Great hubby, wonderful kids and an overall happy home.
Sometimes having a happy home is work. I didn’t grow up in a “happy home” so I have no map of how to have that. It comes from trial and error. But most of all, it comes from love.
I got a letter from a friend that is struggling. As I read her letter, I suddenly found myself being able to relate too well. A pit of darkness.
This is something that I have struggled with for many years. I just didn’t put it all together. First, it was after baby 4. I had a rough time. I didn’t tell anyone. I just cried in my corner. Then put on my happy face and went about my day. Until, I needed my corner again.
With each baby, my darkness after them grew. I just didn’t realize it. One morning I snapped… there was laundry, beds unmade and an over all mess. Lined at the door was my family, all ready to head off to school and leave me with the mess. I snapped. I screamed and yelled.
They went to school. I am not sure what Sanj said to them…but along the lines that mommy wasn’t feeling well.
One of the boys teacher approached me at church. “Are you feeling better? Tyler asked for prayer for his mom. He said you weren’t feeling well.”
I felt so bad.
Over the years, I have really struggled with finding happiness inside. There so many obstacles.
Most of them had to do with my family. My mom and dad and brother. When I was dragged back to that world… it was so hard. Yet I allowed myself to be pulled back. They are my family.
I love them.
After my father’s illness and reappearance from death… I was lost. Everything was dark. Everything was hard. Too hard. I remember so many times thinking how easy it would be to just end all the pain and darkness. I just couldn’t see light. Not even in my babes. That scared me.
It was so hard to go to my doctor. It was so hard to physically lift that phone and call. It was so hard to say, “help.”
Depression is something that many people deal with everyday. I never thought it was depression because overall I am a happy person. I like to have fun. I like to play. I love life.
I had a warped sense of what a depressed person was. I had a picture of the 1950s definition.
A depressed person or a person suffering from depression was me.
It’s genetic. There is a strong history of depression in the blood lines. We just didn’t talk about it.
You so often hear me talk about my happy pill. It keeps me level. It helps me be me… the me you love, know and see.
I am OK with that. I am OK with being a person that lives with depression. It is just a disorder like diabetes. I need meds to keep me being me.
So… why am I writing this? Because someone needs to hear it. Who? God will tug on that person’s heart. I just know this is what I am suppose to share.
I have a happy life. I have a good life. I have help. My little white pill keeps me level to help me be me.
Thank you, God, for my little white pill. Thank you for help that is there.
Ask for help… if you need it. It is so worth it.