it's a slow death

It's been a torturous time for me as of late. There is no doubt in my mind that the past year has been one of extreme difficulty personally and aside from anything outside of my daily life. I honestly do not see this discontinuing itself any time soon, and that is simply where my heart is currently. I will not pretend that I live a poor or unfortunate life though. I would consider myself quite rich in comparison to many, but we all know riches only go so far, and a life without purpose is indeed a dying one.
That is exactly what is happening here. I am dying.
No, not literally. But spiritually, I am dying. Day by day I am steadily wasting away as I await some form of hope of God-given purpose to emerge out of the shadows of this lonely little apartment. Having had much practice in my younger years though, I would say I am fairly talented at masking this. I will be everything anyone needs me to be at any given moment, for I am discovering that I am a task-oriented type of gal. But when there is no task at hand, and no one to give direct instruction, well... there isn't much to look at in my general direction.
My husband tells me I have to fight hard against these "moods" that I get into; that I have to force myself out of them and shake them off. But why? Why fight so hard when there is nothing obvious worth fighting for or towards? And if I should manage to survive the "mood," what shall I do when I have worked my way out of the forest, only to find myself in an open field between it and another forest?
All of this uncertainty and all of this grey ambiguity in my life has rendered me to have a sour core - bitter, lonely, fearful, and empty with a growing pool of seemingly useless tears. I do not like crying; in fact, I grow to hate it because I still do not feel any relief when it is over. If only it was like a stomach virus, and I could simply lurch my lunch and be rid of the illness. But this is a cancer; a deep wound of the soul. It will take a miracle to cure, and I grow weaker waiting for it.
Fortunately, the glimmer of hope remains in Paul's words.
"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." (2 Cor. 12:8,9)