I was six when my mother first took me to a therapist. I was an introverted child. I enjoyed coloring and playing Barbie's by myself. Until preschool I only had my sister to play with (she is four years younger). I was not exposed to other kids before school. We moved in with my maternal grandparents right after my sister was born and my mother was a stay-at-home mom so I had her, my grandma, and my sister to play with. My mother started taking me to therapy when I was in kindergarten because I didn't play a lot with other kids. I had a combination of individual therapy, where I was one-on-one with a therapist, and group therapy, where I was put in a large playroom with other children of varying ages.
At that time I was also started on antidepressants. For the next five years I was kept on medication. I had to learn to control my emotions. I could not cry growing up. Whenever I cried I had to go back to the therapist and my dose would be increased.
Also, there was a few years were we had a prowler at our house. I remember one night when I was eight my aunt, uncle, and cousin were over for dinner. Late that night when they were getting ready to leave the prowler was out in the backyard. My grandma, mother, and aunt ushered all three of us girls into my bedroom closet. All three of us were scared and none of the adults would tell us what was happening. After a while, we were allowed to get out and play in the living room. As the oldest of the three I was voted on to find out what happened. So I went to my mother to find out and she told me about the prowler being right outside and not to tell the others. Being the eight year that I was I told my sister and cousin about the prowler which scared them. That night after my cousin and her parents left my mother took me outside to have a talk. She was mad that I told the other girls and that she couldn't trust me anymore. I was crushed that night, and it bothered me for a very long time.
As I got older I learned the best way to deal with my emotions was to go to my room by myself and read. My mother is a very strong willed person. If she was upset with me she would confront me; usually in my bed because that is where I would go to get away from her. When these instances started happening I developed these "crying jags", as she called them. (An 8-9yr old girl who could not express any emotions leaning toward sadness or tears being cornered into a situation by a yelling parent forcing her to have an emotional reaction...)
I remember one time I was about 9 and I just wanted her to stop getting in my face. I crawled under my bed so I could cry without her yelling at me. That day my dad crawled under my bed with me. He gave me a notebook, and explained to me what journaling was. He told me to write it all out. I remember thinking "how is that going to help, I still can't express it." My dad was and still is a genius most days, lol.
By the time I was eleven I had been to three different therapists for long enough periods that all the office staff knew me by name. I was also officially of age that my mother let me take my medicine on my own. So naturally, that's when I stopped taking them. (I do NOT condone self-medicating. I was seeing a doctor and he was aware of what I did.) I felt like I existed on auto-pilot though. Things at home didn't mean much, it was like I only had one emotion to convey- blah. When I stopped taking the pills things came back to life for me. She thought they were finally starting to work. I don't remember if my mother ever found out that I wasn't taking them anymore.
Sometime that year I had my first boyfriend. As all things during the pre-teen years, we broke up a year later. Another moment that stays in you brain: my mother told me I did something wrong which is why he broke up with me. She never told me what I did wrong though. "I had to learn it for myself." That line worked much better for Dorothy...
I grew up being ashamed of this part of me. I thought it was something I had to hide from everybody so they wouldn't look at me with pity. I had trouble with deep friendships growing up. I wouldn't let any school friends in too deep because I didn't want them to know what happened when I went home. What made it worse was that I tried to talk to a friend about it when I was little, and they thought I was crazy because my mother was the best room-mom at school and was so cool.
During my Jr. High years a lot continued to change. I tried to disappear. I wore t-shirts a size to large to hide my shape, and I am a tall girl so the only jeans I could wear were wranglers (at the time they did not make them for girls) so I was embarrassed that I wore "mens' jeans". Our Jr. High was a mix of two elementaries, and I didn't play sports in elementary so I didn't know the other kids like most of my prior schoolmates did. At that time my mother got a job with the school system. She was usually too tired to spend time with my sister and I after working at school all day though. I started taking more of a motherly role with my sister, because it felt like my mother wasn't there for us. My grandma took care of us the most (we still lived with them). I don't actually remember it happening, but at that time my grandma was going through chemo for breast cancer. She was making dinner for us and helping my sister and I with our homework. I can remember getting up in the middle of the night to sneak into her sewing room to have talks with her so my mother wouldn't find out. I was made fun of by the older kids on the bus because I would get off at the elementary so I could spend time with my mother. She was the computer lab person so at the end of the day she didn't have anyone in her room.
In High School I began to wonder if I had split personalities. I was a different person at school. When I was home I was so depressed. I stayed in my room all the time, my parents' marriage problems were becoming more of an elephant in the house, the house we lived in was becoming too small for six grown adults, and I of course was a teenager now. I started to open up at school though. I had friends who were seniors, I was managing the boy's basketball team, and I started to feel important there. Teachers gave me responsibilities, and I started to realize that people knew who I was. I dreaded the thought of going home. Taking care of my sister was something I felt responsible for at one time, and I hate to admit that it was turning into anger toward my parents. It was my parent's job to take care of my sister. Then, I felt guilt that I could feel that way about my sister. I was scared to death about the day I would go to college and not be there for my sister. My sophomore year I had a vehicle accident that totaled my mothers truck and later we found out I had diabetes. I threw myself into school activities and friends to avoid home issues and to fly through high school so I could go to college. I could not wait to get to U of E and become an archaeologist!
