I wrote about my battle with Anxiety about a year ago, and it got an outrageous response. I made a disclaimer at the very top that I had never sought professional help; that I had never experienced anxiety to a level that required me to dive into medication or anything of the like. Since then, things have changed.
My case got so bad that I knew something was going on, but I didn’t want to speak up and look weak. Writing my post was kind of my way of speaking up and my attempt at making things better on my own. I didn’t want to just be another number in a sea of anxiety and depression studies. I held my issues inside. I kept them to myself. They were mine and I was to deal with them on my own. I concluded that I would not tell a soul – in person at least. Writing to hundreds of people was different to me. It was an outlet, not a cry for help.
I never understood those quotes or posts on tumblr, twitter, or Instagram that talked about how speaking up wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. I never understood how asking for help could actually… help. I never thought this would be me. I never realized how important it is to speak up.
Jonathan and I were lying on the couch one night when it all came out. He asked what was wrong, and instead of brushing it off as being tired like I did every other night, I actually told him.
“I think I’m depressed,” I confessed. He looked at me quizzically, not sure he wanted to accept it. But I knew he understood every single word.
“Have you prayed about it?” he asked. I had, but not like I should’ve been. I cried and told him everything while he just held my feet and listened. (Side note: it’s a super quirky trait of mine, but I love for Jonathan to hold my feet. First of all, it warms them up [cue Cold Hands, Cold Feet post] and it also comforts me in a way I can’t explain.) He told me I needed to tell my mom. So I did the next day – a Sunday. She told me I needed to call the doctor the next day. So I did.
My appointment wasn’t for another month, but I knew I had taken the first step in getting help. That day finally rolled around, I was prescribed a very low dosage of an anti-depressant, and here I am.
I don’t tell you for your pity. I’m able to handle my stuff. I tell you because I know someone needs the nudge of encouragement to go tell someone and get help. It really isn’t a sign of weakness but of strength to get out there and tell someone what you’re going through. Don’t ever try to hold your taboo skeletons in.
And that’s the thing. Why are these issues still considered taboo? SO many people -- people you would probably never expect -- have these issues. And we still try to be so hush-hush about them. Well here I am. I was diagnosed with depression. But you know what? That doesn’t define me. I take medicine. It helps the chemicals in my brain balance out. My serotonin levels were off, so I got prescribed a pill. It doesn’t make me crazy. It makes me function. It makes me strong. If I had kept quiet, who knows where I would be right now?
I pray about my issues. I really do. And I really believe I can and will be healed from this crazy disease. And yes…it’s a disease. It eats away at you in a way that’s too difficult for me to try to put into words. But while I’m praying for healing, I’m so very thankful for my doctor and the medicine he put me on. It has made me able to live again. I truly believe doctors are on Earth for a reason. God gave us doctors to diagnose sicknesses that medicines can heal. I just don’t think it’s necessary to become dependent on your meds when you can speak the Word of God and His promises over your life. Doing this will make your problems diminish.
I just can’t wait for Heaven. When there is no more sickness. No more anxiety. No more depression. I hate it so much and I can’t wait to be in an eternal place where it is no more.
Depression is real. Anxiety is real. I know what it’s like to be in a room full of people and not be able to look up from your feet. And I know what it’s like to get home from work, sit in your chair and zone out into nothingness because reality is too daunting. It’s a real thing. And I know what it’s like to sit in a chair while your heart is racing and your hands are shaking and you’re really not sure why other than anxiety washed over you out of nowhere. The fact of the matter is: so many people go through this and you CAN be helped.
Get out there. Get help. Speak up. It’s not a weakness. Speaking up is a strength. Telling someone your struggles can help you more than you may ever know. Let’s quit making depression and anxiety something we brush under the rug. It’s a real thing and it deserves to be spoken up about.
I love you all. Jesus loves you all way more than I ever could dream of. If you need help, reach out to me. I’ve been there and I know how hard it is, but trust me: it doesn’t have to be this way. You are loved more than you will ever know by someone who died to know you. Revel in that and find your peace in that.
This is temporary and this too shall pass…
