My heart bleeds for reader Kate after reading her despondent comments on this post.

You say that no one could understand your despair. I have no doubt you feel completely alone in your battle. But I’m pretty sure a few readers have known similar pain.

I, for one, recognized your plea to God: “Why did you create me if all I want to do is die?” I asked that same question (with a few fillers) for at least a year. I pounded my fists on my bedroom floor with such rage that I nearly fractured my bones, and I threw books like “What Happy People Know” and “Authentic Happiness” over the banister in a temper-tantrum of sorts.

That was a good sign. It meant I hadn’t given up. Like you. I was still in the game. Ticked off, but still playing.

I can tell you’re a fighter. For starters, it comes with your name. If Kate is short for Katherine, it means “pure.” That’s why I named my daughter Katherine. After her grandmother, who was one of the strongest women I know, and after all the Kates in my life who are colorful, passionate, determined women.

I think I’m spending too much time with my New-Age in-laws, because I want to tell you to tap the life force within you. It’s there. And call on your Creator. Cuss him out. Yell at him. Say whatever you want. But don’t stop talking. Because as long as you are saying something, you’re communicating, and that means you are in a relationship with him. He can’t give up on you.

You know those 12 steps I wrote about? Scrap them. Just do this: hang in there. Because this really will pass. Even if you never find the right cocktail or the right doctor or the right support group. It will get better. And you will be there to reach out to some young Kate along the way, maybe a relative or maybe a stranger, and you’ll convince her to stay, too, because you’re starting to have a little fun.

God bless you.