A Taste of the Pit
by Beth Krah

Picture, if you will, a pit. Not a cherry pit. No, that would taste far better than what I am describing. This is the "deep hole in the ground" pit. The lion's den. At the top, an opening of about five feet in diameter. A depth of about, oh maybe fifty feet. Not too deep…yet.

I am at the bottom of this pit, this "cavern". I'm lying down, not by choice, but by force. It feels as though I'm under several 50 lb. bags of sand. I do wake up, but I can't get up. I just can't! It's hard to pull yourself up when you're being held down with such force. There must be an elephant on top of these sandbags - I can't budge. And this sand tastes terrible. Every time I open my mouth to yell for help, I inhale more sand. I want to cry out to see if anyone can hear me. Lord? Can you hear me from down here? I know you can. David, in the Psalms, said that you hear us from the bowels of the earth. Can anyone else hear me?

Most people don't understand. I guess I can't expect them to. They haven't been here. They think there are no sandbags; that they just don't exist. They don't know of the elephant sitting on top. All they see is a lazy person that doesn't want to get out of bed. I wish they could understand. That would help a lot, I would think.

Every once in a while, when I finally get the strength to lift a weak hand, raise some sort of white flag, I get pelted with yet another bag of sand. "Why is the phone bill so high this month?" Um, because I didn't want to do something stupid like kill myself and I wanted to call my Mom? Doesn't that count for anything? Another sandbag. Did you call the doctor yet? Did you paint this area like we talked about? Did you call the lawn care company yet? More sandbags. Every question, every inquiry equals yet another sandbag thrown down on top of me. And with every thud I send out a moan. I can't take it!

Innocent questions. Unknowing faces. Normally, it wouldn't bother me. Normally, I need to be reminded to do things because I forget easily. But today…it hurts too much. Each question asked, each job I have to do, is just another sandbag getting thrown on top of me. I'm getting buried under all this sand and soon won't be able to lift my hand anymore. Someone told me tonight that I'd better get a hold of my doctor before I can't lift that flag anymore.

I want somebody to notice that something's wrong. I don't want to have to say anything. I shouldn't need to spell it out. I don't really know what I'd like anyone else to do. Maybe just give me a break. Take some of the load off me so I can breathe. Just a little…please? Maybe lay off the questions for a little bit, just until I can stand again. I know I can't ignore my life; I have too much to do.

Something else is going on that I don't like…at all. This anger. Where did it come from? Is it part of the pit? There's no reason to be upset. I don't understand this at all. Why am I so easily irritated right now? I can't tell if my son is being bad or if he's just being normal and I'm being overly sensitive. Everything is getting on my nerves right now. I don't know why. My new journal has lines in it that are too small; too close together. I can't write in that journal right now. I tried skipping every other line, but it irritates me and I can't do it. This pen…it doesn't work like the other one I had. Where did the other one go? What's wrong with this pen? It's still a Uniball, my absolute favorite, but it feels different. I can't write with it. I need my black pen back. And not that other one, because the ink is almost gone in it. I want my pen back!

I'm yelling at my son and I don't know why. He's getting on my nerves a lot more frequently than normal. Or is it me? Am I just more irritable these days? I know I am. I can't yell at him when it's my fault. I have a very, very low threshold for basically anything right now. What is going on with me?

You know what's even worse? I really hate to admit this, but since I know I have company out there, I'll venture forth. My husband asked me yesterday if I called my doctor yet. Another sandbag. I said yes, but I didn't get a hold of him…just yet. I forgot…again. But it was too much pressure. More disappointment. I can't handle his being so disappointed in me. I said yes because it was easier to lie than it was to handle the fact that I am such a disappointment. My self worth stinks right now as it is. I can't have it go down too much more, I'm afraid of what might happen. See, if too many sandbags land on me… What's going to happen if I can't ever get up? I'm scared. Yes, today I called the doctor and left a message. "Please call back really, really soon…" I don't like what's happening.

I need to go up on the medication some more. It's time. Okay. But how long is this going to take? This transition has taken seven weeks already. I thought for sure the depression would have lifted by now. It hasn't. Somehow I think it may even have gotten worse. I don't remember so many sandbags. I don't remember the elephant being there. Before, I was just moping around. Now…

Lord please…please help me. Get me out of this pit. Out from under all these sand bags. Please get rid of the elephant. As much as I like elephants, I don't too much care to have one sitting on me. Please help me to get out of bed in the morning, and help me sleep tonight. I pray for no bad dreams, and hope. Hope that someday, soon, I'll be the one standing. Hope that I will enjoy life again. And hope that my family won't suffer so much from me being down. Lord? Please wrap your strong and tender arms around me and cradle me close to your heart. I need to feel loved. I need to feel wanted. I need to feel alive again.