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 Making Peace with My EmotionsIt took months of crying spells for me to realize I was depressed.
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I continued to pray, chat with close friends and family members about the problem, care for myself, and meet with my counselor. Several months later, I felt a bit better, but not much. I flew to visit my family one weekend and felt the nagging sadness even in the comfort of "home." As we sat in the airport chatting before my plane was to take off, big tears rolled down my face. Strangers noticed me crying, but I didn't care. This wasn't sadness to leave, this was really—I began to admit to myself—depression. My wall of denial came down as I realized my counselor was right. I dried my face with a Burger King napkin as my parents stared at me in anguished helplessness. "Promise us you'll see about getting more help," my mom said before I left. I did. At my next appointment with my counselor, I mentioned my crying spell in the airport and my continued feelings of depression. She suggested a prescription antidepressant, such as Prozac, about which I'd need to speak to my medical doctor. I made an appointment that week. When I told my nurse I was visiting the doctor to see about being put on a prescription antidepressant, my face grew red and hot. The nurse scribbled something on my chart, smiled at me, and told me my doctor would be right in. As she left the room, tears welled up in my eyes. It was embarrassing to admit this aloud to someone, even a health-care professional. I took a few deep breaths, prayed for strength to explain myself clearly without "losing it," and blinked back my tears. After a brief conversation with my doctor in which she suggested a blood test to rule out any other medical problems, I walked out of her office with a prescription for Prozac. I put away the remainder of my St. John's Wort, and began taking the small two-colored pills. In my weak emotional state, I couldn't seem to get beyond praying, "Help me, God!" While I knew God loved me, that he—the Great Physician—knew what was wrong with me and could heal me emotionally, God still felt far away and painfully silent. Slowly, however, as the days went by, I began recognizing his fingerprints. Didn't I have a supportive family? A trusted Christian counselor? And as I shopped, chatted, and lazed in the sun with a close friend while on vacation in California, I felt my joy returning. My trip was truly a gift from God—but I feared returning to my normal routine. With more prayers and a sad good-bye, I headed back home. |             |
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