The Evidence

• I want to move to another country for the sake of the adventure, but just as much for the sake of not knowing anyone and the loneliness. The idea of putting on my iPod headphones and ignoring the world is appealing--walking down a busy, foreign city street, alone while in a crowd.
  
• My music is quieting down--less loud rock and bass and drums, more quiet piano and acoustic guitar and really great harmonies. Hello, Sandra McCracken, Derek Webb, Andrew Peterson, The Weepies, and my new Once soundtrack. Goodbye, U2, Alanis Morisette, Michelle Branch, and David Crowder*Band. See you next summer.
  
• I feel tired most of the day even when I've gotten nine hours of sleep.
• There are days where I feel like I just can't do "it," whatever "it" is. School, work, relationships, the dishes, making my bed... Getting out of bed isn't very hard yet, though.
  
• My feelings are getting hurt more easily, even by people that I know don't go about hurting others' feelings and who like me.
• Yesterday I cut back significantly on my work hours for the rest of the semester.

There it is. Evidence is beginning to come in: fall's on it's way and winter shall be soon to follow.

Mr. Blake talked with me about my depression again. "How're you doing, Katie?" he asked me in that way that means "How are you really doing--and tell me the truth!"

"I'm feeling it already," I said. "And that scares me."

I recently figured out that the reason it scares me is that while I've never felt suicidal, I have felt incredibly hopeless when I'm depressed. I think I'm scared that every winter will wind up being the one that pushes me a little closer to feeling no hope at all.

"Are you getting outside?" Mr. Blake asked me.

"Not really," I said. He knows that I really meant "No." "My schedule's packed--I only have a half hour off for lunch most days, otherwise I'm busy 9-5."

Long story short, we took an hour figuring out what I could do to free up my daytime hours. It meant quitting a job, but I have Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons off now. And he reminded me that I don't have to spend that time running or biking in order to "get out," since usually getting out means vigorous exercise for me. Like it's not worth it unless I'm in training for something. I do intend to spend some of it biking or running, but today I did reading for class outside on my front steps. I didn't let the fact that it was cloudy be an excuse not to get out.

I recently found out that Mr. Blake went around to my bosses at the beginning of summer and gave 'em a talking to. He was concerned about my stretching myself to thin, and told them that once fall came along, they'd better be understanding. Yesterday when someone hurt my feelings, he asked if he should go beat them up. He doesn't let me get away with saying I'll "try" to be proactive about taking care of myself. He helps me find a way to actually do it, without scolding me or making me feel like a child or an idiot. (I do that to myself enough without anyone's help, thanks.) He is a safe place for people--everyone--and defends people when they can't defend themselves. In Sabbath School last week, we talked about being sanctuaries for others. Mr. Blake is a sanctuary.

Ashley, who's listened to me cry a couple of times lately, is a very big sanctuary in my life these days. A green, growing, recycle-happy sanctuary who looks remarkably like Jesus.

Kristina is a sanctuary to me. She cooks me lunch nearly every day--supper too. The likes of which you've never seen. Homemade pesto. From fresh basil. Oh. My. Goodness.

I want to be a sanctuary. But here I am starting to be all cracked and ruined again.

When I was in Ireland several years ago I visited a ruined church that was just outside of my hotel. I was utterly fascinated with it; it was overgrown, but there were flowers and greenery everywhere. All that were left were the walls and the tombstones, which were so worn away you couldn't make anything out on them anymore. It was all forgotten there, but it was so incredibly beautiful. The stone walls crumbled, and the roof was long gone--but the cracks in the rocks gave way to ivy growing up the walls, and the absent roof allowed wildflowers to grow where pews used to sit. It was a beautiful sanctuary.

It was possible for an old church in sad, war-torn Ireland. Maybe it's possible for me, too.