“Skip, what are you doing? Skip, what are you doing?” On April 17, 2014, I lay behind my desk in a fetal position asking this question over and over. My office was locked, lights out, shades drawn, telephone and Blackberry turned off. How did I get here? What happened?

I played things over in my mind. I’m a doctor. I’m a decorated Army Colonel with over twenty-three years of service, including thirty-months in combat zones. I’d served as the Officer-in-Charge of the 21st Combat Support Hospital (North) in Mosul during OIF1, 2002-2003. I was responsible for 220 personnel, patients, hospital operations, supplies, evacuation of patients, and safety of our hospital.

I was “tough”, a Soldier, a wrestler! I’d won a National Veterans Freestyle Championship two years earlier, after a thirty-two-year hiatus from competition. I knew what it was like to deal with adversity and suffering, and not let it defeat me.

I had a strong and active faith in God. My wife and I had a loving and supportive marriage of thirty-two years. We relished the freedom and tranquility of the empty nest, after raising five children. I found my work meaningful. I enjoyed the love and encouragement from my family and friends. I followed healthy practices to build resiliency. How did I get derailed? “Skip, what are you doing?”

I laid there for over three hours asking myself this question. I finally began to put the pieces together. I underwent three long overdue surgeries, in the previous seven months. Severe, progressive insomnia had worn me down. For several months, I could not get to sleep for hours. When I finally did, I would awaken in a few hours unable to go back to sleep. My mood became progressively blue.

Discouragement, despondency, and a crisis in confidence ensued. I wrestled with incessant accusatory thoughts, such as: “Your career doesn’t amount to anything.” “You’re a fake.” “You don’t deserve to be Colonel.” “You’ve let your wife, family, department, and the Army down.”

Guilt and shame were my constant companions. I became progressively withdrawn. I had limited emotional energy to engage with others. My libido (sex drive) diminished. It was simply too much effort to be amorous with my wife. Old slights, hurts, and a perceived lack of appreciation from others were replayed repeatedly in my mind and loomed larger and larger. I was anxious, felt my heart trembling, reflecting the shaking of my hands. I had trouble concentrating. I could not recall information I was well acquainted with or what I read five minutes earlier. I feared early-onset dementia. I couldn’t quiet my mind and heart to pray. It seemed my prayer bounced off the ceiling. God seemed so distant. I was in a deep, dark pit of despair.

Finally, I admitted.

“Skip, what are you doing?”

“You need help.”

“You’re depressed!”

“Go, get some help.”

I made arrangements to see a clinical psychologist later that day. This began the road to my recovery.

Why had I been so reluctant to admit I was depressed? Over the course of my career, I diagnosed and treated many patients with depression. How could I be so blind to my own predicament? Was I in denial? Because my pride wouldn’t let me admit I was struggling? My identity as a Soldier? Was it my identity of a wrestler, a man, and a “tough guy?” As a doctor, was I concerned about what others might think? Throughout my life, my modus operandi of dealing with difficulties, problems, and crises were determination, sacrifice, and sheer will power. In retrospect, all of these contributed to my denial and delay in seeking help.

Finally, I was beaten down, beat up, and broken so badly I could no longer cope. All my internal resources were exhausted. In my anguish and pain, I had had to admit I was deeply wounded and I needed the help of other caregivers to care for me. I was a “wounded warrior”, a role unfamiliar to me. I was used to being the caregiver.

Facing relentless negative thoughts and replacing them with loving, kind, and optimistic ones, was a protracted battle, but worth the effort. I learned to speak to myself more gently, like I’d address a child.

My insomnia was addressed and sleep has been a priority since. I toned down my all too frequent intense workouts, “training my body, instead of my ego”.

Slowly I regained my confidence, optimism, sense of well-being, and purposefulness. My concentration and memory improved, and my anxiety abated. Yes, my libido also returned! Yeah!

I had to learn to say, “No!”, and become more aware of the limits of my time, energy, and emotional stores. I also gave myself permission to pursue long-held interests, such as public speaking.

The journey to recovery was long, arduous, with many setbacks along the way. It’s still ongoing! It required the help of a team of compassionate and skilled professionals. I remain under their care. I ultimately accepted my true identity, my true worth as a beloved child of God.

Like me, get help, if you need it. Don’t wait another day. Do it!