This week, Dave and I were chatting with our Pastor, who encouraged me to write this post.
In November 2008, my daughter celebrated her 5th birthday. My eldest son was 8, and my youngest son, 2. I was living life as most mums do; rushing from school to nursery, trying to get washing done, doing food shopping, cooking, trying not to put on weight, trying to keep my spending under control, managing friendships (my kids' and my own) and also doing the things that Christian mums do; serving with Mums and Toddlers, ministry at church, standing alongside others in crisis or in celebration. I had definitely said "yes" more than "no" and so I had given others the impression that whatever they threw at me, I could handle.
I've always enjoyed hosting my children's birthday parties, and this year was no exception. I'd made the invitations, baked the cake, put together the party bags, planned (and organised) the party games and cooked and served the party tea. Whilst extra guests (family, parents of kids at the party and friends) sat around and enjoyed their drinks and snacks, I ran around like a crazed lunatic, serving everyone and making everything happen. This was a Saturday. By Monday, I was completely exhausted. I dropped the kids at school and nursery, and drove myself and Seth to my mum's house.
I remember sitting on her stairs and crying. I was constantly tired and needing daytimes sleeps. I was very easily angered and often shouted at the kids. I would frequently find myself in floods of tears, sat on the kitchen floor, unable to complete the many different tasks that I'd started that day. I felt constantly guilty, that my poor hard-working husband was having to arrive home to a messy, chaotic house and a stressed and unhappy wife. Despite feeling unable to get housework done, I was still agreeing to attend various meetings, help friends with their kids and housework, and get involved in more and more events at church.
My mum told me to go to my GP. I called, was miraculously given an appointment straight away, and made my way in my car to the doctor. As I walked into his office, I felt heavy and weighed down. My movement felt slow and yet everything around me felt fast, loud and too bright. I started to tell him how I was angry and losing my temper with my children. I told him how I felt a total lack of motivation to do anything fun. I told him how lonely I felt, and how I felt that I had no friends left.
He told me that I had depression. He told me that I needed medication. He gave me a questionnaire to fill in. He prayed with me - my lovely GP (now retired), who is a Christian, knew I was also.
I filled in the questionnaire. I was shocked by one question - "Have you ever thought about ending your life?" Shocking! What a question! "Of course not!" was my initial response. And then I remembered...or maybe I just admitted to myself...The times when my children would chatter away in the back of the car. I would zone out of their words and hear only a humming noise. I would suddenly find myself thinking, "I could just not turn the steering wheel at the next corner. I could keep driving forwards. I could go into that tree." As the corner came, I would always turn the steering wheel, the thought would pass and I would realise my driving had slowed to a crawl. So...yes, I had thought about ending my life. Yes.
As I left the doctor, prescription in hand, I took out my mobile phone and called Dave. First of all I said "sorry". I felt so guilty. This man had married a funny, lively, easy-going girl, full of energy and promise. Now, she had turned into a miserable, tired, lazy woman, who had let herself go...or at least that's how I felt. He was kind, gentle and encouraging in his response...and this never changed.
That evening, Dave and I talked about the diagnosis. He told me to take all the rest I needed. He told me to completely forget about housework, church responsibilities and food shopping. I agreed that I could cope with the school run, and that I would ask for help when I felt unable. Again, I agreed to cook, but ask for help when needed. I also agreed to sleep as much as I needed to. Dave prayed with me, asking God to heal me. I suddenly had a very clear thought - Healing would not come straight away. Healing would come, but not straight away. God had heard my prayer and would bring healing, but if He gave it immediately, I would not learn anything, and there would be no testimony. I felt God clearly tell me that this depression was for a reason and that my experience and my ultimate healing would be a wonderful story, a testimony to be shared.
