DEPRESSION: AMANDA'S STORY - PART I

Her name was Amanda.  She had light brown hair and porcelain skin, the sun's kiss of freckles danced softly across her face and arms.  I'd met her through a mutual friend while we were in High School.  She was reserved, some might say shy.  A bit of an introvert until you got to know her, that is.  Amanda had a contagious laugh, and I recall her smile so vividly; it was all consuming.  She was an enigma to be sure.  To really know her was to see her insecurities, but also her courage and silent resolve.  She was generous, loyal, and faithful to what outsiders might consider a fault.  But it wasn't, it was a great strength; one that would empower her to rise from the ashes of grief, to love again.

I always knew Amanda would accomplish whatever she set her mind to, if nothing else, out of sheer determination.   And succeed, she did.  Oh, did I fail to mention she had just a teaspoon full of obstinance?  Not enough to be obnoxious, just the right amount, should my opinion count for anything.  Enough stubbornness to handle whatever life would throw at her, enough to survive.  Little did she know how invaluable that quality would be.  It would save her...more than once.

Life went on for us both.  Throughout the years we were in and out of touch with each other, yet time simultaneously stood still.  That's the mark of true friends:  having the ability to pick up where you leave off, we were and we did.  But one thing had changed, Amanda had a secret.  A secret that began 15 years after we graduated, one she'd wait another 20 to tell me.

Amanda and I reconnected a few years ago. I had shared my emotional struggles with her, and could tell her living situation wasn't as picture perfect as I'd imagined it would be.  Little by little she confided stories of fighting, financial pressure, misery, depression, and how trapped she felt
in her life.  After years of happiness, her partner had turned her back on everything she professed to love, and returned to her first love, alcohol. 
Her words shocked me.  But I knew Amanda, forbearing and persevering.  She wouldn't give up on the relationship until there was no shred of giving left to be done.  Far more giving than you or I would be capable of, after
what I considered to be too long, too much abuse, too much of everything, Amanda had reached the end of the most generous, tolerant heart you could know, she'd had enough, and ended the relationship.  One thing I love about Amanda, when she is done...she's done.

I asked Amanda to share her experience with us so we'd have an example of how a 'severely depressed functionally depressed' person can function (if I can make up terms).  It was the period of time I just skimmed the surface of, that I expected her to elaborate on.  I was quite surprised when she began to open up about something that happened 20 years prior.  Events she'd never told me about before.  Personal traumas creating a far more depressed per-son who somehow managed to continue showing up at work. 

This is the story of one brave woman's fight through the blackness of tragedy and depression.  It's an inspiration to us all, that we can walk on broken legs; fly with tattered wings; forge ahead, even when we lack the will to live.

This is Amanda's story...

"Severe depression didn't exactly sneak up on me, it slammed into me like
a freight train.  I'd met my partner of 15 years when I was 18, we'd been together ever since.  As far as I knew, things were great, we were young and in love.  We had good jobs, a lovely home, and spent time with family and friends.  It was the proverbial wonderful life.

Why is it negative life-events all seem to hit at once?  My partner's mother passed away that Spring, and I'd spent a grueling year working on a new system implementation at the office.  I'd been putting in 10 hour days, 6 days a week for months.  Physical and emotional exhaustion were becom-ing a way of life.  So were betrayal and deceit, I just didn't know it yet.

I came home from work one evening, late as usual, walked in to find my partner in bed...our bed...with a man I'd never seen before.  Needless to say, I was devastated.  I left the house and drove for hours.  I didn't know what else to do.  When I returned home the next day, I tried to talk to her about what had happened.  To my utter amazement, she felt she'd done nothing wrong, didn't think she'd been unfaithful or done anything to cause me pain.  She didn't even understand why I was so upset.  I couldn't wrap my mind around her offense, much less her callous disregard for its devastating effects on me.  I could feel the room spinning, hear my ears ringing; my life was crumbling around my feet.  What should I do?  Had she been repentant, perhaps we could work through it.  But this cavalier attitude?  I couldn't... wouldn't abide it, no matter how much I cared about her.  But one problem remained, where would I go?  The house we lived in had been purchased by her father. 

I spent the next couple of weeks looking for somewhere else to live.  My looking soon caused more finding than I'd bargained for.  I discovered I had almost $30,000 of debt due to credit cards she'd opened in my name.  Allowing her to pay the bills, while I just kept depositing my paychecks into the checking account, was a huge mistake; one from which I was destined to learn a hard lesson.

I'm virtually homeless, and discover I'm thousands of dollars in debt.  Despair was mounting like layers on a cake.  Where was I going to live?  What was I going to do?  The questions echoed through my mind relent-lessly.  Depression began to consume me.  I could conceive of only one solution: quit my job and move home with my parents.  My hope was to find a job near my hometown and payoff the debt, only then could I live
on my own.  Armed with what seemed to be the lone remedy, I went to my boss.


Join us next week for Part II of Amanda's Story