I first became aware of my depression after the birth of my daughter. My depression didn't manifest itself as sadness or melancholy...it showed itself as a "short fuse." or a "bad temper." My son took the brrunt of it. Often I screamed at him -a little boy, not even 10 years old!- and, shamefully, I disciplined him when I was out of control...I didn't just spank his bottom, but lashed out at him, open hands, clenched fists, teeth in a snarl, sometimes growling...often I would say, "I hate you!" to my precious little boy. To this day, his hands fly up in front of his face whenever I move too close to him. I pray that one day the emotional scars I inflicted on him will be healed.

I prayed like mad....why! Why would God let me continue like this? Why would He put my children in such a house with such a mother? I cried out to God day after day to spare my son from my tirades.

One day, after a particularly horrid event, I knelt down on my kitchen floor, and yelled out, for all the world to hear, "I hate You, God! I hate You! You tell us to cast all our cares upon You, but its like talking to deaf ears....I hate You!" Even as I said it, I knew I was wrong.

But why was I acting this way?

One day, my pastor's wife, a good friend, came to my house for a social visit, and my story came spilling out to her. She was patient, she listened, and didn't denounce me as an abusive mother, something I did each morning as I looked into the mirror. She made one suggestion.

"Do these episodes happen all the time, or just before your period?"

Oh, gosh! She wasn't going to suggest that this behavior was PMS? How ridiculous!

She read my mind.

"Keep a log for three months," she told me. "See if that is when it is happening. Then, see your doctor, and ask him what to do about it."

It was the best advice I'd gotten.

My doctor looked at my log, and agreed: it was a severe case of PMS. I was put on Prozac.

Life returned to normal. I asked God to forgive me for my outburst ... and I am sure He did.

But, then, I kept plateauing on Prozac. I was sent to see a psychopharmocologist (a psychiatrist who's really good at dispensing meds!)...and it turned out that she was a Christian! Praise God! Now my faith wouldn't be part of the problem, like many doctors suggest, but she would work with me in the knowledge of Christ as God!

She changed my meds. Things got better. For a while.

I can't say that it's been smooth sailing since then. Thyroid problems, neurological problems, even a stay in a "Christian mental institution" (one of the worst experiences of my life) all figure into this puzzle that God has in the making. While I have never completely come out of my depression, I get better, I get worse, but mostly, I am learning to depend on my heavenly Father. I am learning to call on a support network (the Christian Depression list is one!)....and I am learning that being depressed is nothing to be ashamed of; if I had cancer, if I had diabetes, if I had MS, people would understand. But depression is the same thing...a disease. It is a disease that effects the lives of millions of people each day...people who can't get out of bed, who have suicidal thoughts, who must be under the constant care and supervision of a doctor. It is not a weakness. It is not a sin. It is not retribution for something we have done. It is not the scourge of God visited upon us.

I am learning that I am weakened by my disease, and need help every day. And for that help, I look to God. I am happy to say that my son has been safe from any physical tirades of mine for over a year. I praise God for delivering my son from the abuse he underwent. I praise Him for delivering me from being the abuser. My meds are doing their job wonderfully, and this group, more than anything, has been a gift from God to me....as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. We are all a bunch of people, sharpening each other -- and I praise God for that, too!

For more information on depression, visit NAMI's web site: www.nami.org. They are not Christian in orientation, but will be able to explain it better than I.