And so, my journey with Depression had officially began. My medical notes had documented a "Depressive Episode" and I was prescribed Fluoxetine tablets, two to be taken daily. My doctor recommended regular exercise, rest and an online Cognitive Behavioural Therapy programme called MoodGym. I told people that I had depression. I had two kinds of responses:
Response #1 - "You? Not you, Sal! You're such a happy person! You're so confident! You? Oh dear!"
Response #2 - "Me too! What tablets are you taking?"
With out exception, all who offered me Response #2, were people like me - involved in lots of stuff, lively, fun, sociable and, usually, creative in some way. I was shocked to learn how many people had experienced or were experiencing depression. I was shocked at how many people were taking medication. I was especially shocked as I would never had guessed that those people were depressed.
I learnt that Depression was a physical illness. I learnt that it was caused by physical things and had extremely physical symptoms. I didn't expect that at all. I realised that was had been called depression was actually my body saying, "No more! I can't keep going! I am officially on strike!" My body had had enough.
I remember one day soon after my first visit to the GP, I had a very odd experience. It was about 4pm and a school day. I had collected the kids from school and come home. I was freezing cold and I couldn't warm up. I slowly climbed the stairs (everything was done slowly) and run the bath. With the kids playing around me, I climbed into the bath and sat in the warm water. I didn't move. I didn't lay down or stretch my legs out. I held my knees up to my chin and sat there in silence. After a while (I'm not sure how long as my time perception was way off) I hoisted myself up and climbed over the side of the bath. I wrapped myself in a towel and, exhausted from the endeavour, I sat down on the closed toilet seat. As I sat there, I suddenly realised that I couldn't remember how to stand up. It was like my body couldn't hear my brain thinking, "Time to stand up now." I don't know how I sat there, but eventually, I stood up and walked into my bedroom.
I recall a concerned email from a friend who had received an email from me that didn't make any sense. My brain could not send the right message to my hands. As I typed, I had missed letters and words, resulting in an incomprehensible message. My handwriting also suffered. Suddenly it was messy, and my grip on pens and pencils was much looser. I also found reading impossible. A few people had given me books to read about depression, but I couldn't take in the information. I would read the same sentence again and again, but would absorb no information at all.
Nothing was enjoyable. When the snow fell that Winter, I didn't catch flakes on my tongue with the kids. Dave took them out to go sledging and I stayed home and made hot chocolate. Usually, I'd be bursting with excitement, but now? Nothing.
Some friends seemed unable to understand or deal with the depressed version of me. I had felt paranoid and lonely for a while. Now I understood why. Some friends backed off, but they were definitely the minority. Most of my friends were kind, helpful and moved towards me, ready to support. But I still felt very lonely. I felt like I was a burden to other people and so I pulled the shutters down and hid. I didn't have many Duvet Days, but I stayed at home or sat at my mum's house. She noticed that I was very quiet. I felt like I had run out of words...not my usual state at all! It was easier to hide from people than to feel disliked and "tolerated".
As much as I loved my church and had been so very blessed by so many people there, for reasons completely unrelated to my health, we decided to move to a new church. When we arrived at our new church, The Beacon Church, in Camberley, I felt it important to be really honest about my depression. During our membership interview with our pastor, Mark and his wife , Bev, I laid my cards on the table, "I need to be honest with you. You should know that I have depression."
"You should know that it's not an issue for us, " replied Mark, "I read two kind of books - books about leadership and books about depression. Rest when you need to, serve when you can. Your illness will not hold you back and we are not nervous about it." Minutes later, Bev asked me if I would like to preach at the next Ladies' Day. To be understood and released to make a contribution in the same conversation was amazing. From that point, it was Onwards and Upwards.
I met with a wonderful counsellor, Julie Sussex who leads our Pastoral Team at the Beacon. We talked about my family, my marriage, my illness and my coping mechanisms. Julie listened and helped me to order my thinking. She spoke to me about the guilt I was feeling. She spoke to me about my reticence to ask for help. She encouraged me to reach out and told me that I wasn't an "extra-Grace" person (someone who required a lot of patience) or a burden. I started to believe that what she was saying was true. It was safe or me to be honest and to ask for help. It was good to lean on a trusted friend and it was essential for me to say "no" to people and to say it without guilt. I wasn't letting anyone down, I was, in fact, helping myself, helping my family and helping those who asked too much of me. I began to believe, and I began to say "no".
