My Story

Part One:  ~A Happy Childhood~

Most children's first word is "Mama," or "Dada," or "baba"... mine was "happy".  My mom tells me that I would spin around over and over again saying, "Happy, happy, happy," until I would get so dizzy that I fell down.  This is how I was known all growing up.  "Emily is always so happy." "Have you ever seen that girl frown?" "Emily, are you EVER sad?" Life was good.  I grew up in a happy home with parents and brothers that loved me.  I had a large group of friends who were all very kind and a riot to be around.  I had wonderful teachers and leaders.  Most importantly, I had a strong testimony in my religion.  It was my constant anchor.  I was very involved in High School. I sang in multiple choirs, starred in the musicals, and served as Jr. Class President.

I started attending college at Utah State University and after the initial anxiety that I had about moving away, I fell in love with the college life! I adored my classes, my roommates, beautiful Cache Valley, and the feeling of independence. I was getting good grades and was very involved with my department.  My life was good. It was happy. I was happy.

 I first noticed things changing when I turned 21.  I started feeling uneasy and anxious.  My appetite flew out the window. I tossed and turned at night.  I would wake up in states of panic. I was CONSTANTLY worried. My thoughts would repeat on an endless track, like a CD that has a scratch. These repeating thoughts interfered with my ability to be able to get anything done. I found myself wasting several hours just pacing back and forth in room while my mind did it's damage.  I started evaluating my life trying to figure out what was causing such awful things.  What had changed in my life that caused this to occur?

*Side note* I later learned that depression and anxiety often do not present themselves in a persons life until their early 20's.  I think its no coincidence that mine started, almost to the day, that I turned 21. In my human development classes I learned that every person reaches a point where their brain switches from pre-formal (childhood and adolescents) to post-formal (adulthood) thinking.   For many people it is a rather smooth transition. They go from white, to gray, to black.   For others the transition in their brains is more abrupt, or going from white straight to black.  It's like one day waking up and realizing "Oh crap! I'm an adult! What do I do now?!" I think the fact that my depression and anxiety occurred when I legally became an adult says a lot about the nature of the beast. It is also important to point out that depression is a true medical condition.  It is a result of a chemical imbalance in the brain where the serotonin levels are too low and where the brain transmitters are not making the proper connections. Like previously mentioned, often times these things are not manifested until a person reaches their early 20's. Thus was the case for me. 

Part Two: ~A Broken Mind~

Anyway, obviously when these feelings started to occur, my brain didn't say, "Oh don't worry Emily, your mind is just shifting from pre to post formal thinking." I thought that something HAD to be amiss in my life.   But everything in my life was the same as it always was. The only thing that had changed was the boy whom I had dated all throughout high school and my first year of college had just returned home from his mission.  I wrote him almost every week while he was gone and was so excited for his return to see what would happen.  He had only been home a little bit when these feelings of uneasiness started to settle in my gut. But these feelings weren’t just unsettled emotions.  They were feelings that made me literally sick to my stomach.  I was wracked with torment and worry.  And I didn’t even know what I was worrying about.  My mind just would not be quiet!!! 

This picture taken about three weeks before things started to get pretty bad... I was happy and had no idea what was coming my way

And this is right when things started to get bad. My mom took this picture of me on a Sunday afternoon.  She had no idea the turmoil that was going on inside of my mind when she snapped this photo.  You can slowly begin to see it in this picture. Confusion. Hurt. Fear.

  Because I didn't recognize these feelings as depression or anxiety, and I hadn't learned the medical reasoning behind my feelings, I had thought that I may be feeling this way because perhaps I should no longer be in the relationship.  It was one of the hardest decisions that I've ever had to make, because breaking up with him was the last thing that I had wanted to do.  After five years of dating, he was more than just a boyfriend, but my best friend as well.  Looking back now, I realize that even though it wasn't the relationship that was causing my depression and anxiety, I did in fact make the right choice, just for the wrong reasons.    Sometimes two people just aren't meant to be together, even if it's what you may want with all of your mind, your heart knows better (now we are both married to different people… life just has a way of working itself out:)

So we broke up and it was hard on both of us.  But since I didn't know the true reasons behind my constant darkness, anguish, and pain, I was even more shocked when after doing what I thought was the right thing, things did not get better.  In fact, things got much worse. I was losing a lot of weight.  I was getting maybe three hours of sleep a night. My stomach was in constant knots.  If the relationship hadn’t been causing these feelings… then what was? I started to think I must have done something wrong to deserve this. But what? I was completely burdened with guilt and I didn’t even know what I had done wrong.  I was SO confused.  It was like trying to see things clearly through a windshield caked in mud. This was a result of the "simple" fact that I had depression. And this is where the true chapter of my battle with depression starts (notice I said 'chapter.' Depression is not my story, but it IS a part of it).

Depression is often accompanied with anxiety, and vice versa. There were some days when I would have terrifying, sweating bullet, panic attacks, where I couldn’t breath and the very atmosphere around me felt like it was closing in on me. And then, the very next moment, I could feel absolutely nothing.  I was so depressed that I was void of feeling anything at all.  I just felt… blank.  This was more than a broken heart, this was a broken mind. 

Part Three: ~The Light Was Gone (or so I thought...)~

The tossing and turning at night, loss of appetite, and feelings of hopelessness that I described before, only got worse.  In the mornings I could hardly get out of bed.  If I did get out of bed, I would just make it to my living room couch, where I would thrash my body about screaming "What is wrong with me?!?!" I started to have very disturbing thoughts.  I felt like I had been buried in a deep hole where there was no climbing out.  My parents would ask me questions like "Emily, what are you feeling right now."  They grew up listening to me talk faster than Alvin and the Chipmunks.  They often told me I should be an auctioneer because I talked so fast.  So you know why they would start panicking when my responses to their questions were "I..... I..... I.... I.... I... I feeeeeeeeeeeeel......I feeeeeeeel..... I feeeel.... baaaaa.........d." (No exaggeration).  Not only was I not talking, but I was losing weight... and fast!!!! I lost about 15 pounds in one week alone.  It's not that I wanted to lose weight or thought that by doing so, my self-esteem would increase.  It's just that I literally had no appetite.  I never got ready for the day. But I did shower.  I showered A LOT! Sometimes 2 times a day for an hour and a half each.  When I was in the shower, I would cry and cry, and watch my tears go down the drain with the rest of the water droplets.  It was kind of therapeutic in a way.

My mind was in constant circles, running at the speed of light.  One thought would lead to another which would lead to another which would then go back to the original thought and the process would continue.  This thought pattern affected my body as well.  There were times my mom would walk into the room and I would just be walking in circles, a round and around again, dragging my toes in the carpet, creating a circle to match the ones in my head.  I tried to pray for help but it felt like my prayers would just hit the ceiling and not go anywhere.  This, for me, was the hardest part of my depression.  I would pray and pray and pray, but feeling the spirit was impossible.  I would read my scriptures and instead of feeling peace and comfort, I found myself racked with guilt. "You aren't worthy of these blessings.  You must have done something terribly wrong, otherwise you wouldn't feel this way." That's what depression does, it distorts all of your thoughts, and it literally depresses ALL of your feelings except for the feeling of depression and guilt.  For me, the feeling that was being flattened out the most was the feeling of the spirit of the Holy Ghost in my life.  I couldn't go on living this way.  It was awful!!!!

I would get so worried and anxiety ridden that I would scratch myself until I bled. I would burst out into tears in the middle of one of my very very slow sentences.  My family would try talking to me and sometimes all I would do was stare at them.  I had no idea what was going on.   After a week of this behavior, my parents could clearly see that it was not just a phase.  And it was not just a broken heart.  It was something medical that could only be treated with professional help.  So they took me to the doctor.

 The doctor asked for the details of what had been going on.  My dad replied, with tears in his, "My little girl has always been known for the light that shines through her eyes.  Lately she has been a completely different person.  She never smiles and always cries.  She looks scared and tired.  The light is gone, and I want it to come back.  I want her to come back." Then the doctor had my dad step out of the room so he could talk to me in private in case there was anything that I wanted to tell him that I didn't want to tell my dad.  There was.  I told him about my thoughts of wanting to end my own life.  Not because I didn't love myself. But because I felt such a darkness and I didn't see anyway out of it. He then had my dad come back in and I took a depression index test to see how severe my condition was.  As I filled it out, I realized the questions fit the description of how I was feeling to a tee.  Here is an example of what the test looked like:

Not at all	Only slightly	Partly	Quite a lot	A lot	To a great extent
I do everything slowly.
My future seems hopeless.
I find it hard to concentrate when I read.
All joy and pleasure seem to have disappeared from my life.
I find it hard to make decisions.
I have lost interest in things that used to mean a lot to me.
I feel sad, depressed and unhappy.
I feel restless and cannot relax.
I feel tired.
I find it hard to do even trivial things.
Questions:	Not at all	Only slightly	Partly	Quite a lot	A lot	To a great extent
I feel guilty and deserve to be punished.
I feel like a failure.
I feel empty - more dead than alive.
My sleep is disturbed: too little, too much or disturbed sleep.
I wonder HOW I could commit suicide.
I feel confined and imprisoned.
I feel down even when something good happens to me.
I have lost or gained weight without being on a diet

The evidence that I had depression was right in front of me.  I couldn't deny it.   My distorted thoughts again began to tell me that something was horribly wrong with me.  “Depression is a mental illness.  Mental illness means crazy.  I don't think I'm crazy...am I?” The doctor prescribed me with some anti-depressants as well as medicine to calm me down during any anxiety attacks.

 That night, I sent a text to my closest friends telling them to come over and that I needed to talk to them. They needed to know what I was going through because it would affect our friendship drastically if they didn’t know why I never called or answered texts.  My best friends, including the sweet boy that I had broken up with, showed up  on my doorstep and sat around in my living room with concerned facial expressions.  I gave them the watered down version of what had been going on, although many of them already knew.  I told them that I was going to need their support and to not give up on me.  They all gave me a hug and even if they didn’t truly understand what was going on, they expressed their love and promised to be there for me.  I love every single one of them so much for not judging me.  It is in your toughest times that you see what true friendship is.

Part Four: ~Jesus Took the Doctor’s Wheel… Literally~

Treating depression is similar to treating other diseases in the fact that not all interventions work with a certain individual.  For example, one cancer patient may respond better to chemotherapy, while with another patient, radiation is a better option. For me, the first medicine didn't work at all.  Prescribing anti-depressants is very difficult and is almost like playing Russian Roulette.  The doctor was doing the very best that he could, but the medication that he prescribed had an opposite effect.  I was starting to have suicidal thoughts on a more than regular basis, in fact, they were almost constant.  It wasn't because I didn't love myself, or think that the world would be better without me.  It was because I was feeling so much pain, anguish and darkness, that I was willing to do almost anything to escape it. My mind was so filled with scary thoughts and repeating worries that I felt as if it was beginning to erode.

