We fall fast and hard and sudden, the proverbial impact knocking the wind out of us. And as we look up from the place where gravity took us, we ask, "How did I get here?"

How we got here is a different story for everyone. But we all fall, eventually; onto our knees, our hands, or flat on our back, our head spinning, eyes watering, with bruised pride and swollen shame. 

One month ago, I found myself in my doctor's office in tears. The world had become too heavy for me to carry. I was doing all the right things—all the things they tell you to do when you feel depressed. I exercise, I eat and sleep well, I have a great circle of supportive friends and an attentive therapist. 

But I have a lot going on in my life. Some things I talk about openly, like raising and fighting for my trans daughter, and some things I don't because they're not my stories to tell. Suffice it to say I felt inundated by life, awash in its responsibility and buried in its complexity. I was suffocating in grey, enveloped by hopelessness. 

Luckily for me, falling is only half the story. Getting back up is the other.

I saw my doctor this morning for a follow-up appointment to see how my medication is working. I smiled as he entered the room. I cracked a joke before he event sat down. 

He's all about getting me to fill out questionnaires. It's like an autobiography workshop at every visit.

One month ago, I scored 20 on the depression questionnaire and 17 on the anxiety one. The higher the scores, the more depressed and/or anxious you are. I was a whole lot of both.

Today I scored 4 on the depression questionnaire and 3 on the anxiety one. Anything below a 5 is considered not depressed or anxious. You know, "typical." 

You guys, I am typical. Let that sink in for a minute. That doesn't happen very often.

"Amanda, you're in remission," he told me. I've never heard that term used to describe mental health disorders, but I dig it. It sounds party-worthy. "Everything about you is more positive. I could tell the minute I walked in the room that things had changed. You seem like you again." 

You bet I'm me again, doctor man. And it feels great. I'm laughing again, writing again, going out again, taking an obnoxious amount of selfies again. It's good to be back.

I would have left the office with a spring in my step and party planning in my head, but it was also pap test day. 

Nobody wants to throw a party on pap test day.

I don't want to sound like a walking pharmaceutical pusher. It's not all about the drugs. Different things work for different people. But meds were my missing piece of the mental health puzzle, and I am not ashamed of it. I'm doing what I need to do right now to be well for me and my family. 

I deserve to live my life without feeling like the walls are closing in. 

My partner deserves someone who isn't shut down all the time. 

My daughter deserves a mom who can go to bat for her and stand strong in the face of adversity. 

All my kids deserve a mom who is happy enough to embarrass them by dancing to 90's jock jams in the kitchen when their friends are over. 

(Especially that last one. It's super important.)

We all fall, in our own ways and for different reasons. Some of us need help getting back up. I fell hard, and today I can say that I am standing tall again. My knees might be scuffed, my palms scraped, but I'm still here to tell the tale and mortify my children with the help of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. 

I can guarantee I won't be the only one in my family to need therapy in their lifetime. 

Game on, life. Game on.