It's unusually warm for December in New York. I'm playing "hooky" from work and sitting outside in the back yard with my dog. At times like this, I forget that I live with a disease called depression.

I was born to an alcoholic father and a mother who was his enabler. The oldest of two girls, I was quick to learn my role as the responsible one and picked up on many survival techniques.

There are many types of alcoholics and dad turned out to be one of the more violent types. Somehow my sister and I were spared the brunt of his physical violence - mom and other relatives received most of that. However, I was not to avoid the verbal abuse of both parents - a scar that can still open itself to this day. During his sober times dad was a kind-hearted man of great musical and artistic talents. Those sober times, however, where few and far between.

Dad worked as a plumber, but because of his drinking, lost what apparently was a successful business. And because of his drinking, we were constantly on the move from one apartment to the next and the next. This set up patterns for me of learning how not to get too close to people and how to "run away".

When I was 14 years old, my mother decided she had had enough of dad, kicked him out and moved my sister and I to an apartment of our own. A very bold and courageous move for a woman back in the late 1960's. You'd think I would have been relieved and happy. Unfortunately, the exact opposite rang true for me. I became a very angry teenager and in many ways picked up where dad left off. I turned my life over to the beginnings of my own alcoholism and drug abuse. I just didn't care anymore. I was determined to run my life as best as I could on my own.

I turned against God. Well, hadn't He turned against me? Up to this point in my life, in spite of all the craziness, I had believed in God. But enough was enough. Somehow I just knew He had forgotten about me and that He didn't care. I carried this negative belief in God with me until I was 32.

In spite of years of drinking and drug use, my life was successful (in terms of the world's point of view, that is). However, inside I was a completely empty person. I had pushed away a husband - he said he couldn't stand me any more. My friends had quit calling. I could not see my life going on much further than it was. I considered taking my life, but was too scared to do that. I had run out of options. And for the first time in a long time I said an honest prayer - I asked God to please do something to help me.

So started what I like to call part two of my life. I was led to a local support group for people in recovery and once I admitted my addictions to myself, to others and to God, those desires were miraculously taken away from me. I started seeking God and questioning who He was and, again, miraculously one day I understood in my heart what it meant for Jesus to have died for me.

To say that my path in life became easy after these miracles would be a lie. What my path has become is narrow. Once the alcohol and drugs were out of my body, I started becoming aware of this disease of depression. Or, I should say, aware that something else was going on with me.

The next four years were spent with the highest highs and the lowest lows. The support group I became involved with has many great principles, one being doing unselfish acts for others. Well, I did and I did and I did - and then I crashed. How could I be doing so much for others and feeling so bad about me? This breakdown led me to a pdoc and a social worker who helped me to see some things I had not seen (or was unwilling to see) before about me. The pdoc diagnosed me as having clinical depression and prescribed an antidepressant that was a lifesaver. (I won't mention the brand name here because there are many who do not have the same reaction to this medication that I had). The social worker led me on a journey of learning what my boundaries are and a clearer understanding of what I need to do to take care of me.

Have I lived the perfect Christian life since turning my life over to Christ? Sure wish I could say yes. The fact of the matter is, there are things I have done in part two of my life that I am not pleased about. I have stumbled on occasion. But through it all I see Christ there with me, forgiving me one more time. Have I been cured of depression? Depression has not been removed from me like the desire for alcohol and drugs were. I eventually weaned myself off the meds (please note - this is NOT a recommended course of action for most. Check with your doc first before taking yourself off any meds), use the tools I'd been given and lean very hard on God and on those in my life who I count on for support. In return, the layers of self are slowly and, sometimes, painfully removed. So, perhaps God is using depression as a tool - and my cross. A tool for me to move closer to Him, a tool to learn more about me, a tool so I may help someone else who trudges this path with me. The path is never too narrow to be walked with someone I love.

The bible verse that means most to me at present is...
Therefore, we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NKJV