The day after I started on my medicine, my mom was talking to us about the upcoming week.  "The high school football game is on Friday and I think it would be great if we were all there to support Cameron." I started rocking back and forth in my seat, wringing my hands.  My thoughts started spinning (ruminating) My brain was going at such a fast rate that I could barely see straight. I'm not sure what set this particular episode off... maybe it was the thought of being in a large crowd, or maybe it was the overwhelming idea of having to live through the rest of the week in order to go to the game. My mom quickly noticed my behavior. "Emily? What's wrong?" she asked.  "I..... I .... wont be theeeeeeeeeer." I said in a voice that was slower than molasses. "What do you mean?" "I mean.... I.... will.... no longer be aliiiiiiiive." I wasn't saying this to scare them.  I was just being honest, and my distorted thoughts told me that it really wasn't a big deal.  My little brother squeezed my hand so tight I thought it would fall off, my older brother woke up from his nap on the couch wanting to make sure it wasn't a dream, and my parents.... they cried and cried.  Right at that moment my doctor pulled into our driveway.  My mom ran out to meet him. "I don't know why I'm here," he said. "But I was coming home from church and my car just led me here." My mom cried and cried. "I know EXACTLY why you are here," and she explained the situation to him.  "I was worried that might be the case.  Sometimes anti-depressants have the opposite effect, I brought these instead," and he handed her a bag with a different prescription inside. Doctors making house calls seemed to be a thing of the past, but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was God that turned my doctor's steering wheel into my driveway that night.

I started taking the new medicine and my scary thoughts lessened.  They were still there, but not as bad.  Even though the first medicine had a negative effect, I knew that not taking medication was not an option. And good thing, because the medicine was one of the things that saved my life.  Some people may think that taking medications isn’t necessary for depression. They think, “You can just toughen up,” or “Just think positive thoughts.” While this MAY work for some, in most cases of serious depression, medication is very important.  Anti-depressants are just as important to a person who is depressed as insulin shots are to a person who has diabetes. Sometimes it takes the Doctor testing out different dosages and prescriptions to find the right one for you, but once the right one is found… stick with it! (Unless directed otherwise by the Doctor.)

Anyway, the start of my senior year of college was only a week away, and even though I was improving, the thought of going back up to school gave me SOOOO  much anxiety.  I began seeing a therapist.  She was very kind and gave me lots of advice, but it almost seemed too clinical...like I was strictly her patient.  I needed more than that.  I needed a friend, a friend who had a background knowledge of depression.  A friend that listened to me, simply to listen.  Not to try and solve all of my problems with what seemed to me at the time to be very silly suggestions. I wasn’t able to find this kind of therapist before I went back up to school but with lots of self-talk, Priesthood blessings, tears, prayers, and miracles, I finally mustered up the courage to go back to school.

Luckily I was going to be rooming with one of my best friends. She is the most amazing, understanding person I know. If it weren't for her, well... I don't even want to think what would have happened.  She calmed me down on several occasions, let me cry, and read scriptures and talks with me.  She really was an angel in my life.  Her sister told me that our friend from the previous year, Carlos, wanted to take me on a date.  Carlos was a great guy, but the thought of going on a date, putting my self out there, setting my self up for any form of insecurities, gave me too much anxiety. I wasn’t comfortable enough with myself, so I knew I wouldn't be comfortable enough to go on a date yet.

Part Five: ~Chocolate Chips and Pure Terror~

I have taken pride in being a perfectionist in my schoolwork.  I loved learning, and taking notes, writing papers, and yes... taking tests.  But this semester was completely different.  The teachers would be presenting their lectures and I felt like I was listening to the teacher from Charlie Brown (blah blah blah blah blah).  I felt like I was drowning, surrounded by water.  Everything seemed blurred and heavy.  When I heard what the teachers were  actually saying, it just gave me anxiety.  "This paper is due then… this exam will be taken there…and this project is worth a trillion bazillion points..." Everything was so overwhelming.  It would take me nearly two hours to read an article, because my mind would just race and think about a million other things (a common symptom of depression).  I would come home from class each day carrying a load far heavier than the books in my backpack.  I had every intention to work on homework, but all I could manage to do was to curl up in a ball and cry.

 One day I came home from school and I could hardly make it up the stairs to my door.  I crumpled into a pile on the floor, gasping for breath.  I reached into my backpack to get my key, but it wasn't there.  My head started spinning, my heart pounding, and my body got drenched with sweat.  Darkness closed in on me and I crawled into the corner, and laid there... crying and crying.

Finally my roommate Sarah got home and had the idea for us to go to the Temple.  We got into the car but she forgot her keys.  When she went back inside to get them, tears just burst down my face like the Hoover Dam had just broken.  Two boys, (one of them being Carlos) were in the parking lot and saw me crying.  They came over to see if I was okay.  I said I was, but it was obviously a lie, as I had black streaks of mascara melting down my face.  They looked helpless. Usually going to the temple offers me such peace and solitude.  Not this time.  I couldn’t even feel at peace in the House of the Lord.  That is one of the WORST things of depression.  It depresses ALL of your feelings, even the feelings of the spirit.  I felt such guilt thinking that I had done something wrong to not be worthy of feeling wholesome and good in the temple.

A few days later I went to the grocery store with Sarah and her sister Abby.  We all split up to get our needed items.  I had only three things on my list. Just three. I was looking for chocolate chips. Surely I could handle my favorite and most easy recipes for cookies (they were for a school project… and I was nervous about how “hard and exhausting” it would be). I walked up and down the isle. No chocolate chips.  I started breathing heavy.  My vision tunneled, growing darker and darker around the edges as if I had glaucoma. I started sweating profusely.  The room started spinning. Yes, I was having a panic attack over not being able to find chocolate chips.  Panic attacks can come out of the middle of nowhere.  That’s why they are so scary, because you sometimes can’t even see them coming.  I had no choice but to sit down, pull my legs into my chest and rock back and forth.  Luckily, Sarah and Abby walked by the isle just in time to see this.  Sarah took my list and finished shopping for me while Abby took me to the car.  She said “Emily, you are having a panic attack, but you are going to be okay.” She turned on the air conditioning in the car and let it blow on my face.  She took my phone and called me dad so that he could calm me down.  This was the first time my parents tried to talk me into coming home…and definitely not the last.   I told them I would be fine, but I did agree to meeting with a counselor. Once again, when I went to the counseling office, it just felt so clinical.  She gave me all of these exercises that just seemed silly and pointless to me.  I didn’t need this! I needed someone to talk to! Someone to take away my pain. Someone who would listen to me for the soul purpose of listening, without any paycheck attached. 

