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Depression and Mrs. Houseful

Depression and Mrs. Houseful

Depression and Mrs. Houseful of Nicholes It may seem counterproductive to start a series on depression during a month when so many are counting their blessings and sharing their thanks. However, that’s the exact reason I’m doing it. Because even WITH depression, there are so many things to still be thankful and grateful for. Like – therapists. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a full blown Christian, with a husband who is a minister in the wonderful Church of God in Christ. Yes, I do believe that God can heal any type of sickness (and I do believe that depression is a sickness AND a spirit) but I can’t just sit around and do nothing while fully expecting Him to do so.

So, how about we give some back story? I think that I’ve always had some type of issue with being me. From being the only black girl in my elementary school and dealing with the bullying that came with it, to being shunned by the friends outside of school during high school because I was in that nerd program. I thought that it would change in college, but it turned out that it was more of the same. I was once again a full minority in my dormitory, being the ONLY black women that resided in it and THEN I had the great fortune to get pregnant while there. Talk about a walking stereotype.

I can break down the first decade of the new millenium like this:

Son was born ->grandmother died->pastor died->sister died->joined the navy->got married->had the ladybug->grandfather died->had twins->uncle was murderd->sister’s 10 year death anniversary->complete and utter emotinal breakdown->2013 HAPPY NEW YEAR!

College is in there somewhere (I have a semester left, because I left after my sister died, and well, I haven’t felt the gumption to go back. I KNOW I should, and I want to, but I would be lying to you all and myself if I said at the moment I cared enough to do so.

I’ve prayed.

I’ve fasted.

I’ve asked others to stand in the gap for me.

Yet, I don’t feel different. I didn’t feel different. It was the same vicious cycle of waking up, handling the kids, being upset at my surroundings because the kitchen wasn’t clean, the babies were being, well, babies, the car note was due, the cellist needed help with a project for school. You know, LIFE. And life shouldn’t make you feel beat up. Not all of the time. Not like you’re the sparring partner for Mike Tyson.

You shouldn’t wake up each morning feeling like you never want to get out of bed. Not when you have five of the best faces to wake up to.

So I decided to go ahead and do something that most Christians that I know are scared to do. I sought help from someone other than my pastor, or my parents, or my girlfriends, or just prayer.

I started with someone that I trusted the most that wasn’t in part of my usual network. My OB-GYN. Seriously, I mean, who else really knows almost every single aspect of you emotionally AND physically. And if I wasn’t supposed to talk to her, I didn’t care. I scheduled my yearly exam, a little bit after the twins turned two and after we got the uncomfortable aspects of the visit out of the way, she asked me a question that I didn’t expect.

How are YOU feeling, Natasha?

I started with my usual, “Fine, but busy, you know, having twin babies will do that to you,” line and before I knew it, I was sharing things that had been on my mind for almost two years, some of them had been there for much longer than that. Stored in the recesses of my head and tucked quaintly away because, well, we just don’t talk about those things. I talked about how much I wanted to just stay in bed and hide from anyone who called out my name for help, how I hated deadlines now, sex was a no-go and I was fearful that my husband hated me. I hated people for no good reason other than they looked like they were having a great time with life, and ME, well, ME – as someone who is lauded openly on social networks for having it all together, I was slowly crumbling.

And then my doctor did something that I didn’t expect, because most doctors are so removed these days from emotion, because sometimes they have to be. She hugged me, and let me sob. Right there in that examination room, she allowed me to be something that I am SO scared to be with other people – vulnerable. After my great cry fest, she had a resident come in and sit with me while she went to look for the social worker. Before I knew it, I was given numbers to therapists, and promises of being called in two weeks either way. It took a little longer than that, but before I knew it, I was in the waiting area of a local psychiatrist waiting to unload.

I was nervous.

Would they judge me?

Would I end up crying? (of course I’d end up crying)

Would I be put on medication?

What would happen?

And that dear readers is what I’m here to discuss in this series. What happened, and what is continuing to happen. I will also be sharing posts from other bloggers and friends who have been in the fight with depression at some point in their lives. It’s amazing that when you finally get enough courage to talk about it, you see just how many people have had or are having an issue with it.

Be blessed, and just know, that it’s not over.


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[…] instance, I started therapy, and finally got a diagnosis. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it helped me get a grasp on how I wanted to move […]

Kerissa Blue

Wednesday 24th of December 2014

Thank you got your honesty as a Christian woman. I've lived this nightmare myself. Took me walking into a fellow coworker's classroom and breaking down. She gave me the number to her therapist and from there I begin the work. I'm still working on choosing joy and worrying less. God gave me the chance to be use wisdom to healed and it wasn't the church or pray alone. The body of Christ has to do a better job of truth telling.

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