I sat back in my seat, still gripped with fear. My brain began to whirl as the sound of the engines picked up speed below me. Every attempt at quieting my thoughts was much the same as standing before a thundering herd of horses bent on their own destination, and willing the thundering herd to stop.

I knew without a doubt in the small part of my rational mind that remained, that I was sitting in the exact place where God wanted me to be. Yet, the whirlwind of fear continued to envelope me. My thoughts returned to the blackness of a few nights before. The decision to make this trip had been difficult. Years of wild, chasing of ever, distant winds, frequent, feeble attempts at solving my problems had led to this moment. All had been just as futile as standing before the ever present, herd of racing horses.

In the air now, my silent weeping had ceased and I ran the events through my mind. Growing up in a dysfunctional home where arguments were loud, tension was prevalent and the fear of fierce reprimand was a constant shadow did very little to build self esteem and confidence.

I was tall and thin with thick, studious glasses and protruding front teeth. That overbite led to thoughtless ridicule from schoolmates. At the tender age of 13, I was noticed by a boy. I thought this was true love. I soon found my heart broken and my virtue shattered.

For the next decade, my attempts to find love and acceptance were shattered by men bent on their own agenda. By this time I had two small children and an alcoholic husband. My dreams lay in a fragmented heap. My marriage was over, and my only recourse was to divorce my husband.

The shreds of my existing world crumbled as my sister and her husband packed their three children and my life into a truck and moved 400 miles away. I wanted to move also, but something stopped me.

I felt as though Jesus had walked away from me for a very long time. I begged Jesus to come, to end all of this. I could no longer function. I knew I needed to reach out to someone.

I call the EAP (Employee Assistance Program) that represented the company I worked for. They sent me to a counselor in my area, I hoped she would have the answers to my problems. Her answer was a recommendation for 28 days, in-house treatment. I was stunned, I feared I really was crazy. I told her "NO, I couldn't leave my job, my children or anything else, and I sure wasn't going to go get "locked up". After all, the holidays were coming, I didn't want to be gone over Christmas.

One night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep, the question wouldn't leave my mind. I knew I should go. Part of me wanted to go. A still, quiet voice spoke to me. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this"? "No, of course I didn't, but who would take care of the children"? Quietly the voice said "don't you think I can take care of the children." At that moment I knew that my will must give in to God's. The next morning I called my counselor and saids that I would go.

Now, two days later my airplane was landing on a foggy, rainy afternoon in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was January, 1991. I was met at the airport by a little old man, who looked like an angel.

At the hospital, I was surprised to find that there were no bars on the windows and no straight jackets. A nurse showed me to my room and helped check in and inventory my belongings. She took anything that I might use to hurt myself. There were rules, but they all made sense. I wasn't a prisoner after all. After my things were put away she gave me a blue card and said "it's dinner time, let's eat". In the dining room she introduced me to my roommate and some of the other patients.

The first couple of weeks I felt like I was in a fog, I trusted no one and was desperately homesick. When I talked to my children they cried and I felt guilty for being gone.

One night they held a graduation. Two or three of the patients were going home, and we were all invited to attend. We sat in a circle and passed a coin, as each person got the coin they told of something they had shared with the person graduating. They talked of deep friendships, late night talks, how something this person had said had made such a difference in their recovery. The things they were saying sounded an awful lot like bull to me. I decided that I would graduate, but I wouldn't believe anything anyone said.

One morning I awoke and felt this strange joy in my heart, for the first time in my life I could hardly wait to get up. I actually liked the people that were around me. I actually liked MYSELF!! Every week some graduated, and new ones came in. I started adding things to the graduation ceremonies, and I cried when some left. I felt such a kindred spirit with those I had only known a few days. We shared a bond that could never be broken. I didn't suspect a man every time he asked for a hug, and it felt really good to get a hug with no strings attached.

On Sundays we went to church. I felt the love of God from a church body for the first time in my life.

The days flew by, I was smiling all of the time. Groups were hard as I talked about my divorce, my childhood and teenage years. For the first time, I allowed myself to talk about being raped at age 11. I felt safe for the first time, and I cried, but I knew that God was with me and I had to go through this to get better.

