by Candy Mayer
“We’re going to take you to a psychiatrist,” my parents told me. “Maybe he can help you.” “But everyone will think I’m crazy,” I protested. “Well, we’ve got to do something, honey,” my dad said. “We’ve tried everything else.” I had always been nervous. When I was small, my parents took me to a child psychologist. In my early teens, they took me to a hypnotherapist. More recently, Daddy put me on medication to help my nerves, but nothing really helped.
I always had felt lonely and unhappy. Sometimes I felt as though I were living in hell. I never got a full night’s sleep and often had awful nightmares. I thought of killing myself, but feared death.
How I longed to talk more to my parents about my depression! But both were busy with their professions. A series of housekeepers cared for my two older sisters and me as we grew up. Not until Eleanor came along, when I was 13, did I find someone to talk to….”
(this article is an excerpt from the January–February 2008 edition of the Sabbath Sentinel)
To read the rest of this article, which starts on page 17, click this link: