what is wrong with me?

I wear my heart on my sleeve. I bear my soul. I, as a friend once said, have been an open book all 23 years of my life. So the following information may seem too exposed and personal to you, but for me, it's just another day in the life of Mary Kate.

3 weeks ago, I visited my family doctor. He came into the examining room expecting to talk about my thyroid - the recurring health issue that had been the cause of my last 5 visits - but when he glanced down at my chart and saw what the nurse had scribbled down, he said, "Oh...you're not here for that at all..." I was there to talk about the depression and anxiety I had been experiencing. There were days that I wanted nothing more than to lay in bed. I ate only because I had to, not because I wanted to. I could cry at the drop of a hat. I was not sleeping well at night.

Last November, I received news that my parents would be separating. I have struggled with this fact every day since. It feels weird to say, when I go home, that I'm going to my mom's house. I hate having to schedule time to see my dad. But this is now a part of life and I must adjust.

In July, I accepted a ministry position in a church that was already struggling. I took on lots of responsibility and hoped for the best. I was one of three ministers on staff - all seminary students. I was starting my second year of graduate school and, in addition to the stress of family issues, I could not handle it anymore.

In September, I could take it no more. After personal relationship issues pushed me to the edge, I broke down. I was simply experiencing too much stress.

I sat in the doctor's office that Friday 3 weeks ago and admitted that I need help. I can't do this on my own. I was frustrated that I couldn't help myself. I have always struggled with control issues and this was not helping. I wished I could just grin and bear it. I wished God would just step down and help, but as another doctor told a friend, "that's why God invented medicine."

Before I say this, let me acknowledge that I know it's going to sound twisted. But, some days I am angry that I don't remember having cancer when I was 9 months old. At one of my lowest points, I was weeping on the phone to my mom who so gently said, "I know you don't remember it, but there was a time when you were in a lot more pain than this. But you were strong and you were always happy. You didn't know any other way to be." She said this in an attempt to console me, and now that I'm medicated and feeling a lot better, I can see that. But at the time, I felt guilty. I was sitting there in an apartment that has functioning heat and air, a stocked pantry, and I had a full stomach - and I was complaining about not having an appetite.

My mind drifted to my cancer...how powerless my parents must have felt. "How dare you feel bad right now when they have been through so much." My mind drifted to the millions of people in this world who have nothing...who literally don't know where they will sleep tonight. "How dare you feel bad right now when they are suffering."

Maybe this post is overdramatic. Maybe I'm overanalyzing...as per usual. But what I learned from my experience is this: it is okay to suffer and cry and scream during your darkest most painful days, as long as you remember and try to do something for those whose days are darker.

God, give me opportunities to spread and share the many resources you have generously afforded me. Open the eyes of the world to a better place of more justice and equal opportunity for everyone. Let us live as Jesus lived - allowing us to pray for the cup to pass, but dying for others anyway. Thank you for your love.