Reclaiming my muchness

This blog post has been stewing in my brain for quite some time lately. Now that doesn't mean that it will blow your mind or have any literary value, but at least it's better than a line or two and a music video. Well... at least I hope it is. I'll try to be as open as possible even if that leads you all to see me as a crazy, however, some things still hurt and still terrify me even though it has been over seven years.

For the past six months friends have asked me how I've overcome my weaknesses and found zeal for life. Well, here's my story:

Fall of 2008, I moved away from home, started my first semester of college, broke it off with my boyfriend of about three years, started dating another guy, and jumped right into the Army ROTC program at BYU by joining the Ranger Challenge team. My life was drastically changed. Being human - a creature of habit - I had adverse reactions to these changes.

In high school I was deeply invested in my schooling. I did all of my homework on time, I participated in class, and got high marks. I read books weekly. I studied subjects outside of school. I had a passion for life and learning. My new life was nothing like that. I sat in the back of the class room. I never did my reading. I slept during class and failed tests for the first time in my life. I didn't care about anything. On top of losing the drive I had in school I was becoming emotionally ruined. I cried myself to sleep every night after hours of lying awake only to wake up again an hour later. Some nights, the demons would come. They told me that I was worthless and that I had nothing to offer - the classic suicidal thoughts. They also reminded me of things in my past. They reminded me of mistakes I'd made and of things that had happened to me.
(Demon Days)

My boyfriend at the time did all he could. When the demons would come at three in the morning, he would be on the phone to calm me down and his soothing voice would help me find solace in sleep. One night he even came down to Provo and he sad in the front seat of my car and held my hand while I slept in the back seat. However, even he couldn't protect me from the nightmares.

Most of the time sleep was an escape - a sweet moment of peace amidst the raging storm. It was when the demons learned they could follow me into my dreams that it became a prison. They replayed my regrets. They replayed most terrifying moments. They dashed any hopes I had for momentary peace.

One particular day after my Book of Mormon class I followed my professor up to his office and broke down. I told him how I had lost my zeal. Things that used to bring my joy were empty. My professor listened patiently then gave his straight forward opinion. He suggested that I was suffering from clinical depression and anxiety. He wrote the number for the university's counseling center on a sticky note and we parted with a prayer.

I had never considered that explanation. I wouldn't. I didn't have time to have depression. So as I left the building I tossed the little slip of paper into the trash bin.

Time moved on. Winter semester came. January 19th, 2009, my boyfriend told me that he had something to tell me that night. After hanging out with my family I drove down to the cemetery and I prayed. Somehow I knew exactly what my boyfriend was going to tell me (I'm sure you can all guess, but I won't come out and say it. Still too fresh). I prayed to my Heavenly Father. I told Him that I knew what was coming and that I needed his help to do what was right. I knew my boyfriend needed help and I needed my Heavenly Father to help me help him. After I knelt in sobbing prayer I stood to walk back to my car. An overwhelming feeling of love for my boyfriend came over me. It was the most powerful feeling I have felt my entire life and it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I knew it wasn't my love for him, but rather a glimpse of God's love for him.

I got back in my car and called my boyfriend. I told him that I knew what he was going to tell me. Doubtful, he asked what I wanted to do after he told me. "I want to come give you a hug." Because he thought no one could want to love someone like him he didn't believe that I knew. Finally, he told me what I had already been told by the spirit. I drove to his house and told him I loved him and I held him until it was time for me to get home.

Even though I put on a strong face for those moments, this revelation from the man I loved tore at my heart. I ached for him. I began to blame myself for his continued mistakes. My fears and pain gave my demons new material to work with, and they loved that. But amidst my storms I did all I could to be his shelter from his own.

One Sunday during church, I found my first step to recovery. I'm not sure if it was a lesson on the atonement, or on finding joy in this life, or something else entirely, but I do remember the strongest feeling that I had some unresolved sins to take care of. Looking back, there was likely minimal blame placed on me because of ignorance, but my guilt was so oppressive to my spirit that I thought for sure I had become damned in the sight of God. After much prayer with God, and coaxing from my boyfriend I went to my bishop and handed my load over to my Savior.

While this didn't heal me completely, it did provide a great feeling of relief and took some leverage from my demons while bringing me closer to my Savior.

It was when the depressive feelings stayed with me that I considered depression. While I didn't recognize it at the time I've experienced symptoms of depression long before coming to college. Even though I had a passion for life in high school I still had the same feelings of worthlessness. Those feelings of worthlessness drove me to thoughts of suicide. I made jokes about killing myself or dying to my friends. Talking with my boyfriend on the phone I often lamented that I was crazy and that I didn't know how to overcome it. They wrote it off and I don't blame them. They didn't see what I saw. I thought I was being selfish in keeping myself alive. I loved life, I wanted so much from it, but I didn't feel like I was giving anything back. And now that I think back on it, I had moments with demons then as well, just not as often or as obvious.

Anyway, with depression being a serious option I looked up the number for the counseling center and made an appointment. I met with my counselor every week on Thursdays before my military science leadership lab. Things didn't go well. He diagnosed me with both anxiety and depression during our first visit and proceeded to give me coping strategies. After that our visits consisted of him probing me, and me crying without giving up any information. Finally he sent me to a psychiatrist who prescribed me some little blue pills that were supposed to make things better.