Over the following five years, I continued to take my medication, avoid exercise like the plague, (well, I was still essential me...) and experience bouts of depression. I began to listen to my body and identify when I was feeling "poorly" and I need of some time out. During this time, Dave and I had been asked to lead the Youth team in our church, and so I did miss a few evenings. I also would remain at home in bed on some Sunday mornings. Although I knew that church did me good, I knew that on those mornings, I needed to sleep in the quiet of an empty house, and that God's grace towards me meant that I didn't HAVE to do anything other than rest in Him. After pregnancy, I'd not been a big drinker at all, but even the occasional gin and tonic would affect my mood significantly for days afterwards, and so I decided to avoid alcohol altogether. I saw Julie every now and then, and although my natural tendancy was to hide away when depression hit, I tried hard to reach out, sometimes sending texts to trusted friends, asking for prayer. I spoke to my children about my illness, explain why I was so often tired and emotional. They seemed to understand, and although they certainly didn't walk on egg shells or behave perfectly, they were sensitive, cuddly and most importantly for me, they didn't seem to worry about why Mummy was so often a messy heap on the floor.
In the years that followed a few things stand out as significant moments. Eighteen months after my initial diagnosis, Dave and I attended a youth leaders' training weekend. In one meeting, during the worship, I felt a strong sense of peace. I felt like God was close by. Those who were sensing His presence were invited forward. I went forward and stood at the front of everyone, quietly closed my eyes and opened my hands out. Suddenly something started building in me. I started to laugh. At first, it was a smile, then a little giggle, and eventually, a loud, raucous belly laugh. As I laughed, tears ran down my face and I was bent double, unable to stand with the strength of the laugh. It was deeply embarrassing walking back to my seat, and, in fact, for the rest of the weekend! Despite the embarrassment, I felt happy. I hadn't felt happy for a long time. It was amazing to me to think that I had laughed so much. It was like God had restored eighteen moths without laughter, in a brief moment. I remembered a verse that I have known since I was a child, but had never really understood fully until that moment,
"I will restore the years that the locust has eaten."
Later that weekend, I had a picture. As I closed my eyes, I saw a beautiful sunset. God told me that My healing would be like a sunset. When we watch a sunset, although we are waiting for the moment when the sun pops beneath the horizon, we still enjoy its journey. The beautiful colours and shapes of the cloud, the silhouettes of birds flying across it, the gradual movement. It's all so beautiful, and we all want to watch it, photograph it and share the photos with everyone on Facebook. God said that my healing would be the same - That it would be gradual, and it would be beautiful, and it would be watched by others.
About a year later, in a prayer meeting at a Leader's Day, a friend prayed over me. She prayed that "the hold of depression" would be lifted. Although I was not always depressed, I always had a niggling fear of when the next bout would be. After this prayer, I felt the fear lift. I knew that I was not healed completely, and that another bout would come, but I was no longer fearful of it coming. It was like the fear of depression had no hold over me anymore
Christmas has always been my favourite time of year. But it was always stressful. I had been prescribed Diazepam, a powerful muscle relaxant, for stress one year. It really helped me to rest and then sleep in the evenings, which made Christmas much more enjoyable for all of us.
Christmas 2012 arrived. For a couple years before, I had made the decision to fully engage with my family during advent. I wanted to enjoy the whole Christmas season, and not just work myself into depression for the sake of one day only. So, we began to celebrate each day with a special Christmas Job. Each day was different; reading Christmas books, watching Christmas movies, baking tasty treats, singing Christmas Carols, writing Christmas cards, enjoying school events - all together. Christmas 2012 was the same. A new tradition of the Christmas Cinema Trip was included, and we enjoyed our usual fun traditions and jobs. But this year, I forgot to get stressed. I said "no". A lot. I made my intentions clear to others. My family was my priority for the whole of December. My stress didn't arrive. Neither did the doses of Diazepam.