Part Six: ~An Angel’s Knock~

Things just got worse and worse.  I would avoid doing things with my friends at night because I felt like I needed to be alone just in case I tried to hurt myself, I didn’t want anyone to stop me.  It seems so ridiculous saying it now, but it’s true.  My homework was piling higher and higher, which was so opposite of my Patty-Perfectionist life style.  One night, my roommates invited me to go to the football game, the biggest one of the year, but I turned it down to do homework.  The thought of being in a screaming crowd with strange faces all around me made me nauseated.  As I saw all of the fans walking up the street, I got so panicked! Everyone was laughing and having a good time and I was cooped up in my dark apartment.  Something was wrong with me! I couldn’t take it! I went into the kitchen, opened the drawer and pulled out a knife.  As soon as I did, I started bawling even more. What was I doing?! I quickly put it back in the drawer and ran into the living room.  I went up to the window and noticed that my roommate had placed little turtle figurines on top of the bookshelf.  Without even thinking about what I was doing, I put them in my mouth and tried to swallow them (as an attempt to choke myself).  “Emily! Get a hold of yourself!” I fell to the floor and dragged myself to the couch where my cell phone was sitting.  I tried calling my mom but for whatever reason my service wasn’t working.  I tried calling my dad, same problem.  Finally I got on Facebook and wrote a message to my dad. “Please call me! It’s an emergency.” A few minutes later, when he had noticed the message he called me.  He asked me what was wrong. I told him that I had been having a panic attack but that I had calmed down and I would be okay. 

I went into my room and tried to focus on my homework, but the words of the textbook just blurred together.  My mind started racing and once again, my breathing got heavy. Another panic attack was coming on, and I honestly couldn’t take it anymore.  I was willing to do anything to escape this dark feeling that was now consuming my life.  I felt absolutely no hope.  There was no light at the end of this hellish tunnel. This is the worst kind of feeling and unless you have gone through it, you can't even imagine the pain. It's is excruciatingly frustrating because this pain doesn't seem to have any explanation.  And when you don't know what the cause of the problem is then you don't know how to make it better, so you look for the quickest fix possible.. the seemingly only escape.

This quote is the perfect description of how I was feeling and so that's why I posted it. However, I must say that I disagree with the part that says "Depression is... a punishment." Depression is a disease, not a punishment... Just a little disclaimer:)

  I started bawling yet again.  I grabbed my computer and started doing something I would have never in a million years even let cross my mind.  I started writing a suicide note. I wrote a section to each of my family members… but I couldn’t finish.  It just felt so evil and wrong, that I decided to skip it and just get to the point. The thought of doing anything that involved an actual weapon also seemed too evil and wrong.  I was a good person after all. Weapons were bad. So… I decided to use an everyday object.  I grabbed my computer cord. I carefully wrapped it around my neck and pulled. I pulled tighter and tighter. I could feel my face going from pale to a light shade of red. This was really happening. Tears were gliding ever slowly down my face. This was the end.

 Then… KNOCK KNOCK!!! I heard someone at the front door. I released my grip on the cord and felt the blood that had been pooling in my face release back to the rest of my body. Anger filled my whole heart.  Who was here?! Why weren’t they at the football game with  the rest of the state of Utah?! I went to answer the door, and there was my neighbor standing there with a bright smile spread across his face. “Hi! I was just heading to the game and noticed a light on here. I thought ,‘That’s strange. Who would be home during THIS game!’ So I came to see what’s up.” “Oh, you know, just working on homework.” I said through a forced smile.  He continued to talk and tell me his life story.  I’m usually a kind and passionate person, but I just wanted him to leave. He kept on going on and on.  Why?! Why did he feel like he had to tell me all about his life?! (Obviously I know why now.) Everything he was saying went in one ear and out the other.  I just wanted to get back to my room and finish what I had started. But then… he said something that caught my attention. He got to the part in his life story where he lost his father to a terrible car accident.  He told me how the experience of his dad’s death taught him how much he valued his life.  I felt so ashamed. He had used the tragedy of death to teach him to live more, and I was using “the tragedy of life” to want to die more.  Here in front of me was a boy who went through such a hard trial, and still loved life so much that he was able to listen to the spirit enough to come and save someone else’s life…. Mine.

After he left and I ran into my room and fell on my knees, begging my Heavenly Father for forgiveness.  I was sick.  I was really sick, and I needed to heal.  My whole heart knew it, but I couldn’t convince my brain. 

My roommate Sarah came back from the football game and knew immediately that something had happened because of the look in my eyes.  She asked me about my night and I knew that I needed to tell someone.  I couldn’t bring myself to say “Sarah, I attempted suicide tonight,” so instead I showed her the note that I had started on my computer.  As she read it, her eyes got wider and wider. “Emily… did you try to kill yourself?!” I bursted into tears and she just held me and hugged me until I stopped crying.  She then said she was going to go get me a glass of water, but instead she ran up the street to our neighbor’s house for them to come and give me a priesthood blessing.  I was beyond embarrassed.  She hadn’t told them what had happened, but just that I needed some help and comfort.  I asked Sarah to please not tell anyone, including my parents.  She promised, but because she is the amazing friend that she is, she lied. Just like any true friend would do in this situation.  She knew that this was something that my parents had to know about.  She texted my mom and told her what had happened.  When I found this out, I wasn’t angry.  I was relieved because I knew I would have to tell my mom eventually and I was terrified to because I knew how worried she would be. 

Now my parents came persistent on me coming home.  Like I said, my heart knew that I needed to, but I felt that if I cam home I would be seen as a failure.  I only had one more year and then I would be graduated… but then again, how was I going to make it until the end of the year, If I couldn’t even make it until the end of the day? I started to consider the thought of coming home more and more but it was a constant battle in my head.

