Snacks. We all love a good snack time, right?

Revealing as little as possible, I called my hubs to tell him that my appointment that day went fine and I was heading home. It was a Wednesday, so he was getting the kids ready and heading to Relentless {youth group} and Awanas. When I got home I had just missed them leaving for our normal routine of grabbing drive-thru dinner and eating it in the van parked in the parking lot of the church. I wandered inside trying to seem nonchalant. I went to the bathroom and sluggishly headed to my computer. As I sat on the couch, acting like I was checking my email {for the benefit of who, I don’t know}, I finally went to Google. I typed in the words scribbled on that prescription pad of doom. “Celexa”

Just as I dreaded! Tears welled up in my eyes just reading the listing that topped the page. Without even clicking into the article my fears were a reality.

I began to sob. My biggest fear right there on the screen. “I am crazy.”

Before you go all psycho on me in the comment section {pun intended}, like I said before. I was a psychology major. I went through the classes. I know all the right things to tell someone else and would whole-heatedly believe it. “Mental health issues are no different than physical ones.” “Depression is often a chemical imbalance not a result of not trusting Christ with situations.” “It’s okay to handle depression with medicine; it’s not just a ‘selfish disorder’ you need to ‘work through.’” Oh yeah, I wouldn’t blink an eye before comforting someone else through this “diagnosis.” But all those fears of being labeled shot back into my mind. The ironic part was, crying at the sight of the word “depression” was probably a good indication I was…Depressed.

I sat, sunk into my couch. Hunched over, computer still in my lap, I trying to gather my thoughts, my fears, myself. My attempt at being self-controlled and level headed through prayer all went out the window. I knew who I was said to be in Christ. I knew I was a child of Christ. Loved. Cherished. Made with a purpose. But Satan had taken a stronghold in this dark place.

I cleaned myself up and set off to help Matt at Relentless for the night. A friend working beside me said, “How are you Julie? You look…tired. You don’t seem to be yourself.” “I’m okay. I guess I am tired.” I hadn’t been myself. I’d been using all my energy to remember what it was like to be me. This night, I was tired. Too tired to try. I just wanted to cry.

~~~

To Be Continued...

 Three Part Series {on depression}

1. That Day... {monday}
2. That Night... {tuesday}
3. The Pickup... {wednesday}