Rescue...

I am once more medicated and calm.

How sad, that it took a return to (totally legal) drugs to get that way, but it's still a relief.

My therapist says I shouldn't feel guilty about taking medication for depression. She says it's no different than taking antibiotics for a chest infection. It's just that the symptoms aren't as visible. And I see the logic-I really do. But the social stigma of being a "Prozac Mommy" is still there, and a big part of me feels that my inability to get out of bed in the morning and function normally is a personal weakness, not an illness.

I'm sure we'll work on that as part of my CBT.

Had a really good session this week, which will be discussed in detail on my other blog.

(Incidentally, it's a shame that it's private, because I feel like some of my best writing goes on over there and this blog is suffering as a result. Martin could tell me if that's true, as he reads the other one. Well, baby?)

I just wanted to talk about one aspect of the session, which was all about significant people in my life and how they've affected me.

Top of the list is my wonderful husband, Martin.

I still find it funny that my family didn't approve of Martin at first. They were so upset that I was marrying outside of our faith, but I don't think they really understand how much they owe that man!

My life before I met Martin was a shambles. I was all over the place spiritually. I was totally messed up emotionally and sexually. I was engaging in all sorts of risky behavior with completely sociopathic people. My friends were the party animals, doing Class A drugs before going out and engaging in all manner of debauchery. I partied with them, and I thought I was happy.

Then I started talking to this beautiful English boy at a bonfire one night--a three day rave thrown out in the National Forest by an ex-boyfriend of mine. He was gorgeous, and he was intelligent and passionate about music. And I was definitely interested. I gave him a ride home that night, and discovered that he was also fairly responsible--he left early because he had to be at work the next morning.

When we were formally introduced a few days later by a mutual friend, I liked him even more. When he stood me up for our first date, I liked him slightly less. But when he made it up to me by cooking me dinner and doing the dishes afterwards, I was in deep smit.

I knew on our second date that I could happily spend the rest of my life with Martin. We just clicked, and became practically inseperable. And because he was only 20 and couldn't go out to my usual stomping grounds, we stayed in. I stopped hanging out with my reprobate friends in bars. I started watching movies and cooking dinners with my boyfriend. We went shopping and to the cinema. We went for long drives out in the forest. Basically, we had a normal relationship. And I discovered, through Martin, that I was actually happier living that kind of lifestyle, though I'd actively scorned it for years. From day one we were like an old married couple, and it was sweet and wonderful. It was comfortable and comforting. It was also blissful and exciting.

We only spent six weeks together, and those six weeks were the happiest ones of my life--at least up until then. When it was time for him to go back to England, we nearly drove to Vegas and got married instead of to the airport in Phoenix. Believe me, I wanted to.

I drove home after we said our goodbyes, and I cried most of the way. I tried to go out with my old friends that night, but it wasn't the same. In fact, I tried to go out with them almost every night for the next month. But it wasn't fun any more. Id had a taste of another kind of life, a life that I hadn't dared to dream of since I was 17 years old, and I wanted more.

So I bought a phone card, applied for my first passport, and got a plane ticket to England. And the rest is history.

I told all of this to Deborah, including the fact that even after 11 years of marriage there is still no-one else on earth I'd rather be with, and she smiled. Then she said something to me that really summed it all up:

"I guess you could say that he saved you."

And that, in a nut shell, is it. Martin saved me. He saved me from the path of self-distruction that I was on. He brought me back from the brink of personal disaster. He planted my feet firmly on the path of happiness and stability. He rescued me from myself, and brought me back to myself at the same time. I guess that's why I love him so much, and why I always will. Because he loved me enough for both of us until I could love myself again.

I am so blessed to have Martin in my life. He is so beautiful, inside and out. Never have I known such a naturally kind and giving person, and he is my husband and the father of my children! How did I get so lucky?