When I was around 14 years old, I started to have some anxiety before falling asleep.

I would lie in bed with so many thoughts running through my head about everything from the chapters I was supposed to have read for English and what I was going to wear to school the next day to how I should call the family back that had asked me to babysit while wondering how I did on my Geometry test. I was a pretty laid back kid, as teenagers go, but these thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, and they started to get more troublesome. I remember staring down the hall to my parents’ door and wondering why it looked so far away. I was sure I was seeing things. I remember an overwhelming feeling of sadness. I would cry myself to sleep sometimes. But WHY? What was wrong with me? What was so wrong in my life that I was having these feelings? I had no logical reasons. I grew up in a 2 parent house with enough food, and love, and a dog I adored. I had many teammates and great friends.

Why did I need to talk to a psychiatrist? Wasn’t I a normal kid?  Why was my heart so broken?

I never did find the answers in that office, sitting with “Patty” and her clogs and stretchy skirts. I’m sure she meant well, but I’m not sure she helped me. I stopped going to counseling. I didn’t see progress and it just got in the way of my social life and sports. I avoided medications, so that was good, I guess, being so young. I just took a day at a time and slowly my dark clouds would lift for longer periods. I just marched on, the weight on my shoulders a constant, something I had grown to accept.  In the next several years, I had stress in my life and sad times due to family tragedies but the darkness was manageable. I didn’t ask for help. I became extremely independent. I took care of myself and I was happy.  I like to think I even made those around me happy.  I certainly tried.

The funny thing is, I thought I had outfoxed it.

I thought that when I fell in love and then had children I was set.  That I had everything it was going to take to keep me happy was right with me. My light, my soul was whole again.

Then I lost a baby.

Not a baby in the sense that I gave birth and held it in my arms and it passed away, (that would be the most unimaginable pain I could ever think of). The baby I lost was 20 weeks along inside of me. I had already listened to its swiftly beating heart, I had seen its fully developed, perfect little self. I went in for my check-up and he or she wasn’t moving. No heartbeat. Nothing. I would have to come back the next day for an operation to have the baby removed. I was too far along for any other option. Still, in my sadness, I was well aware that I had 2 beautiful little girls at home. Many women couldn’t even get pregnant. I didn’t allow myself to be sad on the outside. That would just be selfish. Counting my blessings and hugging my girls, I moved on.I like to think of myself as a strong woman. I’ve never asked for help after I had my kids.  My husband and I decided that not only did we want to expand our business, we would be doing it around the time our 4th child was born. The timing wasn’t ideal but the opportunity was there. I now had 4 kids 6 years old and under but that was no big deal. People do it all the time. I couldn’t possibly complain when that was exactly what I’d wanted. So while I was home with my sweet blessings, my husband was hanging drywall until 9 or 10 at night, coming home exhausted and getting right back up the next morning to fix cars all day and work on the new building at night. Sometimes I would order a pizza and load everyone in the car just so he could see the girls and I could get out of the house. I repressed any exhaustion I was experiencing. I was so fortunate to be home with my children. I had a new baby. Nothing could be better.

Until one day my 6-year-old caught me crying.  Apparently it wasn’t the first time she had seen my tears either because she said the words I’ll never forget, “Momma, why are you always sad?“

Oh my gosh, did she really just say that? How did she know? I thought I only cried when she wasn’t looking or was fast asleep. I didn’t cry loudly, did I? I didn’t think so. I thought I was hiding my pain but I guess not. Not when a six-year-old can see it loud and clear. That very day I called my doctor, with the encouragement of a nurse friend. She told me it was OK. It was like I needed permission from a medical professional that it was ok to ask for help. I stayed on some form of medication for several months afterwards. I felt better in general. I stopped crying. I left the house more.

These days I go back and forth between taking medicine and not. I still don’t think I’ve found “the one” for me and I’ve come to accept that I may not. While I don’t like the idea of being tied to a chemical to keep me going, when I am in a slump I kind of accept that I should keep trying to figure it out. I see people with severe allergies or chronic pain and I can’t imagine them not taking their medication to get through the day. I still wonder why I fight it. I don’t like asking for help and I think every time I have taken a pill that I feel as if that’s asking for help. I also want to be my authentic self. I’m sensitive, caring, and try to make people happy. I’m not sure I can be all of those things when I’m medicated. When a Hallmark commercial comes on, I cry. That’s just who I am. I don’t want to change who, inherently, I am.

I oftentimes have to force myself  to interact with people when I am in a place of sadness and unease. I feel completely anti-social and hope my friends don’t call to ask me to go out. I avoid phone calls. I leave voice mails unanswered. I don’t have anything to share. I wear hooded sweatshirts out when I go to pick up my kids. I’m hiding and I hope nobody approaches me to ask how I’m doing. That’s when the forced smile will get planted and the “I’m well…” comes out of my mouth like a prerecorded message.

It is  in these times when the brain in my head screams “YOU FOOL! This is your FRIEND! You are basically pushing them away when you act like this! Get a grip! You love your friends!” My brain doesn’t listen to my heart. It never has. That’s what is so frustrating. I am a happy person, even humorous to those who know me well. My outlook and my attitude are in opposition with the bruises on my soul. Sometimes my husband will ask me what’s wrong in these times of uncertainty.  I don’t even have a good answer. I usually end up saying, “I don’t even know.”

Depression can be all consuming. It can feel overwhelming.

Sometimes for me it even feels as if I’ve lost myself. Who is this negative Nelly living inside me and when can I evict her? It is not the end of the world though. Living every day is a blessing and as much as my brain frustrates me to no end, I do know that much is true. I often feel that my burden is not that I no longer want to live, but that I want to live eternally, and that is what scares me. I know that is not possible. That is where having faith can come in handy. Knowing that our time on earth is short but it is a miracle to bask in. My kids are my joy, as is the man who faithfully sticks by my side, giving me a hand when I need one, and a hug when I don’t know what I need.

I want to be a source of inspiration (yes, a lofty goal)  for other Moms, other women, other men…fighting the fight. Seeing the light through the darkness. It is for this reason that I have “come out of the closet” of depression. Being alone in this struggle is the worst kind of feeling. If I can be a beacon of hope in someone else’s dark path, it is worth sharing this piece of myself. This part that can feel shameful. This bit of me that strips me of my joy, of my meaning. It is for the single purpose of letting someone else know that they need not be ashamed and that there are reasons to keep getting up and choosing to participate in the gift bestowed to all of us. The gift of life.