By Angela Bronner, BlackVoices.com

Terrie Williams is the high powered publicist and rainmaker who has represented everyone from Eddie Murphy and Miles Davis to Johnnie Cochran and Janet Jackson.

In Williams' line of business, it's all about relationships; in her new book, 'Black Pain: It Just Looks Like We're Not Hurting,' (Scribner), she not only outlines her battle with depression but coralles regular folks and celebrities alike to talk how mental illness has affected their lives.

Black folk, especially, says Williams, have a specific historical context which makes our relationship with mental illness unique:

"Can you imagine how heavy the weight of all that trauma must have been in the hearts, minds, and souls of our ancestors? She asks. "They had no outlet in which to express it and no proper means of processing it. Instead of airing our dirty laundry and getting help for our issues we engage in behaviors that are harmful to ourselves or others such as crime, violence, promiscuous sex, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, workaholism, shopaholism, gambling, in order to cope, and it's killing us," says Williams.

Here, she shares her Testimony:

I was officially diagnosed with clinical depression in 2004, but the symptoms began manifesting themselves more than 30 years ago while I was in grad school. At that time, while excelling in my studies, I remember sleeping all the time. As a clinical social worker I had heard about depression, but I didn't make the connection that this was what I had. All along I carried a nagging feeling that "something was wrong" but I had no clue what it was or what to do about it.

BREAKDOWN
For nine months in 2004, I suffered the most extreme bout of depression I've ever experienced. In public I was able to stay at the top of my game running my public relations agency and handling the biggest names in the business; God gave me the grace to stand up in front of hundreds, sometimes thousands of people and advise them on how to be successful; but in private I was dying inside the whole time behind a "mask" that fooled the world into thinking that everything was ok.

Then, for three days I would wake up and not be able to get out of bed. I would just lie there curled up in a fetal position with my sheet over my head, in the dark, the blinds drawn, and not answer the phone. When my friends came to my rescue I had hit rock bottom and was completely unable to function. They got me to a therapist who finally named my problem and, once that happened, I knew I could be better, that I could be helped.

STIGMA
In the Black community, depression or any form of mental illness is a sign of weakness. We'd rather say that we have a relative in jail or on drugs before admitting that we have depression. While Whites and others are more open to revealing that they regularly see a psychotherapist, we won't acknowledge any kinks in our armor. It's just not embraced.

Also, there are a lot of people who, because of their status, their profession, or their career goals, are afraid to step forward and seek help. There are thousands of people who work in the military, politics, law enforcement, and other fields and believe that having a history of being treated for depression will prevent them from being promoted or maintaining their positions. But this is why, as a community, we must share our stories - so we know we are not alone and that there is help.

MEDICATION
Now medication is a huge, multi-dimensional issue. For one thing, I think Black people have a general distrust of the medical establishment, and with good reason. Historically, we have been mistreated, misdiagnosed, or ignored when it comes to our health. Remember the Tuskegee Experiments where Black men suffering from syphilis were given placebos and they died? Or that Blacks who dared to run away in order to escape slavery were labeled to have Drapetomania? Add on the fact that disparities in healthcare and lack of access to preventive medical care lands so many of us in the emergency room as our only means of getting medical attention and it's understandable why Blacks would be turned off by the prospect of engaging in treatments involving medication.

THE CHURCH
In addition to our distrust, there is also the role of religion that prevents many of us from getting full medical treatment. Because we are a people of faith, we tend to believe that all our problems can be solved through prayer alone. While I also have faith that through God all things are possible, I also know that prayer without action helps no one. Sometimes I wonder if God listens to our prayers for peace of mind and thinks, "I hear you. Now I've put therapists, doctors, mental health professionals, and other solutions in your world, yet you come to me, and then do nothing." We must hear God's answer to our prayers and take action to manifest the help He provides us. We must do the work and sometimes, for some people, that involves medication.

DAY BY DAY
Now, I have to do the work to stay on point. For me that means committing to my sacred weekly therapist appointments (nothing gets in the way of that now), I consistently take my medication, I eat healthier, workout with a trainer, and I maintain a closer relationship with God. I also pay much more attention to how I'm feeling-recognizing if I'm over-tired, irritable, or anxious. I make sure I manage the triggers that could send me spiraling into a depression: lack of sleep, overwhelming tasks to do, and excessive demands of my time. It's not always easy, but it's necessary and I do it to stay well. I know that I can't be my best for anyone or anything else without taking the best care of myself first. There's nothing more important to me than that.