They told me that this was the tip of the iceberg and when I went home I would crash in 30 days, and 60 and so on. But, if I kept at it, the crashes would get further apart and my road to recovery would get easier. That recovery is a journey, not a destination.

My time was up, and graduation day was here. I sat and listened to people tell of times we had talked until the wee hours of the morning, things I had said that had made a difference in their lives. My life had touched theirs, and theirs had touched mine. That night we stood together, in a group hug singing "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost, but now I'm found, twas' blind but now I see". In 28 short days, 900 miles from home, my life had been changed forever. At that moment, I was home.

Once again I pressed my nose against the window to get one last glimpse of the hospital. Everyone was in group, last good-byes had been said and I was going home. Tears ran down my face, rushing like tiny rivers to an unknown destination. A part of my heart stays in a small town in Oklahoma and will remain there forever.

As the plane landed, the ground rushed up to meet me, as did many memories and thoughts of responsibilities not tended. I prayed that someday my children would understand why I left. I realized that when my sister moved, she unknowingly forced me to look at my own problems, I had been using her as a crutch not to deal with my problems. Although I still missed her, I thanked her for helping me get the help I needed. Even if at the time, she did not realize it. I did not get sick and have problems because my sister moved, no, they were already there!

The doors opened and I walked into the airport. My life burst upon me once again. The chatter of my children was a welcome sound to my ears.

My life resumed as though nothing had happened, I felt like I didn't have any problems. Then the sharp jolt of reality hit, I crashed. There was one element of my recovery that was missing. I couldn't go back to the church I grew up in. I had tried and I felt like I was in a dungeon screaming for air. I had been trained since I was a little girl, that if I didn't go to "this" church, I was going to hell.

My boss shared Jesus with me, and he invited me to his church. I still struggled, but I knew he was a Christian. He lived being a Christian daily, he was the same at home, at work, and at church. I cried all the way through the service. I prayed "Lord, if this is wrong, show me and help me to get over the guilty feeling I have for being here". I went forward that day and asked Jesus into my heart. I felt total peace with my decision.

I had been baptized when I was nine, but I never knew Jesus. I was baptized again on Easter Sunday 1991. My family did not come, but I was surrounded by my church family and the Lord comforted me.

As the months went by, my desire for a partner grew. Knowing that I typically chose the wrong person to be in a relationship with, I asked God for guidance. My prayer was a simple one. "Lord, if you want a man in my life, you need to put him on my doorstep, because I am not looking for one".

I promptly forgot this prayer. I was enjoying my life, my Christian friends and my Bible study. I looked at the guys, and talked to them, but I made no effort to date.

One evening I came home from evening services and there was a red carnation and a note on my door. The note asked me to meet this man for dinner, if I could. I could and I did.

We had a whirlwind courtship, and three and 1/2 short weeks later he asked me to marry him. I didn't doubt he was the right man for me, because he had left the note, and the carnation, "On my doorstep".

My husband and I were married almost exactly two years after I had begun counseling, I had been released from counseling, and I thought I was on top of the world. Little did I know, that the worst trials were still yet to come.

We settled into married life happily. I thought that since God had put us together, that we wouldn't have all those problems, and life would be wonderful. It would become very clear to me that sometimes God allows us to have, that which we think we need. And, then we find, that we don't need it, and we don't really want it either!.

My husband was thoughtful, attentive and seemed to put me on a pedestal. Just about anything I wanted, was mine. If I came home from work with sore feet, he put me in a nice warm bath while he cooked dinner. He helped around the house and took over with the kids. It seemed too good to be true! Beware of that which is too good to be true!!!!

Slowly depression seeped back into my bones. I blamed it on my tyrant of a boss. I had changed jobs two years before. This one told me daily I couldn't do anything right, and he was tired of holding my hand. He treated everyone like that, but I took it personally. I felt that if I quit my job, the depression would go away. It didn't.

The children began coming to me with problems, things that were happening around the house. They were getting along with my husband less and less. I tried to talk to him, but he was busy and didn't have time. His "projects" were more and more important, and he simply told me to "get over it"! It was my problem not his!