Christmas came and went. and 2013 began. Snow fell and I loved it. I went slegding with my family and had a snowball fight. I felt face-first into a deep pile of fluffy snow, rolled onto my back and laughed and laughed.Whenever the sun shined, I closed my eyes and tilted my head towards it's brightness. I soaked up as much Vitamin D as possible.
It wasn't until March that I realised that I hadn't taken any of my tablets since just before Christmas. I had simply forgotten to take them. I hadn't taken any at all. And I felt better. I didn't feel tired. I had stopped having afternoon sleeps. I hadn't retreated to my bed or hidden myself away. I didn't feel depressed. I remember telling Dave and being worried that he'd be cross with me for not taking my medication. He wasn't. He just said, in his calm, and yet completely excited way, "Wow...that's interesting..."
At the end of April, this year, our church met for ten days of prayer and fasting. I loved it! Spending time with with God was satisfying something deep inside of me. I heard His voice clearly during those ten days and I finally felt able to say, out loud, what I had felt since March...that God had healed me from depression. It felt scary, saying it out loud. What if I wasn't healed? What if it came back? What if I had to go back to taking medication? What if I had a rubbish day? Would everyone think less of me? Would I seem like a fraud?
The truth is, I get fed up. I still shout at my kids sometimes. I still get cross and disappointed and I still feel lonely sometimes. But, now, it doesn't last. Now, I can remind myself of the truth of my situation and I can lift my eyes to The One who helps me. I can get up, I can read a book, I can write clearly....mostly....and I don't have depression anymore. I do not feel afraid of it returning, because if it did, I know that God would never leave my side.
Healing came. It is beautiful. I am most definitely healed. Thank you Lord!
In November 2008, my daughter celebrated her 5th birthday. My eldest son was 8, and my youngest son, 2. I was living life as most mums do; rushing from school to nursery, trying to get washing done, doing food shopping, cooking, trying not to put on weight, trying to keep my spending under control, managing friendships (my kids' and my own) and also doing the things that Christian mums do; serving with Mums and Toddlers, ministry at church, standing alongside others in crisis or in celebration. I had definitely said "yes" more than "no" and so I had given others the impression that whatever they threw at me, I could handle.
I've always enjoyed hosting my children's birthday parties, and this year was no exception. I'd made the invitations, baked the cake, put together the party bags, planned (and organised) the party games and cooked and served the party tea. Whilst extra guests (family, parents of kids at the party and friends) sat around and enjoyed their drinks and snacks, I ran around like a crazed lunatic, serving everyone and making everything happen. This was a Saturday. By Monday, I was completely exhausted. I dropped the kids at school and nursery, and drove myself and Seth to my mum's house.
I remember sitting on her stairs and crying. I was constantly tired and needing daytimes sleeps. I was very easily angered and often shouted at the kids. I would frequently find myself in floods of tears, sat on the kitchen floor, unable to complete the many different tasks that I'd started that day. I felt constantly guilty, that my poor hard-working husband was having to arrive home to a messy, chaotic house and a stressed and unhappy wife. Despite feeling unable to get housework done, I was still agreeing to attend various meetings, help friends with their kids and housework, and get involved in more and more events at church.
My mum told me to go to my GP. I called, was miraculously given an appointment straight away, and made my way in my car to the doctor. As I walked into his office, I felt heavy and weighed down. My movement felt slow and yet everything around me felt fast, loud and too bright. I started to tell him how I was angry and losing my temper with my children. I told him how I felt a total lack of motivation to do anything fun. I told him how lonely I felt, and how I felt that I had no friends left.
