"The year was 2002. I was a student at Indiana Purdue University studying philosophy and anthropology. I was divorced with 4 children and in a relationship that was holding on by a thread.

On my way to campus one day, I suddenly had tunnel vision. It was like I was looking through a peephole. When I walked across campus, it was as if I were in slow motion. I thought the walls were caving in all around me when I stepped on the elevator. I could not breathe. When I finally arrived at the class, my whole body trembled from the inside out. It was bad. I couldn't hold a pen steadily because my hands trembled uncontrollably… That's pretty much how I ended up in therapy the first time.

​

The funny thing about trying to get away from whatever you're running from is that the whole time you're running away, you're so busy looking back to make sure whatever you're running from hasn't caught up that you steadily run into new sets of misfortune. I have always been running.

​

I felt consistently tired, tried, angry, disappointed, unprotected, unloved, suicidal, out of control, generally disgusted, and at the end of my rope for most of my 20s through late 40s (I am 53 now). I wore black on purpose back then. I mourned everything. I mourned what should have been but never was.

​

The past resurfacing was the opening of a can of worms waiting for their chance to escape. Amid a severe bout of self-diagnosed depression, I was forced to look at memories I had buried on purpose long ago. I'd patted them down to suppress them. One thing ol folk say about pressure is it bursts pipes. One day, the pressure of everything I'd tried to forget exploded all around me and from that moment on, life was a daze. To eyes that didn't know better, I was well put together. Little did they know I was holding on by a thread that was dangling."

​

​