When I went to college I finally hit the crossroads with my diabetes and taking care of myself. It landed me in the hospital a lot within four months. Resulting in my having to take a medical withdrawal to save a future possibility of going back to U of E.
The last time I was released, I had been in the hospital for going on three weeks, it was the week before Christmas, my family had already cleaned out my dorm room, and my dad had taken everything home. I got to have dinner one last time with my friends before my mom took me home. Who wouldn't be depressed that day? I had just thrown away the career I had been waiting ten years for. That night, riding home in the van with my mom I said something that I didn't give two thoughts about. It didn't mean anything to me because in my head I was just stating a fact. "You know mom, knowing what can happen to me if I don't take care of my diabetes and by not taking care of it I could be considered suicidal." **Clarification: I am NOT nor was I ever suicidal.
Two weeks later I found myself sitting in a waiting room to meet another therapist with my mother. By this point I am well experienced with the drill. When G (my therapist at that time) came out my mother jumped up ready to go in also. G explained that she wanted me solo first to establish my mental state, and then she would come back out to get my mother.
After thirty minutes with G she concluded that I was not suicidal. I was just a depressed girl stuck between a teenager and not quite an adult who was forced to move back home, and had not accepted that I was a diabetic. When she went to get my mother my mother and explained what was actually going on with me, and my mother declined coming in. On the way home I distinctly remember my mother expressing to me how she believed that I had lied to G about things in our meeting. By the end of meeting G, I agreed to go back on medication to help me get over the "hump" in my life at that time. I, of my own choice, continued to see G for three years, and was on medicine through that time.
After three years, my ending to see G was a combination of things. I was healthy mentally, she had released me a year and a half sooner, but I loved having someone to talk to. During that three years of seeing her my job had relocated me farther from her office, but closer to my home. What really ended me seeing G was that she was moving her office to the other side of town (closer to her home-farther still from me), and I was meeting off-and-on with my Pastor. My Pastor offered to counsel me, and my doctor agreed that would be good.
In twenty months I went from single and bored to dating, pregnant, wife, living with my in-laws, and then mom. (None of this do I regret- just some background on the situation.) It was a lot of huge life milestones to happen in a short time. In the middle of that I was baptized and trying really hard to learn and follow God, and after my son was born I fell into postpartum really bad. I was relying on my Pastor really hard, and of course during the postpartum my dose of medication was increased.
After four-five months of counseling with my Pastor I was in a good place. My medication was lowered quite a lot; I was mainly on it at that point to make sure I beat the postpartum and help balance the other things going on in my family and marriage. Counseling with my Pastor helped me incredibly with my depression. It was a huge realization that yes a therapist helped, yes medication helps, but I was missing my spiritual healing. When I started getting things aligned with God I was able to come off my medicine. Until counseling with my Pastor I never understood what my body and mind was truly needing to heal.
Going on five years now I have been counseled by my Pastor. I have been off my medicine more than I have been on them. I still continued to check in with my regular physician every six months to help monitor things, but she was confident that I was doing exceptional. It is about growth, realization, and accepting who and what you are as an individual. When I started seeing G it was a huge realization that sometimes we just need medication to get over the "hump" in our lives. Things happen to us, and we need medication sometimes to help us cope with situations (i.e. death, job loss, trauma, etc.). It's ok, we are human.
When I started with my Pastor the realization she hit me with was that it may always be there. My maternal grandmothers' parents were in all reality clinically depressed and bipolar (back then we didn't go to doctors for such things). My maternal grandmother has clinical depression and is bipolar, and so is my mother. As a sibling, I claim my sister is crazy most days, lol. Clinical depression is a chemical imbalance in our bodies, we can't stop it or make it go away. I'm sure you've seen the sad little cloud commercial. I had to realize and accept that I may have to have medication to deal with this for the rest of my life; just like I had to accept my diabetes.
We still don't talk about such things today! Look at Robin Williams...the worlds' funny man, and he was facing such sadness every day within himself. We look at being happy or moving on as inside job. "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps." To a degree- yes we need to change our heart and CHOOSE to do something about it, but ultimately we can't do it without God! Everybody is different and has different needs. I needed so much more than just medication though.
Two weeks ago I knew something was wrong. Nothing was making me happy. I could not be my bubbly self no matter how hard I tried. I felt the sin of the world so deeply that I was crushed by it and wanted everyone else to feel it as well. That is an IMPORTANT SYMPTOM! Wanting others to feel your sadness or not being able to "pull yourself out of a funk". Go to God. He got me through it. He showed me what I need to do to deal with it. I may have depression "in my blood" the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean I have to live depressed.
When I was little I used to hate when my mom permed my hair or talked about coloring it. I believed that God made me this way I am not supposed to change it. When I would fight with her over having to take my medication I used to say, "if God gave me depression then He wants me to live this way." NO! How young and silly I was. God gives us nothing we can't handle. God also provides the tools to healing. I thank God he inspired the creation of medication! I thank God for people like G and my Pastor who are amazing counselors!
God did not create us to be miserable!!!! I thank God that he has given me the ability to overcome it! If you cannot find happiness in anything then you need to contact a doctor, therapist, or pastor. We should not be hiding our problems in closets. I pray that you, or if you know someone, accepts God's healing in any of the many ways it has been provided to us. Share your story, and help heal someone!
2 Corinthians 12:9
"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."
Numbers 6:24-26
"'The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord makes his face shine on you and be gracious
to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."
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