CHAPTER ONE

SWIMMING UPSTREAM

It was a chilly Saturday in October of 1990. As evening approached, the curtains were drawn and darkness fell over the room. I sat on the edge of the bed thinking about my life, wondering if I would ever know what it was like to be happy. The last few years had been difficult. Most of the time I felt torn between parenting my thirteen year old daughter, Stephanie, and the demands of my job. But Stephanie was doing well, and I was at the top of my career as the Manager of Lender/School Relations Department. So why wasn't I happy?

I sat there in the darkness taking inventory of my life, trying to understand the overwhelming sadness that had always been part of my life. I realized how incredibly alone I felt. I wanted someone to spend my life with but something kept me from letting anyone close. I had met a guy in January that I knew would be good to me. Rick fit my description of someone I felt I could spend my life with, and, most importantly, he was ready for a commitment. But after four months of dating I told him, "Find someone else. I'm not the one for you." I was baffled by my behavior. After eight years of being single I'd finally found someone that would be a good husband, someone that I was physically attracted to, and what did I do? I ended the relationship! He was as confused by my actions as I was, but he continued to keep in touch by calling or dropping by occasionally.

The more I thought about my life, the more depressed I became. I began to cry. It seemed as if this dark cloud of sadness that hovered overhead would never leave. There was a knock at the door. It was my mother. When I opened the door she could tell that I had been crying. She asked, "What's wrong?" I sat down on the couch and answered, "I'm just depressed." She sat down beside me, put her arm around me and said, "I can see that you're depressed. Looking back, it seems like you've been this way all your life. Maybe you should see a counselor." She was right. Life had always been difficult for me. I had always felt like a fish swimming upstream, struggling against the current. The day I became aware of my struggle with life was at my great uncle's funeral. I was fifteen. I remember standing beside the coffin, thinking that just a few days before he was strong and full of life. Then suddenly, without a moment's notice, his life ended. He had fallen asleep at the wheel. His new blue Buick veered off the interstate in Southern New Mexico and he died instantly of a broken neck. I stood there looking at him, aware that his spirit was gone. His body looked like an empty shell deserted by a sea creature. I remember looking at everyone dressed in black and wondering if they were mourning, or if they were like me--envious. All I could think of as I stood there was You lucky guy! It's over for you! No more struggling, no more stress! My attitude about life was a simple acceptance of life's difficulties. I never really felt sorry for myself because I thought life was difficult for everyone. I remember a friend whose baby was born with a defective heart and other major health problems. She told me of a conversation she had with the baby's doctor. He described the tremendous pain her newborn infant was suffering. She asked the doctor, "But how can she be hurting that much when she never cries?" The doctor replied, "Pain is all that she has known." As I walked away, tears filled my eyes; I understood completely the infant's tolerance of pain.

All my life I had been able to cope with the daily struggle of living by pretending I was strong, that everything was fine. For the first time in my life I was relieved that I could finally admit that I was having a difficult time. I no longer had the stamina to swim upstream; the current was too strong. My defenses were crumbling; I was no longer able to hold back the overwhelming sadness with a smile and pretend everything was okay. It wasn't.

I decided to enter counseling.

Copyright 1998