I started experiencing extreme depression and anxiety very early in my life, around the age of eight. Each day was filled with silent awareness that I had to fight a little harder than others for emotional normalcy. I was often paranoid and insecure. Social interactions were overthought and overwhelming. Each day posed new challenges.

I developed coping mechanisms. Some were healthy, some were not. I fell prey to perfectionism and developed something of an eating disorder in high school, though I was never formally diagnosed and did not seek treatment. I was desperately lonely. I never dated. I dove headfirst into my faith. This was a good choice and I believe going to church groups and pouring my pain out in prayer prevented me from making choices I would later regret.

But some coping mechanisms I developed were destructive. I struggled with self harm and constantly found myself teetering on the edge of an even deeper depression. I was always fighting the fall, working hard to hold on to the side of the chasm. Didn't want to fall in. There's no going back from that. I was very lonely and very lost and all the prayer in the world didn't make it better. I had no idea what to do.

A couple years ago, everything crashed. My brain just kind of... broke. I no longer cared about living or dying. There was no more fight in me. I gave up. People noticed. My superiors were alerted. Questions were asked, inquiries were made. Those that loved me most worried about me and continually checked in to make sure I was still with them.

I reevaluated everything during that time. I graduated from my university earlier than expected because I was beyond done with it. I walked away from a career as an actor, something I had spent a majority of my life working my butt off for. I was completely undone. Everything I had built up over the years, my perspective, my ambitions, my needs, it all dissipated.

Then, something miraculous happened.

Apparently, God decided that this was the perfect time to bring the love of my life around. Weird how that works. It was the last thing I expected, but it ended up being perfectly timed. And with him came new friends, a new church, a new support system, and an understanding of unconditional love I had not yet experienced. I began to fight back again. I started seeing a therapist. And I started to rebuild myself, brick by brick.

It was a very, very hard process. It was painful. I hope I never have to go through it again, but life brings strange things our way, so I very well might. As I began to heal from old wounds and work towards being healthy, it came to light that my problems were more chemical in nature than initially thought. Each day, I was stronger and stronger. I was freed from bad relationships, old mindsets, and I learned how to build boundaries. But the depression continued to occur and the anxiety never left.

A long time went by, and I was almost whole again. But I still had bouts of depression and severe anxiety attacks. Sometimes, they were debilitating. It was affecting my ability to function normally and my work attendance. I couldn't understand why they were happening, they seemed unprovoked by my circumstances. I was doing well, working full time, living with friends, happy in my friendships and relationship and in my church. It didn't make sense.

My therapist kindly recommended that medication might be the answer, and she suggested I seek medical help and psychiatric testing and diagnostic. I rejected this at first. I really, really thought I could fix it on my own by working hard. But that is not how mental illness works. It's an illness. A diabetic can't fix diabetes by working hard. And I couldn't fix the fact that my brain didn't produce serotonin properly and it needed to be corrected with external help.

So, after months and months and months of talking about it to doctors, friends, pastors, coworkers... I finally took the plunge. I agreed to take meds.

It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Before my medication, I struggled with anxiety, paranoia, severe insecurity, chronic fatigue, chronic headaches, social detachment, random crying, sudden onset panic attacks, stomach distress, hypochondriac behaviors, and many, many other symptoms. It's hard to be a good partner, a good daughter, a good friend, or a good employee when you are always dealing with all that crap. It put a lot of strain on my relationship as well as made it harder than ever to successfully hold down full time work. I struggled to be kind, to be generous, to be grateful. Because I was still in so much pain.

And now?

Now, I am normalized. For the first time in about fifteen years. That is not an exaggeration. Fifteen years. My pastor told me something that changed my perspective of medication. He said, "Amanda, God has a lot of grace for you. And sometimes that grace comes in the form of a pill. Taking care of yourself and taking medication will allow you to partner with the Spirit of God to becomes everything He wants you to be in this life, to further the sanctification process. It's not a failure. It's grace."

That changed everything. Grace changed everything. God sent me love, life and support in this journey to help me to be brave enough to take those little pink pills every morning, in the face of the stigma and the judgment and the fear. My medication allows me to be all that I can be. It allows me to take on challenged, to love others better, and to be whole. My medication made me a better person. It didn't just make me feel better. It allowed me to be better. And that is a gift I am eternally grateful for.