The War Rages On

This is a continuation from my last post that takes a painful turn.

At 21, two years after my first serious round of depression, a lot had gone on. Good and bad. And while I was feeling okay, I always felt that lurking shadow in the near distance. I always felt like that feeling could come back at any moment. So I did what any scared and confused young adult would do: I ignored it. I pretended it wasn’t there and tried my best to move on with my life.

Enter severe chronic pain.

I had had back troubles on and off for years. I injured my lower back when I was 13. My parents didn’t take my injury seriously and I never received treatment aside from random chiropractic visits. I would have a flare up, be out of commission for a few weeks and then feel better. It never occurred to me that not getting treatment was going to alter my entire life. I was taking my dog to an appointment when I bent down to unhook his leash. I stood up and immediately felt dizzy. The room was spinning and going dark. I latched onto my {now} husband and told him I was gonna pass out. He ran off to try and find a wheel chair. I could feel the muscles in my lower back tightening. It was like my spine was being crushed. I never lost consciousness, but damn was it close. Evan got me out of there and we went to the emergency room. A few weeks and an MRI later, it was found that the lowest disc in my spine was bulged 1/2 inch straight back into my nerves.

I felt so much guilt. I wished I had sought treatment earlier. I prayed for healing.  The worst part was that Evan had to pick up the pieces. He had to do the extra housework, help take me to appointments, deal with the fact that I couldn’t go out or do much at all. He handled it with grace and I love him all the more for it til this day. But the depression was all consuming. The fact that I was now 22 years old and was living like an injured 45 year old construction worker was killing me. I was just so tired of constantly hurting. The familiar sadness consumed me and I was back to square one.

I wanted help. In any form. Soon after, I had reconnected with some old friends. My sister had moved back into town. I had a solid group of good people around me and I began to feel better. Again, I thought I had gotten over this depression. I told myself that this was just another round of situational depression. It made sense. I was dealing with some pretty awful circumstances and once they subsided a bit, I felt better. It was one of the best years of my life.

Until it wasn’t.

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