Part 7: ~Take Me To The Mountains~

On September 16^th, the decision was getting down to the wire.  I had until that night at midnight to drop my classes and still get the full refund.  It was the longest day of my life, and I could barely eat, sleep, think, or even walk.  I was on the phone with my mom most of the day weighing my options.  With everything that had happened she knew that it was best for me to come home where I would be safe and where  they would all be close by in case of any emergencies. It was 11:30 at night and I still had not dropped my classes.  I was too afraid.  I had everything mapped out, taking one semester off would mess everything up! No one would like me and I would be seen as a dropout and a loser. (Once again… distorted thinking.)

The clock was ticking.. My parents told me that the fact that I was being this indecisive was enough evidence alone to prove that I needed to come home.  But I was being so stubborn.  My dad got on the phone and told me that my mom was throwing up in the bathroom because she had worried herself sick over me.  She had heard one too many times my thoughts of suicide, my low self-esteem, and my inability to think rationally. She loved me so much, that to see me in this much pain, literally made her sick.  I could hear her sobbing in the background, “Please come home! Please come home! John! Tell her to come home! I need to take care of my baby!” My heart ached for her, but I was so confused and didn’t know what to think, that my stubbornness persisted. “Everyone would be happier without me, all of this would be over,” I thought over and over.  Finally, my older brother couldn’t take it anymore.  He got on the phone and said, “Emily, I love you, and you are coming home! Give me your A number right now. If you won’t drop your classes, I will.” I was stubborn, but nothing compared to him.  He eventually forced it out of me, and the deed was done at 11:58. I again crumpled to the floor and cried in a ball.  This was it.  I was the world’s biggest failure.  They heard my cries and told me that they were coming up right then to get me. 

From the moment they hung up to the phone, to an hour and a half later when they showed up at my apartment, I hadn’t moved an inch.  I just lay on the floor in a daze.  My heroes that night were my dad and my brother, they practically had to throw me over their shoulders and put me in the car to bring me home.  My older brother drove my car, and my dad and I were in his.  When we reached the canyon, it was so dark, but nothing to compare to the darkness that I felt in my heart, my mind, and my soul.  It was overpowering.  I KNEW that suicide was a bad decision, but I couldn’t think of any other way….so I tried.  I tried to think of somewhere where I could go to escape this pain.  I looked at my surroundings on either side.  Mountains. Lots and lots of mountains, reaching towards the sky with their unmovable strength.  Their tips brushed the heavens and I longed to be there.  To be that close to God so that he could just reach down his arms and carry me home.  I tried to express these desires to my dad, but all that I could get out was, “Dad…. Dad… the mountains… take me to the mountains.  I need to be there. I need to be there. Stop the car! I need to go to the mountains.” My dad looked over at me with anguish in his eyes. What was his little princess talking about.  What was wrong? And how on earth could he fix it. Being the loving dad that he is, he tried to get a better understanding of what I was trying to say. But as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t express what I wanted to, and so… we drove on through the night.

Part 8: ~Mercy~

I woke up the next morning in my mom’s bed.  I looked over at her. Her eyes were puffy from crying. She noticed that I was awake and leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  “I’m so glad that my princess is home.” I lay motionless, trying to figure out what was going on.  Then I remembered.  I had come home from school! Me! Emily Pitt, who was little miss-perfect grades, had dropped out of school! (Really, I hadn’t dropped out.  Just taken a leave of absence for the semester, which is a completely different thing… but in my mind I was a drop out) I felt like a failure! What about my scholarship?! What about my job?! What about graduating on time?! But more than anything… What will people think of me?!? The more these worries settled in my brain, the more distraught I became. 

I began to go into my biggest panic attack yet.  I began thrashing my body back and forth on the bed.  I started pulling at my hair.  I was screaming at the top of my lungs.  My whole body was consumed in this state of panic.  I felt like I was in a dark room of terror with impending doom, or death.  This sounds silly to anyone who has never experienced a panic attack, but it is so real.  My mom had no idea what to do, as massive tears rolled down her face.  My dad heard my screaming and ran into the room.  He tried to hold me down, but it was quite a difficult task. 

  “Emily, we need to take you the hospital.” He said, as kindly as he could, but it was obvious that his patience was running thin. I couldn’t blame him.  He was absolutely exhausted.  His statement made me spiral even lower, “Noooooo! Please Daddy! I’ll get better!” “Emily, you need some serious help.” I knew that he was being more straightforward then I had ever seen him.  I didn’t want to go to the hospital.  I would be tested for all sorts weird things.  I couldn’t leave when ever I  felt better, I would have to stay until they gave me clearance to leave. And who knows how long that would take? Everything would be so clinical and the spiritual help that I needed as well would be gone.  I calmed my self down as best as I could. I breathed in and out…. “Okay, Dad if I promise to do my very best to get better can we please not go to the hospital?” He reluctantly agreed.  He also volunteered to call my boss/head of my department to let him know what was going on.  I was extremely nervous to do this myself so my dad took a huge burden off of me by doing so. 

After a few minutes, my dad came back into the room carrying his phone.  “He wants to talk to you sweetie.” I got on the phone and sheepishly said hello. “Emily? I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about anything. You are doing the right thing by staying home.  There will be absolutely no repercussions  for this.  When you come back your job and your scholarship will be waiting for you.” I couldn’t believe my ears.  My boss was showing me way more mercy than I thought I deserved.  I could barely even say thank-you.  He responded, “I’ll tell you what, you send me an email every couple weeks updating me on your progress and we’ll call it good.”  I felt a rush of calm come over me. That sounded like a pretty fair deal.  As I was about to hang up the phone he said, “Oh and Emily, what is that you want to be when you graduate?” “A counselor,” I responded. “Well, I can’t think of a better preparation than going through these things yourself.  In the short term you will be able to help the students you advise next semester who may be going through a similar thing.  And in the long run, you will be able to relate to your clients in a way that very few counselors can.  Hang in there Emily.” 