My husband is a school teacher, and he was working on his minor in history. That summer he was gone for what seemed an eternity. By the end of five weeks everything conceivable went wrong, and I was angry at him for being gone so long. In his eyes he was doing this for the "family". I felt abandoned, and I was getting more and more depressed. The house we lived in crawled with bugs, there was no air conditioning and I was beginning to feel very suffocated.

At first my husband had not wanted another child, and I did. Finally I gave up and said "Lord, if you want this child to be born, you talk to him, because he's not listening to me." That was in March, and late that summer my husband walked in and wrapped his arms around me, "let's have a baby". My heart nearly stopped, I was no longer certain I wanted a baby. Thinking quickly I decided that a baby would pull me out of this depression, so I said yes.

Very soon, our baby was on its way. I knew that the baby was not going to help things, only make them worse. He was such a gift though. It would be my son, my children, that kept up my will to live!

I was in tears constantly, and frequently stared out the window looking at nothing. I complained constantly to my friend, she tried to help, but nothing made any difference. Very little got done around the house and the kids were doing more and more, and rebelling more and more, I was doing less and less. The kids were too young for this. My husbands projects became more and more important to him. I begged him to talk to me, but he didn't have time and he went outside.

As my pregnancy progressed, so did my depression. At times, my husband tried to make it easier on me. I didn't cook, I didn't clean, I mainly sat in my chair while I let him do it. He gave more and more chores to the kids. My children rebelled loudly. They were 9 1/2 and 8 years old at the time.

As my fifth month approached, tensions were high, the kids felt over worked, and they were. I felt abandoned, alone, and emotionally destroyed. And I was! My husband was not the man I married. And my kids complained. I neither heard, nor saw much of anything that was happening. One morning the pains in my stomach were un-mistakable. I was in labor.

Rushing to the hospital, I was in a panic. I was losing my baby, and I was terrified. I was sent to the maternity ward, and soon my doctor was there, grave concern written all over his face. My husband works 45 miles from town, but soon he was there too.

Once the labor had stopped. My doctor came in and sat down, he looked straight at me and said "why are you so depressed, are there problems at home?" My face reddened as I mumbled, "yeah some, but not too bad". He promptly got to the point, "I think you are depressed and I'm going to put you on a mild anti-depressant." Of course I was worried about my baby, but my friend had already mentioned this, so I was kind of relieved. I went home armed with my pills, and a determination that things would be better.

For the rest of my pregnancy they were better. My husband was relieved to have his wife back. The kids were unhappy, but I still couldn't face it. When they came to me and complained I panicked. I didn't want to risk a fight, and I thought they would be ok, I had never made them do many chores, so I just thought they needed to get used to it. I could not face this, it was just one more thing that I couldn't deal with. I would pick a fight with my husband about it, but I really didn't want to deal with it. I was afraid to rock the boat, this felt way too familiar. My husband had a way of doing things HIS way. No matter what I said or did, he did things HIS way!

Once again I felt like my old self, and finally the depression was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief! My life resumed as though nothing had happened, and I waited for my baby's arrival.

Early summer 1994, and after a very difficult labor and delivery. Our son was finally here. He was beautiful, and our house was very busy. Dad changed as many diapers as I did. My Mother-in-law came to help, she is a sweet, unassuming woman, and I was so glad she was there. She took care of things, helped with the baby, and made our transition so much easier. I will always be thankful to her, for the time that she gave us during a very difficult time.

Soon my doctor wanted to take me off the anti-depressant to see how I would do. I agreed, I was sure I was OK. For a couple of months I was. Then I started to slide again, down that slow spiral, into inky blackness. The death grip of depression slowly closed around me, choking the very life out of me.

Daily battles with my daughter proved that things were not solved. My husband sent her to her room to clean it, she was told not to come out until it was done! I knew that this was not getting solved, but I didn't want to deal with it. He was pretty harsh with the kids, but, I did not want another divorce, so I chose to ignore it. I had a new baby and I was depressed again. My daughter wanted to go live with her Dad, and I finally relented. I was certain she would be back in a few weeks. I wasn't worried.