He told me that I had depression. He told me that I needed medication. He gave me a questionnaire to fill in. He prayed with me - my lovely GP (now retired), who is a Christian, knew I was also.
I filled in the questionnaire. I was shocked by one question - "Have you ever thought about ending your life?" Shocking! What a question! "Of course not!" was my initial response. And then I remembered...or maybe I just admitted to myself...The times when my children would chatter away in the back of the car. I would zone out of their words and hear only a humming noise. I would suddenly find myself thinking, "I could just not turn the steering wheel at the next corner. I could keep driving forwards. I could go into that tree." As the corner came, I would always turn the steering wheel, the thought would pass and I would realise my driving had slowed to a crawl. So...yes, I had thought about ending my life. Yes.
As I left the doctor, prescription in hand, I took out my mobile phone and called Dave. First of all I said "sorry". I felt so guilty. This man had married a funny, lively, easy-going girl, full of energy and promise. Now, she had turned into a miserable, tired, lazy woman, who had let herself go...or at least that's how I felt. He was kind, gentle and encouraging in his response...and this never changed.
That evening, Dave and I talked about the diagnosis. He told me to take all the rest I needed. He told me to completely forget about housework, church responsibilities and food shopping. I agreed that I could cope with the school run, and that I would ask for help when I felt unable. Again, I agreed to cook, but ask for help when needed. I also agreed to sleep as much as I needed to. Dave prayed with me, asking God to heal me. I suddenly had a very clear thought - Healing would not come straight away. Healing would come, but not straight away. God had heard my prayer and would bring healing, but if He gave it immediately, I would not learn anything, and there would be no testimony. I felt God clearly tell me that this depression was for a reason and that my experience and my ultimate healing would be a wonderful story, a testimony to be shared.
And so, my journey with Depression had officially began. My medical notes had documented a "Depressive Episode" and I was prescribed Fluoxetine tablets, two to be taken daily. My doctor recommended regular exercise, rest and an online Cognitive Behavioural Therapy programme called MoodGym. I told people that I had depression. I had two kinds of responses:
Response #1 - "You? Not you, Sal! You're such a happy person! You're so confident! You? Oh dear!"
Response #2 - "Me too! What tablets are you taking?"
With out exception, all who offered me Response #2, were people like me - involved in lots of stuff, lively, fun, sociable and, usually, creative in some way. I was shocked to learn how many people had experienced or were experiencing depression. I was shocked at how many people were taking medication. I was especially shocked as I would never had guessed that those people were depressed.
I learnt that Depression was a physical illness. I learnt that it was caused by physical things and had extremely physical symptoms. I didn't expect that at all. I realised that was had been called depression was actually my body saying, "No more! I can't keep going! I am officially on strike!" My body had had enough.
I remember one day soon after my first visit to the GP, I had a very odd experience. It was about 4pm and a school day. I had collected the kids from school and come home. I was freezing cold and I couldn't warm up. I slowly climbed the stairs (everything was done slowly) and run the bath. With the kids playing around me, I climbed into the bath and sat in the warm water. I didn't move. I didn't lay down or stretch my legs out. I held my knees up to my chin and sat there in silence. After a while (I'm not sure how long as my time perception was way off) I hoisted myself up and climbed over the side of the bath. I wrapped myself in a towel and, exhausted from the endeavour, I sat down on the closed toilet seat. As I sat there, I suddenly realised that I couldn't remember how to stand up. It was like my body couldn't hear my brain thinking, "Time to stand up now." I don't know how I sat there, but eventually, I stood up and walked into my bedroom.
I recall a concerned email from a friend who had received an email from me that didn't make any sense. My brain could not send the right message to my hands. As I typed, I had missed letters and words, resulting in an incomprehensible message. My handwriting also suffered. Suddenly it was messy, and my grip on pens and pencils was much looser. I also found reading impossible. A few people had given me books to read about depression, but I couldn't take in the information. I would read the same sentence again and again, but would absorb no information at all.
