One of the most disturbing things I've heard in my life is that depression is a sin. Maybe I misunderstood that idea the first time I heard it, and probably whoever propagated the idea misunderstood what true depression is. Or maybe they meant just getting discouraged and down on yourself. But it was a depressing idea. Catch-22.
I guess I can see the point from a certain perspective. When you're wrapped up in self-pity, you have neither self-control nor self-esteem, nor do you see anyone else's suffering-- and consequently you can't relieve any of that suffering nor do anything productive. And not fulfilling your purpose in life is certainly a sin.
Plus, of course, that lack of self-control is just an open invitation for temptation to stroll through the door and make itself at home. You may think that a woman who's bedbound and sedated doesn't have many temptations, but I do. First, there's the drugs themselves. Vicodin and percocet at my fingertips make all the pain (mental and physical) go away. The pain might not be very bad, but maybe I need just a little more codeine to help me sleep. (How many can I take?)
And of course the drugs bring more temptations with them, along with that warm, floaty feeling that just makes all the troubles go away... for now. I'm tempted to say what I think all the time, and some of the things I think when drugged should really remain unsaid. OK, all of them.
I'm tempted to spend the day reading in bed instead of doing anything useful like writing my novel.
I'm tempted to just stay up reading all night instead of doing anything useful. Like sleeping.
I'm tempted to just pack up to leave this state and say, "Whoever wants to come with me, get in the car." (This was one of those things that should have remained unsaid.)
I had more temptations, but the drugs stopped working and I'm not due for any more quite yet. I'll just lie here and whimper quietly. That's not a temptation; it's just something I've gotta do.