In the days following, I looked for support, calling a few friends to ask for prayer. But no one returned my call. Are they thinking there’s something wrong with me because I was excluded from the group?

With support disappearing, I felt like my faith was under attack. I was alone. Abandoned.

I said earlier how there are two sides to every story. But not every side is a righteous one. There is the side that causes pain, and the side that receives the pain. And the reason for hurting another is not necessarily justified.

Did they forget I was a human being with feelings? And if I was not a human being, what was I?

I was bewildered, wondering why I, a person who had served God faithfully, making big contributions, was being treated like this. I had helped many learn to trust God as they battled illness and I was continuing doing so. Has that all been forgotten?

As the year wore on, more hurting followed—in words and in action. I felt like I was being punished like a child, by a person who had been a friend to me.

And the question that would keep repeating itself for years to come was “why?”

As I write, I try to remember that it’s up to God to judge. Not me. Bad things happen. And evil things too.

Today I look at the injustice and see the years of suffering it brought, trying to remember that I must now learn to accept and let it go.

But first I will finish telling my story. I’m hoping it will teach what can happen in the life of a person with mental illness when she’s mistreated. I also hope that people with mental health problems will come to be recognized as people of worth, in the same way as others have worth.