Nothing was enjoyable. When the snow fell that Winter, I didn't catch flakes on my tongue with the kids. Dave took them out to go sledging and I stayed home and made hot chocolate. Usually, I'd be bursting with excitement, but now? Nothing.
Some friends seemed unable to understand or deal with the depressed version of me. I had felt paranoid and lonely for a while. Now I understood why. Some friends backed off, but they were definitely the minority. Most of my friends were kind, helpful and moved towards me, ready to support. But I still felt very lonely. I felt like I was a burden to other people and so I pulled the shutters down and hid. I didn't have many Duvet Days, but I stayed at home or sat at my mum's house. She noticed that I was very quiet. I felt like I had run out of words...not my usual state at all! It was easier to hide from people than to feel disliked and "tolerated".
As much as I loved my church and had been so very blessed by so many people there, for reasons completely unrelated to my health, we decided to move to a new church. When we arrived at our new church, The Beacon Church, in Camberley, I felt it important to be really honest about my depression. During our membership interview with our pastor, Mark and his wife , Bev, I laid my cards on the table, "I need to be honest with you. You should know that I have depression."
"You should know that it's not an issue for us, " replied Mark, "I read two kind of books - books about leadership and books about depression. Rest when you need to, serve when you can. Your illness will not hold you back and we are not nervous about it." Minutes later, Bev asked me if I would like to preach at the next Ladies' Day. To be understood and released to make a contribution in the same conversation was amazing. From that point, it was Onwards and Upwards.
I met with a wonderful counsellor, Julie Sussex who leads our Pastoral Team at the Beacon. We talked about my family, my marriage, my illness and my coping mechanisms. Julie listened and helped me to order my thinking. She spoke to me about the guilt I was feeling. She spoke to me about my reticence to ask for help. She encouraged me to reach out and told me that I wasn't an "extra-Grace" person (someone who required a lot of patience) or a burden. I started to believe that what she was saying was true. It was safe or me to be honest and to ask for help. It was good to lean on a trusted friend and it was essential for me to say "no" to people and to say it without guilt. I wasn't letting anyone down, I was, in fact, helping myself, helping my family and helping those who asked too much of me. I began to believe, and I began to say "no".
Over the following five years, I continued to take my medication, avoid exercise like the plague, (well, I was still essential me...) and experience bouts of depression. I began to listen to my body and identify when I was feeling "poorly" and I need of some time out. During this time, Dave and I had been asked to lead the Youth team in our church, and so I did miss a few evenings. I also would remain at home in bed on some Sunday mornings. Although I knew that church did me good, I knew that on those mornings, I needed to sleep in the quiet of an empty house, and that God's grace towards me meant that I didn't HAVE to do anything other than rest in Him. After pregnancy, I'd not been a big drinker at all, but even the occasional gin and tonic would affect my mood significantly for days afterwards, and so I decided to avoid alcohol altogether. I saw Julie every now and then, and although my natural tendancy was to hide away when depression hit, I tried hard to reach out, sometimes sending texts to trusted friends, asking for prayer. I spoke to my children about my illness, explain why I was so often tired and emotional. They seemed to understand, and although they certainly didn't walk on egg shells or behave perfectly, they were sensitive, cuddly and most importantly for me, they didn't seem to worry about why Mummy was so often a messy heap on the floor.
In the years that followed a few things stand out as significant moments. Eighteen months after my initial diagnosis, Dave and I attended a youth leaders' training weekend. In one meeting, during the worship, I felt a strong sense of peace. I felt like God was close by. Those who were sensing His presence were invited forward. I went forward and stood at the front of everyone, quietly closed my eyes and opened my hands out. Suddenly something started building in me. I started to laugh. At first, it was a smile, then a little giggle, and eventually, a loud, raucous belly laugh. As I laughed, tears ran down my face and I was bent double, unable to stand with the strength of the laugh. It was deeply embarrassing walking back to my seat, and, in fact, for the rest of the weekend! Despite the embarrassment, I felt happy. I hadn't felt happy for a long time. It was amazing to me to think that I had laughed so much. It was like God had restored eighteen moths without laughter, in a brief moment. I remembered a verse that I have known since I was a child, but had never really understood fully until that moment,
"I will restore the years that the locust has eaten."
Later that weekend, I had a picture. As I closed my eyes, I saw a beautiful sunset. God told me that My healing would be like a sunset. When we watch a sunset, although we are waiting for the moment when the sun pops beneath the horizon, we still enjoy its journey. The beautiful colours and shapes of the cloud, the silhouettes of birds flying across it, the gradual movement. It's all so beautiful, and we all want to watch it, photograph it and share the photos with everyone on Facebook. God said that my healing would be the same - That it would be gradual, and it would be beautiful, and it would be watched by others.
About a year later, in a prayer meeting at a Leader's Day, a friend prayed over me. She prayed that "the hold of depression" would be lifted. Although I was not always depressed, I always had a niggling fear of when the next bout would be. After this prayer, I felt the fear lift. I knew that I was not healed completely, and that another bout would come, but I was no longer fearful of it coming. It was like the fear of depression had no hold over me anymore
Christmas has always been my favourite time of year. But it was always stressful. I had been prescribed Diazepam, a powerful muscle relaxant, for stress one year. It really helped me to rest and then sleep in the evenings, which made Christmas much more enjoyable for all of us.
Christmas 2012 arrived. For a couple years before, I had made the decision to fully engage with my family during advent. I wanted to enjoy the whole Christmas season, and not just work myself into depression for the sake of one day only. So, we began to celebrate each day with a special Christmas Job. Each day was different; reading Christmas books, watching Christmas movies, baking tasty treats, singing Christmas Carols, writing Christmas cards, enjoying school events - all together. Christmas 2012 was the same. A new tradition of the Christmas Cinema Trip was included, and we enjoyed our usual fun traditions and jobs. But this year, I forgot to get stressed. I said "no". A lot. I made my intentions clear to others. My family was my priority for the whole of December. My stress didn't arrive. Neither did the doses of Diazepam.
Christmas came and went. and 2013 began. Snow fell and I loved it. I went slegding with my family and had a snowball fight. I felt face-first into a deep pile of fluffy snow, rolled onto my back and laughed and laughed.Whenever the sun shined, I closed my eyes and tilted my head towards it's brightness. I soaked up as much Vitamin D as possible.
It wasn't until March that I realised that I hadn't taken any of my tablets since just before Christmas. I had simply forgotten to take them. I hadn't taken any at all. And I felt better. I didn't feel tired. I had stopped having afternoon sleeps. I hadn't retreated to my bed or hidden myself away. I didn't feel depressed. I remember telling Dave and being worried that he'd be cross with me for not taking my medication. He wasn't. He just said, in his calm, and yet completely excited way, "Wow...that's interesting..."
At the end of April, this year, our church met for ten days of prayer and fasting. I loved it! Spending time with with God was satisfying something deep inside of me. I heard His voice clearly during those ten days and I finally felt able to say, out loud, what I had felt since March...that God had healed me from depression. It felt scary, saying it out loud. What if I wasn't healed? What if it came back? What if I had to go back to taking medication? What if I had a rubbish day? Would everyone think less of me? Would I seem like a fraud?
The truth is, I get fed up. I still shout at my kids sometimes. I still get cross and disappointed and I still feel lonely sometimes. But, now, it doesn't last. Now, I can remind myself of the truth of my situation and I can lift my eyes to The One who helps me. I can get up, I can read a book, I can write clearly....mostly....and I don't have depression anymore. I do not feel afraid of it returning, because if it did, I know that God would never leave my side.
Healing came. It is beautiful. I am most definitely healed. Thank you Lord!