Part 9: ~Introduction to an Angel~

I would like to tell you that everything got better from that point on. But it didn’t.  After that phone call I did improve a little bit. But it wasn’t constant.  I would be doing so good one day, but the next day I would plummet down again.  I was literally on an emotional roller coaster.  There were times when I felt like I could take on the world… And there were other times when I felt the world was taking on me.

 On my first day home I couldn’t bare the idea of being alone… so I went to work with my mom.  She teaches sixth grade and I followed her around her classroom like a little puppy dog.  I literally felt that if I was more than a foot away from her, I would stop breathing. It was like I was in outer space and she was my oxygen supply.  If I got too far away, I would suffocate.  There were times when I tried to stay at home but then (Ugh…. I hate saying this…) I would have thoughts of suicide or try to figure out how I could disappear before my family got home.  I reluctantly told this to my parents and they made the decision that no matter what.. I could NOT  be alone.   Like I said before, it’s not that I hated myself but I just was so sick of feeling anchored down by the ball and chain of depression.  I was tired of trying to climb to the top of the dark whole, only to slip back down again.  Plus, I felt that by being home, I was bringing everyone else down with me. I felt that the worry I was causing them was creating too much of a burden in their lives. When I combined all of these feelings it was too much to handle and suicidal thoughts seemed to be the only thoughts I had. 

My mom took immediate action. First she addressed the suicide concern by calling one of her friends who worked as a counselor specializing with young adult women.  However, the last thing I wanted to do was meet with another counselor.  The past ones I had met with made me feel like just another patient.  I felt that they had no interest in who I really was as a person.  They were kind enough, don’t get me wrong, but I felt that I was just their job.  My mom tearfully explained the situation to her friend. I just heard the other end of the conversation. “Really? Oh my goodness, are you sure? Thank you, thank you, thank YOU!” When she got off the phone she told me that her friend had volunteered to meet with me once a week, in her own home (not a clinical office), free of charge! This was truly a miracle.  Knowing that this was a service and not a way of getting money, I knew that this woman was really concerned about ME, and wanted to help ME, for no one else, but ME.  I knew this woman because she was had been a leader in our stake primary when I was younger and even though I didn’t know her extremely well, I knew I liked her.  So for once, I actually felt really good about the idea of meeting with a counselor.

When I first went to her home, she opened the door with her arms outstretched. She gave me a huge hug and led me into her living room.  There were pictures of Christ hung on her walls as well as family photographs.  The furniture was comfortable and so was I. It felt so homey.  She started out by saying, “Now your mom has told me a little bit of what has been going on, but I want to hear it from you.  Tell me whatever you would like but only to the point where you feel comfortable.” Surprisingly enough, for the first time I felt comfortable enough to tell someone the whole story. Or at least as best as I could since so much of it was a blur and there were so many feelings that I couldn’t even comprehend.  I told her how it all started with extreme feelings of anxiety and how I thought that those feelings were a sign from God that something wasn’t right in my life. I told her how I broke up with my boyfriend of five years and became even more confused when the anxiety just climaxed.  I told her how my heart was completely broken but even more than that, my mind was broken and it didn’t seem like it could ever be repaired.  I told her how my testimony and spirit had faded.  I told her about trying to go up to school and feeling like a total failure for coming back home. And I told her that I would do anything to make all of the pain go away, sometimes even to the point of taking my own life.  The whole time she just listened.  She never jumped in to give her clinical opinion, or suggested me to carry around a rock representing the load I felt (that had happened with a previous counselor). No, she just listened and listened and when I was done she said, “Emily, you are an amazing woman. I am so impressed with your bravery” (‘What bravery?!’ I thought.)  I will try and do all that I can to help you but it will take a team effort.” I understood what she meant.  We scheduled a time for me to come back for the following week and for once I thought maybe just maybe  I could make it until then. 

Part 10: ~Helping Others Helps Yourself~

Finding someone with professional experience that I could talk to on a regular basis was only one of the many things that my mom did for me during this difficult time in my life. She did hundreds of little things every day. She reminded me to take my medicine, sent me different uplifting quotes through out the day, took me with her on all of her errands, prayed for me, prayed with me, and most importantly reminded me constantly how much she loved me.  My mom also knew that I needed to do something to keep busy. She knew that it wasn’t good, or safe for me to sit and home, alone with my thoughts. She was also well aware that I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress of finding a job and meeting the requirements of an employer.  But what if it was in a place that I felt safe, wanted, useful, and most importantly… understood?

She decided to talk to the principle of the school that she taught at. She asked the principle if there was anything I could do to help out so that I could be close to her, and yet still be productive. The principle had become aware of my situation weeks earlier because of all of the stress and worry, not to mention fatigue that was in my mom’s face. My mom knew that it was best to let her know of the circumstances. The principle had also had a family member who had gone through very similar experiences and so she was more than willing to help me out.

She assigned me to help tutor a second grade boy from Mexico who spoke very little English.  This boy became my little buddy. He made me laugh a lot, which very few others were able to do.  The principle also had me tutor some children who needed extra help in their reading skills.  I helped two little girls who added a little extra sunshine to my days that had felt very cloudy.

 My mom knew that I was interested in one day becoming a counselor so she also talked to the school counselor to see if I could shadow/internship with her.  The counselor happily agreed and so several times a week I helped her give lessons to the different classes, plan activities and lead discussions for groups of children needing anger management, friendship skills, and grief counseling.  Not only did I enjoy the interactions with the children, but the counselor, in her wisdom always knew what to say to make me feel better about myself… even if she didn’t know I needed it… however, looking back on it… I think she only knew too well, how very badly I needed her kind words.

