Last week, I was lower than low. Probably the lowest I had ever been. Past my breaking point. I had given up. I was so tired of fighting the depression. Fighting so hard for every single good day only to have the balance upset so easily. I didn't want to get out of bed or eat or drink anything or face anyone ever again. I sobbed to my Heavenly Father to just take me home. I was done. I couldn't fight anymore.
As I lay there in bed, my mind was flooded with the faces of my family. My sisters, my parents, my husband, my children. I imagined what their lives would be like if I were not there. I saw how many people depended on me and the holes that would be left if I were gone, and I knew.
I knew why the Savior went through with the Atonement. I knew how He did it. It was the hardest thing He had ever done to keep on fighting. He begged his Father that if there was a way that He didn't have to go through with it, then to please please please not make Him. But then he knew. He knew how many people were depending on Him sticking around and completing his mission. He knew how important His role was and the holes that would be left in all of us if He didn't.
As much as I hate depression, I am grateful for the lessons it has taught me. About myself. About my Savior. I feel like I am learning in some small way about what he went through. And if He could keep fighting, than I can too.
- John 16:33
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