Maybe I Shouldn't. But Then Again, Maybe I Should.

Last week I was sicker than I've been in years. I had a nasty sore throat, a massive headache and a queasy stomach. But those symptoms were nothing compared to the miserable aches and pains that came with the 103 degree fever I had for almost four full days. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that my eyelids even hurt when I opened them ... I literally hurt from the top of my head to the ends of my toes and everywhere else in between as well. God surely was looking out for me this last week because I didn't get dehydrated even with such a high temp, and my blood sugar stayed pretty level even though I definitely didn't eat as much or as often as I should have. I really and truly can't remember when I've been that sick, and I certainly hope and pray that I never get that sick again ... never, never ever do I want to be that sick again.

Over the last several years, I've done more reading about the workings of the human brain than I ever would have imagined I would do. Maybe had I been more scientifically inclined when I was younger I would have spent more time gaining more understanding in regard to just how important that gray blob of matter that resides within my skull really is. It wasn't until I found myself drowning in the black sea of depression that I began consuming every bit of information I could in my attempt to understand what was happening to me. Words like serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine, acetylcholine and gamma-aminobutyric acid went from being things I'd never heard of before to being things in my brain that weren't working correctly. And once I discovered that all those little critters were malfunctioning inside my head, then words such as selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, central nervous system stimulants and dopamine reuptake blockers went from being nonsensical pharmaceutical jargon to me to being medications that quite literally saved my life.

Though I can't remember when I've been as physically ill as I was last week, I remember all too well how violently ill my brain was on this day five years ago. It was on this day ... three short days after the birth of my first grandchild ... that I sat at my kitchen table staring at the stark white envelopes that held what I fully intended to be my last words to those I loved. I had the pills in my right hand and the glass of tea in my left, convinced that dying was my only way out ... my only way out of the searing pain of depression ... my only way out of the heartbreaking misery of spending a lifetime hiding the truth about who I was. I was planning to die on this day five years ago ... but yet here I sit on my couch this evening with my sweet little wiener dog buddy's head nestled on my leg as I pen this post. I'd say God surely was looking out for me on that day five years ago when He sent along a friend to interrupt my plan.

Sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't remember where I was on this day five years ago. Maybe I shouldn't remember the goodbye texts I sent to my children that morning ... maybe I shouldn't remember the oppressive darkness that enveloped me ... maybe I shouldn't remember the letters I wrote to my loved ones or the videos I made for my newborn granddaughter ... maybe I shouldn't remember the fear or the pain or the loneliness or the desperation that made me believe with every fiber in my being that death would be better than life. Sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't allow the significance of this day to continue to reside within my mind.

But then again, maybe I should ... maybe I should always remember where I was on this day five years ago. Maybe I should remember the interruption ... maybe I should remember flushing the pills down the toilet ... maybe I should remember that on this day five years ago, I was given a second chance at life. Maybe I should forever remember the wonderfully courageous people who've walked with me over the last five years ... my incredible children (all six of them) and my precious grandgals ... my family back home in Tennessee ... my friends like Pat and Debbie and Joe and Donna and Leonora and Hilary and Ann and Rob and Yosef and Jeanne and Lynell and Aimee and Karen and Rand and Tonya and Ali and Verlin and Jim and Ele and so many, many more. People who believe in me when I don't believe in myself ... people who continue to believe even five years later that I'm still worth saving ... people who make me want to stay alive. 

Maybe I shouldn't mark this day each year. But then again, maybe I should, friends ... maybe I should indeed.