 The opportunities to help out at the school didn’t stop there.  The special needs class was short staffed and so they actually hired me for pay to help out in the class on several afternoons. I really enjoyed helping these wonderful, sweet spirited children.  This school became my second home.  Because I was staying so busy, my troubling thoughts slowed down and my anxiety attacks decreased. However, I was still very self-conscious  about what the staff and faculty might be thinking of me.  They probably weren’t thinking anything negative about me like I thought they might be.  But it was still very uncomfortable to be around people. Except for the children.  Not to brag, but the children loved me, and I loved them! Every time I would enter a room I would hear excited squeals “Miss Emily! Miss Emily!”  I knew for a fact that these darling little children were not judging me.  They didn’t notice that my mind was unhealthy and they didn’t care that “I was supposed to be in college, not Elementary school.” They loved me no matter what.  This gave me a lot of confidence.   A lot of NEEDED confidence.

 Eventually my fear of what the teachers might be thinking of me started to fade to, because they were asking me if I would be interested in substituting their classes! When I was first asked, I felt very apprehensive.  Even though I knew I was improving immensely, it still was a huge struggle to get through each day.  Some days would be better than others, but on the off days, I felt like I was stuck in a pool of molasses struggling to move forward with any aspect of my life.  I would often be so exhausted after doing something as simple as making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, that I really didn’t know how I was going to handle managing a whole class of children.

But my mom had faith in me.  She knew that I could handle it and assured me that she would just be down the hall if I needed anything.  So I agreed to my first substituting assignment.  It was for a fifth grade class.  I felt extremely stressed the whole day.  I was worried that I was doing everything wrong and that the kids were going to go home to their parents  feeling like they had learned nothing that day.  When my mom came down the hall to ask me how it went, I told her that I felt like I had failed miserably.  She told me that the fact that I had taught thirty 10 and 11 year olds, kept them all safe, and completed all of the things on the schedule that the teacher had left for me, proved that I had succeeded tremendously.  The next day the teacher who I had subbed for told both me and my mom that the kids were raving about what a great substitute I was.  Then she told us with a laugh, that they were even asking her when she was planning on being gone next so that I could come back.  She also said that she was very appreciative for how organized I had been and how that many subs left things in a complete disarray.  She said she was very grateful. 

Within the next month, I subbed for that class two more times. Each time, I felt more confident in my abilities.  On one of the last days before Christmas Vacation, this class had me come to see a surprise they had for me.  They had written all over the whiteboard, “Miss Emily Rocks!” “Miss Emily is the best teacher ever!” “ We love Miss Emily!” It was a moment that I will never forget.  It might seem so simple, but to me it was a real turning point.  Not only did I feel the love that these children had for me, but I felt the love that God had for me by showing me how important I was, and how that despite my struggles, I was making a difference in the lives of others.  By our weaknesses, we truly do become strong. 

Part Eleven: ~Awful Mornings of Anxiety and Dark Nights of Depression~

**I know what you’re thinking… “Weren’t the last few segments of your story uplifting? I thought things were getting better? Why get all depressing again?” Ha! Well that’s why it’s called depression isn’t it? I’m not trying to add dramatic effects.  I’m just being truthful.  Because that’s what the point of this blog is, not just to help others, which it certainly is that… but also to spread awareness of what depression really is. Sometimes, when things really start to be going uphill, the nature of the beast causes you to fall down again.   For me, sometimes I would go uphill and fall down again several times in one day.  But like the cliché saying goes, “It isn’t about how many times you fall, but about how many times you get up again.”**

By working at the elementary school I felt like I was in a safe place where I could run to my mom immediately if any panic attacks were to occur.  Knowing this lessened my anxiety.  But it was still there. In fact the noxious knot of anxiety was constantly turning in my stomach for five months straight.  But when I was at the school, that knot felt a little less tight.  I think it was because I wasn’t in huge crowds of people, but I wasn’t all alone either.  Both large amounts of people and being in solitude caused my greatest moments of panic.  I really liked being around little children and I could at least tolerate being around smiling teachers.  And having my responsibilities at the school kept me busy enough that my thoughts didn’t have as much time to wander to the terrifying things like they had done previously.   At least not as much… they did still creep into the cracks of my mind and flood my brain with darkness when I would least expect it. But for the most part, they were manageable.   

The elementary school was definitely my safe haven.  The problem was, I was usually only there from about 12:00 to 3:00 (except for the days that I substitute taught).  Everyone experiences mental illnesses differently, but for me, my anxiety was the highest in the morning and my depression was at it’s worst during the night. Those mornings and nights all seem to be kind of a blur.  I can only remember a few specific instances, which I will share, but mostly I just remember the general things that my mind and body would go through.

~Awful Mornings of Anxiety~

The anxiety didn’t start exactly right when I woke up, because the depression from the night before would still linger.  I would just lay in bed, sometimes for hours, dreading getting up because in my mind I “knew” that whether I stayed in bed, or got up, the result would be the same. I would feel useless, worry like crazy, cry a lot, sit up for hours in the dark doing nothing but staring into space and thinking, go to bed, and then repeat the same process all over again.  And once I finally did get out of bed everything seemed so daunting and overwhelming.   This is where the anxiety would start to surface and gain speed until it was spinning out of control. 

I remember one time where the thought of simply brushing my teeth seemed insurmountable.  And that thought led to another, which led to another. Something like , “If I can’t even handle brushing my teeth how can I handle going back to school, if I can’t handle going back to school, how can I handle ever getting in any kind of relationship, If I can’t handle getting in any kind of relationship, how will I ever get married?!” I know that seems a little extreme… but it’s truthful. 

