When we choose to process pain correctly, it brings healing not only to ourselves but allows others to heal from their pain. But what about those times when we suffer silently. Those times we suffer alone when no one, not even our closest family members, knows.

This morning when I woke up I had an excitement about the day. No major special plans, just another day to do stuff. I was reminded of all of those mornings that I hated the beginning of the day.

There was a time in my life when each morning I woke up I was filled with despair and dread. I hated morning because it ment I had to pull myself out of bed and do stuff and there would be at least 12 or more hours before I felt relief. I woke up wishing I was dead. I was never afraid of dying. The only deterrent from ending my life was that I just didn’t want my kids to find me that way.

I certainly have a family history of suicide, and I whole-heartedly believe that there is a genetic predisposition there. Several times in my life I have been in the pit of despair. Lying facedown begging God to take me. I found myself weary like the prophet Elijah:

I Kings 19:4 – Then he went on alone into the wilderness, traveling all day. He sat down under a solitary broom tree and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors who have already died.” (NLT)

I hadn’t yet learn about the wearyness of some of the great Biblical leaders because I had not studied the Word enough. I had not prepared for battle and I felt so isolated, abandoned and ashamed.

I was in my early twenties when it first happened. Postpartum depression…it’s REAL. After weathering that storm with no medical intervention, I made a promise to myself (and my mother) that I would not allow myself to sink that low again. I would get help. It was a chemical imbalance I am certain. That was almost 20 years ago and there was such a stigma surrounding mental illness. Perhaps there still is, but I just don’t care anymore.

After the death of Reed’s mother I found myself sinking into that pit of despair again. I was continuing to barrel thru life hoping it would pass until one day I just could not take it anymore. I went to see my doctor and was prescribed a low dose of Lexapro. Sensing my resistance to taking an antidepressant my doctor said it didn’t have to be permanent and after a few months we would reevaluate.

Over time I did feel better. And was able stop taking it. After a couple of years, I found myself sinking in despair again…the cause? I’m not real sure. It could have been the perceived rejection of friends, the death of my brother, the stress of raising teens, the increased demands of an expanding family, the increased pressure of my job, or just life in general. This time, I had no desire to quit taking the medicine. I had accepted my fate that I indeed suffered mental illness and this was the treatment. Forever. Period.

It’s strange how the mental illness thing works. I think discoveries are still being made and important research is being conducted. Diet and exercise is the most natural way of dealing with almost any medical issue and mental illness is certainly no different. But when you barely have the strength to get out of the bed to go to work, additional exercise is almost impossible. And when you feel so crappy all day long sometimes the chocolate cake waiting at home is what makes the day bearable. So I continued to medicate with food as well.

Six months after the car accident that changed our family, I began having severe panic attacks. I went to my doctor and we began an additional prescription treatment. Six months after that (1 year post accident), the attacks were no better and I was relying on the medication to get me better each time. I was desperate to find a better way to cope. I didn’t want to be increasing medicine that came with a price tag of dependance. I began seeing a therapist who specialized in PTSD. I told maybe six people that I was going. I was SO ashamed. Still am, I guess, but it is what it is. I went to about five sessions. She listened and gave me some great suggestions about dealing with each attack and how to recognize triggers BEFORE the attack would begin. Then she wanted to change my medicine. Her reason was that the dosage I was taking should have prevented panic attacks. Since I didn’t have a strong history with her, I went back to my family doctor and told him. We looked into changing my Lexapro. I don’t remember what the medicine was that he changed me to, but it made me angry and crazy…straight up! I had never had a reaction to medication before that altered “me” so quickly. I quit taking everything. It could have been very dangerous, and I certainly don’t recomend doing that. But if I had not quit, I was NOT going to hurt myself, but someone else…or my family was going to take me out. (I’m kidding, but it was bad.) I have not been on an antidepressant since. I am not against going back on it if I need it, but I think I had accepted something that was not necessary.

My point…get help. Find what works for YOU! Maybe you need a boost to get you thru. Talk to your doctor. Talk to a therapist! But GET HELP! You may not need it forever and just because you get help does not make you weak. It makes you SMART!

***Please do not take my personal experience as something you should try. ALWAYS talk to your doctor before making decisions regarding your mental health and medication. And never hesitate to seek out a second opinion!***