Each day, I try to find a reason to pull you out of your shell. I invite you to things and ask if you can hang out. I run errands, offer food, ask if you want to go shopping, invite you to church. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. But I still do it. I want you to know I care. I want you to know that I support you. That I love you. That I wish I could understand what you're going through.

Oftentimes I get frustrated for a moment by your refusal. Oftentimes I wish you could be different. I wish you would show up on time. I wish you would join me more. I wish you would visit me.

I miss you. I miss conversations we had. When we talked about life. When we talked about friends. When we talked about God. When we focused on loving others.

But now it's about mental illness. About having plans. About trying to find the strength to simply get up each morning. About trying to just have the strength to leave the house.

I wish I could be there to help you. I wish I could find you in a different context. Even as I sit here in church, as they sing about graves, and joy, and the resurrection of Christ, I'm reminded of what you said.

You don't feel like you are anything. You fear that people will hurt you. You fear that You would mess up. You fear that something will go wrong. Maybe you fear that you won't be able to come back.

You wish you could. You miss it. But you always have an excuse for why you can't.

It's too early. You have anxiety. You already have plans. There's always something. And I believe they are valid.

But they all still hurt. They say it's not a priority. I understand. You still need to heal.

You're broken. You still need to heal. You need to focus on reflecting on more than yourself.

I wish that weren't the case. That maybe you could put aside your excuses, your illness for awhile. I wish you could lay down that. I wish you could trust God. That you might see and believe the power he has to heal.

But you can't. You don't. You never come anymore. You don't always seem to care.

It hurts. But I still ask.

I still try. I don't want to give up. Even when that thought occurs oh so often.

Friend, I know only the basics of what you struggle with. I wish I could understand more.

But I can't. And so I still cry inside. I still wait and wish you might try. That you would want to try.

Maybe that's normal. Maybe it's not. But I want you to understand. Just as I try to understand. I want you to understand how it affects me.

I will still be there when you need to talk. I will still be there when you decide to go out. I will still be there to run errands and make scrumptious baked goods, if that's what it takes. But I do want you to know what it's like.