“So let me get this straight,” a friend of a friend said to me last night. “You drove eight hours up to Boston to stay with a woman you met on an Amtrak train two years ago, and with whom you’ve kept in touch all that time? But you have never seen her except for on the train?”
“Yep,” I said. Weird, huh?
And you know what’s even weirder? This “stranger” understands me better than some of my family members who’ve been with me for most of my life.
They don’t make sense (according to human logic)–these spiritual friendships that happen in the most curious of ways. They defy reasoning because people meet not through mutual friends or business correspondence, but according to some divine matchmaking service.

I can just hear God saying this: “Therese needs Ann because she’s been where Therese is going to go, and Ann can guide her through the difficult places. Ann needs Therese because she needs to know her story is valid and worthy of hearing.”
I tried to explain to this friend of a friend, why, even after I’ve blown off friends that I went to high school and college with because I’m so busy, I needed to keep in touch with a woman I met on a train in New York.
“I went through a very severe depression,” I said, “and I didn’t have very many people with whom I could talk about it. She was very knowledgeable, very caring, and very supportive.”
But this probably sounded like mumble jumble because you have to be in that desperate state I was to appreciate an angel when you see one.
I feel that way about all the readers I’ve “met” through Beyond Blue. Many of your comments and e-mails inspire me in ways I would never expect from some of my closest friends and relatives. When I look over at my SEF (self-esteem file), and see notes from Margaret, Larry, Wendi, Babs, Sandy, Stephanie, Peg, “?” (formerly known as Liz), Nancy, Teresa, and so many others, I see God’s hand in our community of support and friendship, relationships based on our common experience of depression and grounded in hope. You get my issues because you’ve been there, done that, and bought the t-shirt that says “Welcome to the Black Hole–Don’t Enjoy Your Stay.”