I hate sending these to people, I normally don't get anything in reply. I'm going through a rough patch with my depression and I'm fighting to not hurt myself or worse. May I please ask for prayers? Thank you either way. God bless.
Of course I will pray for you, I know others will as well, and if you need someone to talk to, I, and many others are here for you.
Please reblog and pray💜
I’m praying for you! Don’t give up! God does not give us the grace to live in tomorrow, because all we have is today. He even says do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Breathe in, breathe out, take one day at a time.
"Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” -Lamentations 3:22-23
Not permanently and not often, but in this little, isolated moment I truly cannot stand myself. It’s a rare thing for me, this self-hatred. In fact, I only ever experience it in relationship to my “pet sin” (you know, that one sin you cringe at when telling the priest because you confess it EVERY TIME and you just want to be done with that stupid sin already??) Yep. That one. That’s the only time I hate myself, when I fail AGAIN. When I’m too weak, and I know it’s because I haven’t trained hard enough to be strong in the face of temptation, or fast enough to flee it. I know I will finish this evening, go to bed, wake up in the morning, go to work and continue to live my life… but in this little minute, and in every moment that I think of it until I get to Reconciliation, I will be ill at ease with myself. I can’t help being very rumpled up in my mind, and it’s very uncomfortable. I will try to follow Francis de Sales and not let my own weakness trouble me too much. I don’t suppose there is much point in fretting. I do detest my sins, and I do intend to reconcile myself with God as soon as possible. But this despondency is so… ugh! Sorry, Tumblr… I just had to get that out.
Even if I couldn’t mean it? Even though I could never hope to know the weight of those three words, any more than I could even begin to pretend to imagine the One to whom I’d dare to speak? Even in all of my littleness, all of my nothingness, all of my sin and indifference and wretchedness? Even then?