As I boarded the plane on Sunday, June 6, 2010, I remember thinking, “I can’t believe I’m about to go 8,000 miles away from Jonathan for 3.5 weeks. I’m crazy!” Just a year prior it was all I could do to get out of bed or to even socialize with family, never mind strangers. And now here I was, on my way to the other side of the world and the opposite hemisphere with 24 people I had just met the previous month. Even now, I can’t believe I got on that plane.
. . . . . . . . . .
I don’t know exactly when it started. 10 years ago maybe? All I know is I was like a frog in a pot of water on the stove. You know, the frog is in there and the stove is turned on. The water heats up gradually, and pretty soon it's boiling and the frog is dead before it knows to jump out.
My friends were pulling away, like they didn’t want to be around me. Everyone around me was happy about everything. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. Being around people stressed me out. Having a conversation made me feel panicky. Why didn’t anyone like me?
My friends were pulling away, like they didn’t want to be around me. Everyone around me was happy about everything. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. Being around people stressed me out. Having a conversation made me feel panicky. Why didn’t anyone like me?
To me, everyone around me was running away because I wasn’t fun to be around. For years I tried. So hard, I tried to be normal like everyone else. I pasted a smile on my face. And did everything I could to not break down into tears every minute.
And the harder I tried. The more I failed. People would ask, “What’s wrong?” ”How are you doing?” My answers were “nothing” and “fine”. I mean, nothing was wrong. There weren’t any huge events in my life that were devastating. So technically, I was fine.
The thought of depression never even entered my mind. I thought I just had a defective personality, and I'd have to figure out how to feel 'normal'.
And the harder I tried. The more I failed. People would ask, “What’s wrong?” ”How are you doing?” My answers were “nothing” and “fine”. I mean, nothing was wrong. There weren’t any huge events in my life that were devastating. So technically, I was fine.
The thought of depression never even entered my mind. I thought I just had a defective personality, and I'd have to figure out how to feel 'normal'.
It took every ounce of energy I had to get out of bed. Then every ounce of energy I had to go to work. Every ounce of energy I had to say “hello”. And every ounce of energy I had to work. The thought of someone not talking to me made me cry, but at the same time I couldn’t talk to anyone. People were all around me, going on with their lives, and I was in this type of slo-mo vortex and I couldn’t get out.
I was in quicksand, and was drowning fast. The harder I tried to get out, the deeper I sank. And the deeper I sank, the more empty my heart felt.
All the while I knew I was a Christian. And I knew in my head that the Lord loved me. But I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel Him.
I didn’t feel anything.
And I didn’t care if I was dead or alive. Either way, it didn’t matter.
I didn’t matter.
I was in quicksand, and was drowning fast. The harder I tried to get out, the deeper I sank. And the deeper I sank, the more empty my heart felt.
All the while I knew I was a Christian. And I knew in my head that the Lord loved me. But I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel Him.
I didn’t feel anything.
And I didn’t care if I was dead or alive. Either way, it didn’t matter.
I didn’t matter.
A lot of my friendships had dissolved. My family would probably notice if I wasn’t around. But that’s because I was the Ultimate Pessimist in the group. The no-fun-in-law that must be invited so she doesn’t feel left out. At least that’s what I thought.
I was miserable. And just didn’t care any more.
This went on for years, until the end of June 2009 when I was at my very lowest and I don’t think I could have sank any further. I remember being asked a few times {by my Dr, my counselor, and a few others} if I had contemplated suicide.
Each time I emphatically said “NO”. Because contemplating my own death would not be 'Christian' or 'normal'.
But honestly? I had thought about it a few times. Not in the “I’m dwelling on this 24/7 and figuring out the best/quickest way” way, but in the “I just don’t want to be around anymore. I really don’t care if I die” kind of way. Driving down the road I would think, "If I ran into that pole, I wouldn't care" or "Maybe that driver will cross the line into my lane."
I was miserable. And just didn’t care any more.
This went on for years, until the end of June 2009 when I was at my very lowest and I don’t think I could have sank any further. I remember being asked a few times {by my Dr, my counselor, and a few others} if I had contemplated suicide.
Each time I emphatically said “NO”. Because contemplating my own death would not be 'Christian' or 'normal'.
But honestly? I had thought about it a few times. Not in the “I’m dwelling on this 24/7 and figuring out the best/quickest way” way, but in the “I just don’t want to be around anymore. I really don’t care if I die” kind of way. Driving down the road I would think, "If I ran into that pole, I wouldn't care" or "Maybe that driver will cross the line into my lane."
I choose not to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t clicked on the "Are You Depressed? Take This Quiz To Find Out" link on WebMd, as I was searching for strep-throat symptoms.
It was the end of June 2009 when I walked into the Dr's office, printout of the 9 Quiz Yes's in hand. By this time I was so far deep in the quicksand, that it was over my head. There were tons of people around my pit, but they were going on with their lives, all happy and stuff. Smiling, laughing, having a good time, enjoying life. And in my mind, they didn’t even notice that I was drowning. Then again, I wasn’t shouting. I couldn’t figure out how to shout. And if I opened my mouth I would just cry.
