Dealing with depression dairies part 2

When it comes to family, I poured out my heart and soul. I loved and cared for everyone as deeply as I could, in every way possible—emotionally, financially, you name it. I was there when no one else could show up, listening when others were too caught up in their own lives or quick to judge. I dared to believe in and support those who, frankly, didn’t deserve it.

But as fate would have it, the tides turned. The time came when I was the one in need—craving a listening ear, desperate for someone to believe in me even when it didn’t make sense. Instead, oh, how I was judged and condemned! The bitterness I received from those I cared for so deeply, those I’d tried my all to make smile, cut me to the core. It paralyzed my mind, unleashing a whirlwind of unanswerable questions. I couldn’t unravel the “why,” yet I couldn’t stop replaying how my family treated me in my moment of vulnerability and need.

That’s when I decided it was time to let go. I had given my best, stretched myself to the breaking point, and reached the end of my rope. People still insisted it wasn’t right—“Family is family,” they’d say. Hypocritical counselors recited thousands of verses, urging me to hold on. But I’d made my choice.

I wasn’t ready to die trying to be the perfect daughter or sister while no one cared, while nothing I did ever seemed to matter.

After your death or a severe breakdown, life doesn’t pause—not even for those closest to you. It marches on. So, I chose myself when family stopped being family. And in that choice, I found a truth in Psalm 27:10: “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me” (NIV). When the ones I loved turned away, I clung to the One who wouldn’t.