As time went by, the realization sunk in! My daughter wasn't coming back. My anger and pain mounted as the reality of it all sunk in. I blamed that on my husband, "if he hadn't made her do all those chores, she would still be here." I blamed myself for not doing something, for not standing up for her. I sobbed daily because I missed her.

Frequent phone calls punctuated those feelings. The callers told me that my husband had been abusing her, and if I was any kind of Mother at all, I'd get out of there, get all of the kids out, and my daughter would come back. I thought of nothing else. If I didn't leave, I was a horrible Mother. Yes, my husband still refused to talk over the problems with me. Continually saying, it was my fault, and I was just moody. To "get over it"!!! My requests for an audience were falling on deaf ears. My husband was not willing to look at the problems, or talk about them. They were still "my fault"! I felt like I was against a wall, somewhere between a man I no longer knew, and two little kids that had left, with or without me. Mid summer 1995, I moved out. More depressed than ever!

I woke up one morning unable to move, tears streaming down my face, I was terrified, in the midst of major panic, I was unable to move. I called a friend of mine, and she responded immediately. She came and took me to the emergency room. I was terrified, I didn't want to be there, but was unable to function, or think clearly. Life as I knew it had ceased to function. My husband met us at the emergency room, and I knew he wasn't happy. I could see it in his eyes. I lay there in a fog as four doctors stood around my bed discussing my "condition". I was just tired, give me some sleep and I'd be ok, I tried to tell them this, but I had no energy left It was unanimous, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and admitted into the Crisis Observation Unit, and put on medication again. I felt like a total failure. If I was on a mental ward, that must mean I had lost it! They were never going to let me out!! And, only crazy people took that kind of medication! Well, they did let me out, and I did ok for a few weeks, and then once again, I was on the Crisis unit. Out in a few days, I made it five weeks before I was once again in crisis. My daughter didn't do something the second I told her to, and I exploded, I was screaming at her and in a rage. Suddenly I stopped and looked at my terrified child, the knowledge that I am the one who had made her terrified, was more than I could handle, I stormed from the room, picked up something off the floor and slung it against the wall. I missed the wall and shattered the window. Slowly I sank to the floor. What had become of me. I was losing it! Or was I already gone?

"What was wrong with me?" My oldest son quietly sat down beside me. He had put the baby in his crib and came to check on me. He was eleven years old. This child grew up way too quickly, he took care of me so many times. Times when a child should be out playing ball and looking for frogs in the creek, not taking care of me! He was too young to be a caretaker! I said, "I need help, call for help, I need to go back to the hospital." Within two days I was on a critical mental health ward, in a city 180 miles away.

By then I was good at pretending everything was OK. The Psychiatrist couldn't figure out why they had sent me there. He told me there was nothing wrong with me, and he took me off most of my meds and sent me home. I was thrilled, I was OK, the other doctors were wrong.

I was fine, I went home and moved back with my husband, trying once again to make things work. I sold my house. I had found an account with $1,000 in it that I didn't know about. It was money from the rent of my house, my husband had bee putting the extra in that account. I was not too happy about that, and so I just sold it. He wanted to pay bills with the money, it was my house, I had bought it long before we met, so I didn't. I won. $12,000 was gone in two months. I figured it would just get swallowed up and I'd never see it if I didn't spend it! He wanted to save some out for taxes on the house, and I relented on that one point. We put the tax money in savings. I was still angry that I had been left in the dark on the financials on my house. I felt betrayed, and I rebelled!!! How much of all of this was Bipolar? And, how much was plain and simple rebellion?

I had decided to take some classes, and that did not go well, so I took the tax money from the house and opened a sewing shop. My business was great. The public relations work I had done had put the shop on the "map" in ten days, business was booming! I put out lots of work. What I didn't know was I was manic, and depression always follows a mania.

I was erratic, spending money like there was no end. My anger and my grief over my failing marriage left me with little thoughts about consequences, nor did I even care! I had so many un-finished projects I didn't know where I was. My husband tried to caution me, but I wouldn't listen. I felt like he had ruined my life. His harshness with the children had caused them to move out, and I was bitter. My son had finally gone to live with my Mom and my Papa. My anger exploded at any given moment. I was determined to do anything against him that I could do. Yet, at the same time my grief was overwhelming. I wanted him to hurt as bad as I hurt!

