had been there, and I had felt like the Lord brought me through it. I had felt victorious in His ability to break those generational chains and to heal me. I walked in it, and when I saw you suffering I wondered why you couldn’t do the same. I didn’t want to judge you, but I suppose if I’m being honest that is exactly what I was doing. I was comparing your walk to my walk, and inadvertently I was placing myself above you, as if I had obtained some spiritual revelation you had yet to see! I’d pray for you, but I’d also shake my head in frustration, like I had obtained a cure that was just waiting for you to grasp also.
Again, please don’t stop here. My story wasn’t over.
Sure, I woke sometimes with the blues. I’d feel that melancholy sadness try and overtake me. I’d pray the armor of God, I’d cover myself with His truth in His Word, and I would feel like an overcomer. Nothing wrong with that, not really. Except when I would project that on you. I truly didn’t mean to do it, but I think when I couldn’t understand your struggle and empathize any longer with your fight I was forgetting where I had come from, who had delivered me, and who held us all in His love. God didn’t love me or favor me more, but in my thought-life, I acted that way when I couldn’t be sympathetic and recognize your battle. I’m sorry.