My Brain Feels Sick


My brain feels sick. It doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to, and it feels like it isn’t working right. My brain feels like it needs to cuddle up under a warm flannel blanket, eat a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup, and sleep time away on the couch until it recovers.

I know my brain, and what I know of my brain right now is that it’s not working right. The way it’s functioning right now is not how it’s supposed to be. I may tend to be a pessimistic person, but living continuously in a state of hopelessness is not my normal. I may be the biggest realist of all my friends, but flirting with nihilism is not my normal. I may feel down when I think about the world and its problems, but getting stuck in a place of depression is not my normal. And I may be prone to always ask questions that get to the heart of matters, but admitting that I’m questioning my own existence is not my normal.

My brain feels sick.

I want to ask God why He’s letting me go through this. I want Him to show me the good that may one day come of this. But right now, I can’t see the potential good; I can’t imagine the what-may-come-of-this stories. I am trying to keep my head above water as I’m floating in the middle of a vast, endless ocean. My ankle is still tied to my anchor, but the rope preventing me from completely floating away is getting longer and stretching thinner. God, don’t cut me loose and let me float away.

I want to be the person I used to be — someone who was more confident and sure of herself, possessed a sense of purpose, had hope, was less fixated on her own problems, and felt strong in her faith.

Now I don’t want to listen to Christians songs on the radio anymore. What has always been my unwavering daily discipline of bible and devotional reading has become spotty. My index cards of people to pray for have lain untouched on my desk for weeks. My prayers to be selfless toward my family and friends have become selfish prayers of despair and pleas for help. My ambition to glorify God in all I do has been reduced to a fight to just hang on to my tattered faith. I used to feel zeal upon waking in the morning to continue where I left off the day prior; now, I just feel sadness as I’m sucked out of the world of my dreams back into facing my reality. A reality I never asked to become trapped in. An illness I never thought would overtake me like this.

My brain feels sick.

Today is step one — I’m taking my brain to the counselor’s office and will explain to him the symptoms I’m experiencing, as only I know and only I can tell.

Maybe tomorrow my brain will feel a little bit better. Maybe it will, for even just a moment, decide to open the curtain a bit and let me feel the sunlight. Maybe I’ll feel a glimpse of the person I used to be and know that, someday, I will get better.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255

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Thinkstock photo by Alexander Cherepanov


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