It has been 2 years since the first Wed Advent service when I realized it was time to ask for help. It was the first time I got help--at church a presence reached out and just held me there. And things weren't getting better--they were worse. I had been on steroids for an MS attack and the mix of that with everything else caused a severe depression.
Thoughts I remember:
- crying all the way to work, all the way home, and any timee I was alone
- hiding this from everyone
- wondering when I would feel like myself again
- calling my brother and asking him when I might get better again
- feeling that each day was so long and wondering how I would get through each and every day.
- starting medicine, going home, sitting in my garage and wondering whether to end everything and then deciding to see if the new meds might start working in a few days
- blankly staring at a lot
Going to church worked, the new medicine worked, I realized that so many people cared so much for me once I told them what was happening. There was hope.
God--seeing me through yet another thing, holding me ... thanks be to God.
And we enter another Advent season where I am myself again, life is not perfect, but I am happy to be me.