I still had the thought in the back of my mind that I needed to move out, so my daughter would come back home. After I got my daughter back. I thought maybe we could still work things out if I was out of the house. I hoped that if I moved out, it would jolt my husband into reality, and he would miss me! Then he would realize the severity of the situation. I wanted my marriage to work, but it seemed as though he did everything he could to stop that from happening. My anguish and grief were killing me. I blamed my husband!

I moved out again, to a ratty little trailer, he found out and got me out of there. Two months later, I was gone again. Hell bent on getting my daughter back. Hell bent on making him hurt as bad as I did! Wishing all the time that he would just see what was happening and stop it! This time I did not go back. There was no point in it. My husband had made it clear he did not want me back. A lot can be said with no words!! I moved out for good.

My shop was very busy, but everything had ground to a halt. I hired someone to help, but I had no money left for my own bills. Once again I was back in the hospital, and back on medication. I guess the doctors really did know what they were talking about!

I took the pills! Sort of! I missed 3 - 4 doses a week, and I still held to my denial. Nothing was wrong with me that a little sleep and allot less pressure would not cure! Even though I had to close my business, and I lost my car because I couldn't make the payments. I was still in denial. Both my kids were gone, both had moved out and were not with me. The problems were clear, and getting worse. The grief over losing my kids was destroying me. My anger mounted!

Over the next two years I fought it, determined I wasn't going to let it get me down. I filed for divorce, once again part of me really wanted to get my husbands attention. It didn't work!! Finally the day came to sign the papers. I sat staring at them. Somewhere in the deeper parts of my mind I knew I didn't want this. I had so much wanted to work things out. To sit down and solve the problems. He still refused to talk to me, he still said it was all my fault! Sadness crept in as I realized that I had to sign these papers, I could not guarantee I wouldn't change my mind, and my husband wanted them, he had pushed for the divorce. As I was about to sign the papers my now X husbands lawyer looked at me and said, "If it were up to me, you would never see those kids again"! I replied, "well, thankfully, it's not up to you"!! I signed them and walked out the door. Leaning against the steering wheel, I sobbed. Where had everything gone so wrong. I wanted to be back with him, but I couldn't stop blaming him for my problems, and he still would not talk to me and try to solve things. And, my daughter and my oldest son were still gone. I had to get them back!!!

I had filed for Social Security early, and in summer 1998, it finally came through. Along with over $12,000 in back pay. It took me four months to spend it all. I bought a house, we went out to eat, and spent money like crazy.

This was the beginning of a new life I thought. I'm starting over. I bought a house, the I bought wall-paper and paint, some new furniture. My house was going to be a show-place.

In no time I was broke, half finished projects everywhere. I had made friends with a woman that drank allot. My house was a shambles, you couldn't see the floor for the filth. My dogs were not house trained and it showed. I allowed my son to have a beer now and then, life was one big party. One night my friend and I got crossways. She was drunk, and I didn't think she should drive so I called her husband. She was angry and vowed to get even. She threatened to call Social Services.

I was not totally surprised when Social Services knocked on my door. Along with the Sheriff. I had been accused of throwing parties for minors. I admitted to letting my son have a beer now and then, but I had never thrown parties for minors, that was the truth. They believed me, and I was not arrested. I'd been to jail once for bad checks, and didn't want to go back. I think I would've rather have gone to jail! They took my kids away from me until I could get my filthy house cleaned up. I was devastated. I had just gotten the kids back with me! It just wasn't fair!

Eight days later I got my kids back, my house was clean, and I vowed things would be different. Three weeks later I was out of the system, and breathed a sigh of relief. Life was going to be different!

It was short-lived, my van blew the engine because the thermostat went out, and I didn't take care of it, all for an $8.00 part. Now I was afoot, and in late December Social Services was back. This time they didn't take my kids. My youngest son was with his Dad, and had been since the first of December. They ordered me to get help, and I voluntarily took my older son to my Mom's. My daughter was visiting her Dad.

By mid-January I knew I was in serious trouble. I had taken my nieces to Albuquerque and my "new, but very used" car had broken down. I was stranded in Albuquerque with three kids. I called my ex-husband and explained the situation. He has an 800 number on his phone, and I had no money!