The Doc and I chatted for 45 minutes. About family history. About crying all the time. About not being interested in anything {even presents and Christmas!!} {which is a HUGE deal, because I am THE present lover in our family!}. About the overwhelming sadness. About the inability to function normally. About my mind being constantly 'on' and never shutting off. And after this in depth conversation, I had an official diagnosis.
Major Depression.
I remember what I felt when he gave me the diagnosis :: FREE! I could actually see into the future and anticipate the day where I could actually be happy. And just “be”. And here was someone who knew I was in the quicksand!
So, I ended up leaving the Doctor’s office with much hope. I wasn’t screwed up! I was pretty much “normal”! The Doctor prescribed me a medication which I started the very next day*. Each morning I woke up wondering if “this” would be the day I’d feel. He told me that it would take a good 6 or so weeks to really start to work, but me, being quite the impatient person, thought maybe he would be wrong. That it would start working right away.
- Little interest or pleasure in doing things.
- Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless.
- Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much.
- Feeling tired or having little energy.
- Poor appetite or overeating.
- Feeling bad about yourself - or that you are a failure or have let yourself or your family down.
- Trouble concentrating on things, such as reading the newspaper or watching television.
- Moving or speaking so slowly that other people could have noticed. Or the opposite - being so fidgety or restless that you have been moving around a lot more than usual.
- Thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way.
It was the end of June 2009 when I walked into the Dr's office, printout of the 9 Quiz Yes's in hand. By this time I was so far deep in the quicksand, that it was over my head. There were tons of people around my pit, but they were going on with their lives, all happy and stuff. Smiling, laughing, having a good time, enjoying life. And in my mind, they didn’t even notice that I was drowning. Then again, I wasn’t shouting. I couldn’t figure out how to shout. And if I opened my mouth I would just cry.
The Doc and I chatted for 45 minutes. About family history. About crying all the time. About not being interested in anything {even presents and Christmas!!} {which is a HUGE deal, because I am THE present lover in our family!}. About the overwhelming sadness. About the inability to function normally. About my mind being constantly 'on' and never shutting off. And after this in depth conversation, I had an official diagnosis.
Major Depression.
I remember what I felt when he gave me the diagnosis :: FREE! I could actually see into the future and anticipate the day where I could actually be happy. And just “be”. And here was someone who knew I was in the quicksand!
So, I ended up leaving the Doctor’s office with much hope. I wasn’t screwed up! I was pretty much “normal”! The Doctor prescribed me a medication which I started the very next day*. Each morning I woke up wondering if “this” would be the day I’d feel. He told me that it would take a good 6 or so weeks to really start to work, but me, being quite the impatient person, thought maybe he would be wrong. That it would start working right away.
I had these idyllic scenarios in my head...
Friendships that had been broken due to my apathy, would suddenly heal themselves with the fact of what was going on in my little world, and I would be “welcomed back” with open arms.
Many did not heal.
My phone would be ringing off the hook with offers to hang out because people would realize that I truly am fun to be around, it’s just that the chemicals in my brain that aren’t cooperating with each other.
It did not ring.
I would sit with co-workers at lunch, be involved in conversations and laugh, and not feel anxious about being around people…
I did not.
It didn't take me long to realized that my life would be totally different from that moment I walked out of the Doctor’s Office. Some friends were lost, but new friends were found.
It's been 4 years since my diagnosis, and I'm still figuring out my 'normal'. I have good weeks and bad weeks. I've been on the edge of the pit of the quicksand but thankfully haven't been back in it.
Friendships that had been broken due to my apathy, would suddenly heal themselves with the fact of what was going on in my little world, and I would be “welcomed back” with open arms.
Many did not heal.
My phone would be ringing off the hook with offers to hang out because people would realize that I truly am fun to be around, it’s just that the chemicals in my brain that aren’t cooperating with each other.
It did not ring.
I would sit with co-workers at lunch, be involved in conversations and laugh, and not feel anxious about being around people…
I did not.
It didn't take me long to realized that my life would be totally different from that moment I walked out of the Doctor’s Office. Some friends were lost, but new friends were found.
It's been 4 years since my diagnosis, and I'm still figuring out my 'normal'. I have good weeks and bad weeks. I've been on the edge of the pit of the quicksand but thankfully haven't been back in it.
. . . . . . . . . .
And so, I took my seat in the middle of the row, surrounded by these 24 strangers. My heart was excitedly and nervously calm.
I was on my way to South Africa to minister during the 2010 FIFA Word Cup!
I was on my way to South Africa to minister during the 2010 FIFA Word Cup!
* I realize there is debate over anti-depressants. I am not saying that they are right for every single person or situation. For me, it was the best thing and I had the full support of my husband and family. I believe that the Lord can heal people. But I also believe that sometimes He uses the aid of a medication.
