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While awaiting our flight out to Thailand we stayed with some dear friends, and my husband and I did something that God used to begin our long road to healing: we opened up and talked about what was happening. Once again, we weren’t sure what the response would be, but our friends were so loving, compassionate, and kind, allowing us to vent and cry as needed. As we talked, our wonderful friend “Sandy” suggested that, when we got to Thailand, we look up a counselor that one of her friends had highly recommended. Sandy tracked down her phone number and we made a plan to get in touch with her when we arrived in Bangkok.
One of the first things I did, at my husband’s prodding, when our feet touched Thai soil was make an appointment with a psychiatrist at Bumrungrad hospital. I walked into his office, answered a short series of questions, and left with a diagnosis of depression and a prescription to match. In a fog of disbelief, with tears welling up in my eyes, I made my way to the closest bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and cried, silent body-shaking sobs. My anger and hurt were growing by the day, and the official diagnosis left me feeling like I was no longer myself, but someone I didn’t even recognize, and I resented (a lot) having to take medication just to feel “normal” again…
(to be continued)