Now if you know anything about me, you probably know that I am strongly opposed to medication. I hate the feeling of something besides me changing how I feel or what I feel, and I am terrified that I will become addicted (For example, when I got surgery on my knee I took my pain killers for a day and a half then I stopped. I was in loads of pain, but my fear of meds was stronger than the pain). However, despite my fear, I was so tired of being tired. I was tired of being sad. I was tired of feeling. So, I started on my meds and things just seemed to stop. The feelings stopped. I didn't feel sad anymore. I didn't feel happy. I just felt empty. This change in feeling didn't change my actions at all. I still cried myself to sleep because feeling empty just makes you want to cry because you know that there is supposed to be something more. However, since I was no longer sad, and my counseling sessions seemed to just add to my crying for the week I stopped going. I stopped returning my psychologist's calls, and I moved on with my life.

However, even with the numbing effects of the medication I still felt pain. My boyfriend was still struggling with his problems and I finally brought up the courage to tell him how much it was hurting me. I finally told him that part of the reasons I was still crying was because of his actions. I showed him a notebook I had filled with poetry I had written that illustrated how much he was hurting me. After telling him what his actions were doing to me we went through cycles. They started with his apologies and his promise to do better. And then he would do better, but then he would do worse again. And I would hurt again. I want to be sure that you know I don't blame him. That was the very nature of his problem. I had let myself get to close and I let it cause me pain. I forgave him every time, made possible by the strength given to me by the Savior. I still hurt, but I didn't blame him.

Come December of 2o09, I was tired of not feeling anything. I decided to go off my meds. I tossed the bottle and thought I would be fine. Those next few weeks were some of the most miserable I have experienced. I went through serious withdrawal symptoms and my depression got deeper. I was feeling again, and it didn't feel good. However, after a few weeks, things got better. I was feeling, but I had marginal control over those feelings.

Despite his own problems, my boyfriend was always willing to help me with mine. There were nights that I would just cry and cry while he held me. I would ask him what I was supposed to do and if I would ever get better. He, in turn, would ask me if I had been reading my scriptures, if I had been praying. He told me, "Whitney, you just need to do the basics. That is how you find happiness." I told him I would try. And I did try. I did well for a few weeks, and for a few weeks the demons almost went away. But then I would find myself in his arms again crying and asking if I would ever escape these demons. We each went through our cycle.

There was a time my boyfriend asked me if he was really helping me. I assured him that he was. He told me that he was worried that he had become a crutch for me and that he was crippling me because I wouldn't give up my crutch and let myself heal. I told him that I was crippled before I met him and that he was helping me heal. (The Cripple Who Is Whole). Well, I was only right to a point. My boyfriend had helped me quite a lot, but we had reached the point where he could do no more. It was time for me to take over, but I didn't know that.

Our cycles continued. We did better. We did worse. Finally in the spring of 2010, he broke free of the cycle. And like I needed to do, he did it with only the help of the Savior. He finally realized that I had done all I could for him, and that it was his responsibility now. I didn't see that in my life.

On June 2, 2010 he left to serve an LDS mission. With plans of keeping correspondence throughout our two years apart and picking up on his return home, I made goals to better myself and keep up with his spiritual progression. I set up a schedule to read the entire standard works in the two years he was gone starting with the Book of Mormon, followed by the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, the Old Testament, the finishing it off with the New Testament. On top of that, with my best friend gone I had a lot of free time on my hands. I attended Mission Preparation at institute weekly and did work for the dead at the temple every Wednesday night. I woke up early and read my scriptures and said sincere prayers each day. When I felt sad, I couldn't turn to my best friend as I had in the past. I knew he needed to focus and that I couldn't bog him down with my depression. Instead I turned to the Savior. When things were hard, I prayed more, I read more, I fasted more. Come August, I had read through the entire Book of Mormon on my own for the first time in my life. Not only that, but I had found something I had lost. I had found my muchness.

I'm not completely healed. I still can't sleep at night, but luckily the tears only come about every other month, and while I still call three A.M. "Demon Hour" it is devoid of demons. Along with my sleep, I still haven't regained the level of motivation I had before two years ago, however, I am happy. Sure life is hard, but I love life so much. I still get sad. I still get discouraged. But I've found a way out of that.

So, to my friends who ask me how I did it (I know there's at least three out there, although I'm not sure if any of those three read my blog), I turned to the Savior. I know, I've told you before, and I know you want some new solution you haven't heard of before, but this is the solution. You likely think that that's too easy. It's a classic Naaman scenario from 2 Kings chapter five, or the children of Israel look-and-live scenario found in Numbers 21. It is that easy people! Do the basics. Turn to Christ. In Helaman 8 chapter 15 it says, "And as many as should look upon that serpent should alive, even so as many as should look upon the Son of God with faith, having a contrite spirit, might blive, even unto that life which is eternal."

Friends, here is your remedy. First, repent. Clear up those things in your life that keep the spirit from being your companion. Second, do all you can to be as close as you can to the Savior. Third, trust in Him.

I know that through the Atonement Christ can give us the strength to overcome our life's challenges and that as we become closer to Him and rely on the spirit for guidance we will be told what we need to do to overcome those trials. Friends, I pray that as you recall my story that you will see applications in your own life. I pray that the path I walked before you makes it easier for you to walk just as Christ made it easier for those who walked before me. I testify of these things, in the name of He who healed me, Jesus Christ, amen.