Two weeks later, I was at another bookstore on my day off (bookstores are my very favorite places) and found another copy of that book. I wasn’t looking for it. It wasn’t even sitting in the right section. I re-shelved it, and left the store.
I couldn’t get away from that book about depression, though, because the next day at work someone came into my store looking for it. I finally bought a copy of my own to take home and read. But I went back to the other store to get it – not wanting my coworkers to see me purchase a book about someone with depression issues and start asking questions.
I still have my copy of that book. It is marked up, highlighted, the margins written in. If you look closely at those margins, there are small snippets of my abuse story written in code. Those snippets were the beginning of me admitting to myself what had happened in my childhood. I started counseling sessions soon after that...
I'm guest posting at Emerging From Broken today. Please visit me there to read the rest of the story, how understanding depression led me to face the reality of sexual abuse in my childhood, and what it was like to disclose the abuse for the first time - to someone who was not understanding or sympathetic.