Sign up for our free newsletter:

It was about this time of year many years ago when the crying started. Crying that didn't make any sense. Crying that hit me from left field and didn't seem to have any logical cause. At the time, I had a good job, great friends, a supportive family, a big God, even my first trip to Europe planned. And yet, I also had tears. Tears that struck when I sat at my computer at work, when I drove across town, when I lay in bed trying to fall asleep.

And then an empty, hopeless feeling settled in on me like one of those gray days when you can't even make out the clouds. I suddenly understood Ecclesiastes. Everything seemed meaningless—going to work, buying groceries, getting up in the morning, even preparing for my much-anticipated trip.

If I'd had enough energy to conjure the emotion, I would have been really frightened. I remember feeling like a failure at something, I just wasn't sure at what. At my usual upbeat persona? At retaining my sanity? At life? My embarrassment and shame at this failure kept me from sharing my struggles with anyone. Which, of course, only compounded the problem. I was weepy and empty—and alone.

That is, until the day my sadness welled up from within me and seeped out when I was sitting in the Kansas City airport with my parents. I'd flown home for the weekend and enjoyed a good visit, but as we waited for my return flight to board, my feelings turned on me. Big tears spilled down my face and I didn't have the energy nor the emotion to stop them. I tried to explain what was going on, what had been going on for a couple months. When I saw the anguish on my parents' faces, the severity of the situation finally hit me. Before I boarded the plane, my mom made me promise I'd get some help when I got back home.

So, the next day I called the counselor I'd seen previously to help me sort out a difficult-to-discern dating relationship. When I saw her a couple days later, she finally put a name on what had been troubling me: depression.

I went to my medical doctor a few days later and was surprised at how easy it was to get a prescription for antidepressants. However, it certainly wasn't easy to verbalize the reason for my visit, which seemed like a harmless enough question when the nurse asked me. "My counselor suggested I be put on an antidepressant," I told her, feeling my face grow flush and hot. When I repeated this sentence to my doctor a few minutes later, she asked me a few routine questions about the circumstances of my life, such as my current stress level. She consulted a recent round of routine blood tests—the only thing that appeared normal about me at the time—and then scribbled out a prescription for Prozac. After a short stop at the drug store on the way home, I found myself face-to-face with my new traveling companions: the two-tone pills in the brown plastic prescription bottle.

Two weeks later I was on a plane bound for Germany and my good friend, Christa, whose military husband had been stationed there. Many thoughts rambled around in my head during the eight-hour flight. I wondered what on earth was happening to me. I had words with God about the awful timing of my "breakdown" just before this trip of a lifetime. I wondered how long the pills in my purse would be a necessity, how different my life would be from here on out. And somewhere in the back of my mind lingered a question I couldn't quite handle yet, Would I ever find someone to love me and my fragile mind?

I didn't warn Christa that I was bringing my new "happy pills" along with me. I probably should have. Instead, I met her at the Frankfurt airport with a genuine smile and too much luggage. It was a delight to see her again and to catch up on the long drive to her house. The next morning I awoke a bit disoriented and groggy, but grateful for the legitimate reason for these feelings.

Christa's husband was away on an assignment, so it was just us girls. After a lazy first morning of catching up in our pj's, we finally cleaned up and took a walk in the picturesque hills near her home. It was there, surrounded by blue sky, wildflowers, cattle, and foreign soil, I told my friend about the tears, the depression, and the pills. Christa listened and offered the unconditional love that endears her to everyone she meets, and I felt empowered by being able to say these words to another human being.

Throughout the next two weeks, we gawked at cathedrals, wandered more countryside, feasted on foreign delicacies, enjoyed lazy evenings at home, took day trips with other military families, and shopped in flea markets and boutiques. It was great to laugh, see breathtaking sights, and daydream about long-ago events and people. The grand finale of my vacation was a three-day bus tour to Paris. Christa wasn't able to go at the last minute since her morning sickness, the cause of which we celebrated with a happy dance and French Silk ice cream, made the ten-hour overnight bus ride sound unbearable. She instead sent me with her friend Cherie, a fellow military wife.

It ended up being a magical whirlwind trip in which I saw such famous sights as the Arc de Triumph, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Versailles. We also toured a perfume factory, enjoyed a five-course meal at an out-of-the-way restaurant, and took a boat trip down the Seine, all while making friends with the other people in our tour group. It was all breathtaking and beautiful, but one stolen moment will always stick out in my mind and hold a special place in my heart.

After our first of two full days in Paris, we were given the opportunity to get off the tour bus and wander the streets a bit before heading to the hotel for the night. Cherie and I and two other people in our group jumped at the chance to walk and explore the sidewalks of Paris on our own. We eventually settled into an outdoor café and sipped cappuccinos while I interrogated these military members about their travels and adventures. And it was there, sitting in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower chatting with three strangers I'd met a mere 24 hours earlier, that I finally sensed a long-forgotten feeling: pure joy.

While I feared earlier that my growing happiness throughout the trip was merely due to the locale and that the depression would return full force when I got back to my normal life, sitting there I realized this wasn't just a conditional or geographical joy. It was joy based on the realization that God had planted my dear friend in Germany and prompted her to invite me at just the right time. A God who was knitting a new life together in that friend's womb, who had given someone somewhere the knowledge of how to create Prozac, who had woven amazing artistic talents into the people who'd created the buildings and monuments surrounding me, and who'd brought each of us sitting around that sidewalk café table to that unique place and time to share a treasured memory. I breathed deep and savored the gift of being roused from my deep, sad sleep in the City of Lights.

It's been many years since that trip, and several years since I've been off the medication. In the time since, I've concentrated on taking care of myself and on being honest about how I'm really doing when the moment seems right—for my sake and for the sake of others. It's not always easy to open up about this fractured part of my life, but, when I do, I often catch glimpses of God's grander plans when I see relief in a friend's eyes or actually get to help someone find a counselor and finally seek help for her own struggle.

I don't know what the future holds for me. I can only imagine that the chemicals in my brain will go out of whack again at some point and that it'll probably take a while to find a man with the kind of understanding and sensitivity I'll need (if marriage is in God's plan for my life). But one thing I do know gives me hope. The God who can orchestrate joy through a well-timed trip and a random café break among four strangers and who uses broken vessels such as me to help other depressed souls surely has this all well in hand.

Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com

Sign up for the Singles Newsletter and receive a new article plus community updates in your inbox every week!

Copyright © 2003 ChristianityToday.com

Read more from 'Single Minded'

Table For One: The Savvy Girl's Guide to Singleness by Camerin Courtney You'll love this book by the Singles Channel's own Camerin Courtney! It's an honest and upbeat look at the emotions, expectations, joys, frustrations, and privileges of the single life, that will delight and inspire you! Buy it today!