He told me to call a Christian friend of his. I had always felt intimidated by her, but I knew I should call her. I needed help! She came to see me. I was uncomfortable around her. She was great, she brought me a gift of the Bible on CD, dramatized. I cried, it was such a beautiful gift, and I still treasure it. I was glad that I at least had someone to talk to, and we still keep in touch.

That weekend I found out that my boss, the one who had led me to Jesus nearly eight years before, was dead. It was cancer, and now he was with Jesus. I was devastated. I thought to myself, what would he say if he saw me now. He wasn't the type to judge, but still I felt bad. My life had come apart so badly in such a short time. What had happened?

My sister-in-law came and got us and we finally went home. What I found at home would change my life forever.

My son and his friend had a party at my house while I was gone. There had been a fight and $500 worth of damage was done. This friend was 21, so I called the Sheriff and my caseworker from Social Services. I was given my options by the Sheriff, and my caseworker suggested I put my son in a shelter for teens with drug and alcohol problems. I called my ex-husband, he had adopted my son, so I wanted him in on this. I knew that I should never have kept my son away from his Dad, and I vowed to change that. What I didn't realize is that I was trying to work get my son in touch with the wrong Dad. His biological father had been out of the picture for years. Mainly because of me. Bitterness got me once again!

That night my son's friend, the 21 year old guy who had trashed my house, came out to talk to me, I was honestly afraid of him so I called the Sheriff. The officer walked in and immediately asked me where my younger son was. I assured him he was with his Dad. It was the same officer who had come with Social Services the first time.

As I stood there I looked around at my son, his friend and the officer, amidst the filth of my house. Reality began to sink in, and I was mortified at what I saw. It was like the floodlights came on, I knew that bad decisions had put me here. I was just as responsible as my son for his drinking. I vowed then and there, that things would be different.

Over the next month I moved out of our house. It was in the middle of foreclosure because of my spending habits. My ex-husband managed rentals, and he let me move into one. I was grateful.

I vowed that this house would be clean, that I would take my medication daily, I was no longer in denial. I made a budget and vowed to stick to it. And, that is exactly what I did.

My son was angry at first for being put in the shelter. But, he got over that. He began to understand why I had done this. His grades came up, and whenever one of his friends suggests going to a party, he tells them how stupid that is, and they frequently don't go. His friends now respect his decision not to drink, and they don't mention it around him.

Along with the realization that my life was a mess, I admitted to myself that there were things that I had done to contribute to the problems, and that I was really the only one who could fix them. I could blame someone else all I wanted to, but when it comes right down to it, "I" am the one who has to step forward, do the work, and solve it!

The guilt and pain over everything that had happened was overwhelming. I could barely carry it. I went to a "Passion Play" (the story of the last week of Christs life, and the crucifixion). I went forward for prayer and I knew that having an illness was not an excuse to act the way I had, nor do the things I had done. But, I also knew without a doubt that I was forgiven for my sins, and that life didn't have to be this way. I took the step in the right direction to clean up my life.. I walked with a much lighter step.

I grieved over walking away from my marriage. I was certain God had put us together, and I had walked away. I asked my ex-husband if we could work things out and get back together. He said "NO". I felt guilty for leaving, and tried to make things right. It took me some time to realize that it takes two to get married, and two to mess it up. I was not the only guilty party!

I take my meds daily, and I have kept my house clean since February 1999. My bills are paid, I am not perfect, but for the most part, my finances are good. I have a car again. My son has not had any alcohol since January 1999. His grades are better than they have been since fourth grade. My daughter was there for the summer, and we had a great time. She went back, and I missed her. But, I was OK.

It was as though God had laid out a plan before me. A plan that finally set my feet on solid ground. A combination of medication, diet, exercise and spirituality. It is not only one thing that brings stability.

My ex husband admitted to me that he had been the one to call Social Services. I was not surprised. We both had made some pretty serious mistakes in our marriage, and I was willing to admit mine. He wasn't. And, he probably never will. He has remarried and well. I havent! I must be extremely careful going into a marriage again. And being alone has its benefits too.

Danni