Confessions

Several years ago, we began a series here at Confessions called, “Finding Who We Are”. It was my sincere attempt to collect a choir of voices sharing their experiences and stories. Over a year, we gathered 24 different stories. I’m excited to say, that after a few years away, we’ve found our 25th.

It comes to us today from Emily Hilbun. She and I went to school together and found common ground in our mental health struggles. She even wrote the second of those 24 entries! You can find that here before you begin reading: “Finding Who We Are” Entry #2

Where do I even begin?

I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression for 14 years now. I was always an anxious child, but it really started when I turned 14. I was always a shy child, a shyness that followed me into my teenage years. Life had its ups and downs, but when I was 14 something happened in my brain. Doctors explain it as a chemical imbalance. Some call it laziness. Some Christians call it a lack of faith. Whatever it is, it’s a living hell.

I was raised in church, always there on Wednesday nights, Sunday mornings, and Sunday evenings. I was “saved” when I was 9 (heavy on the quotations) and was baptized when I was 10. Life was great, right? Until I stopped going to church. I believed that because I was saved, I didn’t need church. I still went to Wednesday night groups because it was fun but “big” church was boring. I continued that way until, you guessed it, I was 14. At that time, I was questioning my faith and the value of my life. I felt like I was too far away from God, that He would never be able to reach me. Man, was I wrong.

One day, I was in my room, sobbing, feeling so alone and desperate. On the night stand was a bottle of sleeping pills. I remember holding the bottle in my hands. I wondered how many pills it was going to take until my pain and desperation was gone. My sister came into the room we shared and gave me a cup of water, taking the pills from my hand, and left.

I cried even harder.

My way to exit this life was taken away from me. As I cried, I felt the sudden need to cry out to God, so I did. I don’t remember my prayer, but it was something along the lines of “Dear, God, help me”. When I was done praying, I felt this overwhelming peace wash over me and I knew that God loved me.

One thing that I’ve learned is that, being a Christian doesn’t mean, your fears, anxieties, and depression go away. If I were to write about every time I went through depression, we would be here for a few days.I could write all day about the chaos of life after I was truly saved, the church hurt, going to a college when I wasn’t ready, etc. Instead, we are going to move on to when I was 25 years old.

I was dating a guy that I thought I loved and I thought he loved me. We ended up going our separate ways. He wasn’t the nicest guy, but I’m not here to talk about him either. When we broke up, I was feeling so happy to be away from a toxic relationship. I was able to put all the energy that I was putting into being in a relationship into becoming closer to God.

I was perfectly fine, until one day. The day that changed everything. I was sitting in bed one day, when all of the sudden, a sense of paranoia washed over me. All of the sudden, I was convinced that the FBI was after me. I had an immediate panic attack. Fear overcame me. I began thinking they were coming for me right then and there. I settled down. A few days later, at work, I heard sirens and became convinced they were coming for me again. I had the biggest panic attack of my life.

I had to text the mother I worked for (I’m a nanny) and tell her what was going on. She called the neighbor over to help me and at that point, I almost passed out. I called one of my pastors at the time and he told me to come to the church so that he could speak with me in person.

I was terrified. I was afraid that I was going to lose everything: my friends, my family, and my church. A few days before, I watched something that I regretted, and still regret today (pornography). The idea of meeting with my pastor scared me to death. I went anyways, fearful to hear the words “you are dismissed from the church”.

When I got there, he asked what was wrong and I told him everything; like a waterfall flowing from my mouth. I sobbed and shook the whole time, begging him to not dismiss me from the church.

He was silent for a second and he said, “Emily, I’m not going to do that. All I want to know is if you are o.k.”.

I wish I could say that the same peace that washed over me when I was 14 did the same that day. However, it did not. I was still terrified that the FBI was after me, that I was going to be thrown into prison, and that I would lose everything. I drove home that day still a mess.

A few days later, I was driving to work and all of a sudden, I just had it. I was over the fear and depression, always looking over my shoulder. I remember calling my brother while I was on the highway, screaming into the phone that I wanted to die. I said it over and over again into the voicemail. The next minute, my dad called me and said “let’s go to the hospital”.

I had previously gone to my primary care doctor. She told me there was a behavioral health urgent care in Greensboro that I could go to if my depression and anxiety got bad enough. I got off the highway after telling my employer that there was an emergency and I headed home. I couldn’t make it home. I was freaking out too bad, and ended up going to a church parking lot. I sat there and screamed. I called my pastor and begged him to just let me die. He obviously said no, and he did everything he could to talk me down. He eventually just asked what my favorite food was. As I tearfully said spaghetti, my dad pulled up.

I hung up and my dad got into the car with me and asked me what was going on, and I started crying again, saying that “they” were after me and that I wanted to die. Again, I was told no. He asked if I was ok to drive the last five minutes to the house and I said yes. He went inside to inform my mom and grandma where I was going. I cried the whole way over. We made it to the urgent care and I was immediately ushered in when I told them that I wanted to die. I met with the counselor and he asked what was going on. I told him that I felt like God had walked away from me. He locked eyes with me and said, “Doesn’t God’s word say He will never leave nor forsake you?” I said yes, but that I felt too far gone.

I don’t remember what he said, but he looked sad.

I barely stayed at the urgent care for a few hours, when they transferred me to the Behavioral Health Hospital in Greensboro. I remember feeling absolute dread. I had no idea what to expect. How were the people going to be? Was the food going to be any good? Some of that fear went away when I was greeted by smiling patients who knew the drill. I was immediately welcomed.

I learned that the people there were just like me – living with depression and anxiety. They were normal people, who just needed a little help. The psychiatrist was really nice and listened to what I had to say.

I wish I could say that my fears went away. Instead, they got stronger now that I was away from home. I kept calling my house to make sure there was no one there to get me and my dad reassured me every time that everything was fine. At the time, the doctors were not sure what was wrong with me, so they sent me home 8 days later with a new set of pills. Again, I wish I could say that everything was perfectly fine after that, but it was only the beginning.

About a month later, after another round of severe depression and anxiety, my fear that the FBI was after me came back. I began screaming and crying. Thankfully, I could talk back and forth with a couple from my church and my friends that I met from the hospital.

I had a bottle of pills in my hand (see a pattern here?) that was prescribed to me for anxiety. I was threatening to take the whole bottle and my friends were talking me down. They told me that it was time to go back to the hospital, since I had been panicking for several days.

I was whisked back to the urgent care, where I was met with a very mean psychiatrist. She looked at me and said, “Well, do you plan on staying in the hospital for the rest of your life?” She tried to offer partial hospitalization – a plan where you go to a hospital and do group therapy from 8am-5pm.

I knew I had to advocate for myself, even though every bit of my strength was gone. I looked at her in the eyes and said, “If I go back home right now, I will do something to hurt myself.” She sighed and harshly said “O.k.”. She sent me to a waiting area with hard beds until they could transfer me to a hospital. I had to wait a day and a half before the behavioral health hospital was able to fit me in. 

Wow. Thank you, Emily, for sharing your beautiful story! Not a single one of us is out of the “process”. We hope you take hope from Emily’s life and find the strength to take the next best step. Leave a comment below for her to read.

If you are in need of help, feel like you are a danger to yourself, or know someone who is, reach out. Call 988, call a friend or loved one. Don’t give up hope!

If you want to share your story with us through the “Finding Who We Are” series, email me at matthew.bmalin@gmail.com. I’d love to talk to you and share your story with the world!

You are valued.

You are loved.