That’s the way my thoughts played themselves out for a long time. These thoughts would worry me and wrack my body with so much torment that I would enter into full blown anxiety attacks. I would fall to the floor, crying uncontrollably. My breathing would get extremely strained and I felt like I had lost control of all of my limbs.  And then I would notice the state that I was in and I would become extremely embarrassed. There was one instance where in the middle of an anxiety attack, I looked up to see one of my mom and dad’s wedding photo hanging on the fridge.  I saw how happy they looked and compared it to the complete and total mess of a daughter that I thought I was.   Then I would start to think that they didn’t deserve this.  

They didn’t deserve to have a daughter who was too buried in despair to even brush her own teeth. Of course, this wasn’t their thoughts at all. They loved me NO MATTER WHAT. When my parents got married, they promised each other that no matter what happened in life, they would always stick by one another forever. In fact, growing up, I often remember when a challenge would arise in my family, and overhearing my parents talking in the other room telling each other, “No matter what. No matter what.”  It has become their marriage motto and they have lived that motto, not only in their relationship with each other, but also in their relationships with their children. It didn’t matter that I was clinically depressed, or constantly anxious.  I was their daughter no matter what. And I know that they were not ashamed of me at all, but it did cause them total sadness to see their daughter in so much pain. 

They would desperately try to come up with ways to help me, including little tasks to help me get up and moving, especially in the mornings.  One morning  when my mom was heading out the door to work, I was still laying in bed.  So she came into my room and kindly asked me if I would take a check to the high school for my little brother’s yearbook.  My stomach immediately filled with anxiety. You would think she had just asked me to cross I-15 with a blindfold on.  But I didn’t have the heart to tell her no, because I knew she was just trying to help me, and plus how embarrassing is it to not be able to drive a block down the street and hand a slip of paper to the nice lady behind the desk? But if you have ever suffered from anxiety, you understand that even the smallest task, or talking to the nicest people, can send you into a tailspin. A suffocating-wall-closing in-sweating bullets-tailspin. 

  I got into the car, pulled on my seat belt… and sat there in my driveway for at least a half hour until I got up enough courage to turn the ignition.   My heart was racing and my tears were falling.  I drove the block to the high school, pulled into the parking lot. Then, without even opening the door a crack, I drove home.  I just couldn’t handle it. The high school reminded me of a time when I didn’t have this awful disease. It reminded me of a time when I felt happy and care-free.  And now I felt like a damaged person, unworthy to enter a place where I used to find so much joy.  I pulled back into my driveway and the tears returned and this time they wouldn’t stop. Moments later, my dad pulled in the driveway.  He had come home for lunch and noticed me sitting in the car.  I explained to him what had happened and watched the hurt in his eyes. He then got in the drivers seat and I slid over to the passenger seat and he completed the task that my anxiety simply wouldn’t allow.

And that’s how my life was. I was a prisoner and anxiety was my capturer. 

~Dark Nights of Depression~

It’s hard to say what was scarier for me… anxiety or depression.  Anxiety was feeling every negative emotion and once.  It was having so much going on inside my mind and body that it seemed that my walls were going to cave in at any second.  Depression was the opposite.  Depression was feeling nothing. It was feeling flat.  It was feeling like I was stuck in a room void of light, air, or sound.  Depression was sitting in Sacrament Meeting, looking around at everyone whipping their eyes as the speaker bore their testimony, but feeling nothing for yourself.  Depression was hearing your favorite song and not feeling an ounce of happiness, and so rather then listening to it to try and regain that happiness, you just shut it off. Depression was watching your parents and brothers cry deep, long tears as they talked about their concerns for you, but just watching them without an ounce of sympathy and wondering why not. Depression is where the only time you feel ANTHING is when you burst into tears, seemingly out of no where, and you just can’t stop.  So you tell me… what do you think would be worse?

My depression was always worse at night for I think a couple of reasons. 1) I was tired and 2) the sun was down.  When the sun was down, the environment outside of me matched the environment inside of me and somehow intensified it.  And even though all that I wanted to do was go to sleep, and in some cases, not wake up… I could never sleep at night. Depression had a very intense effect on my sleep patterns.   I would either sleep waaaay too much or get no sleep at all.  I clearly remember many nights were I got maybe two hours of sleep. It was not because my body wasn’t tired, it was because my brain was so awake. So awake with unpleasant thoughts that I just couldn’t shake. Fortunately for me, I was rarely alone on these sleepless nights because my dad was also  a night owl.  He would sit by the fire working on his computer and I would sit by on the chair across the room from him and just stare.  I wish that I could say that I did something productive with these sleepless nights… but I didn’t.  I would try reading…. But my thoughts would just wander so much that it was impossible to ever even know what I was reading.  Either that or I would read something that would remind me of something from my past… my happy past.  And I would miss that old me… the happy me. And I found myself almost being homesick for myself!  This would cause me to burst into uncontrollable tears. Tears that would wake my mom up. I would listen as both of my parents tried to console me, but all I could do was cry and occasionally sputter out in between sobs “I am soooo sick of this! I miss me! I’m so tired of this! I want me back!” It’s such a strange phenomena and difficult to explain… but with my depression, I felt like there was a stranger trapped inside of my body.  I would look in the mirror and recognize my face, but I would reflect on my thoughts and feelings and not recognize my soul.  I didn’t know this new Emily, and I didn’t like her. I missed the old one. The happy one.  So to avoid the ache of missing the old me, I would avoid reading anything that would remind me of happier times. It was just easier to sit and stare and try to juggle all of my thoughts, without adding any new ones.  My dad would occasionally ask me what I was staring at, but after getting the same answer of “nothing” over and over again, he would try to convince me to go to bed and get some rest.  “What’s the point?” I would think, “cause when I wake up, I just have to do this all over again.” And that was a majority of how I spent my life for those long, agonizing months… panic attacks during the day and staring at “nothing” at night. 

~~Even though I felt like Heavenly Father wasn’t answering my prayers, and I felt like those prayers were becoming more and more useless… I still prayed. I had a difficult time attending church and sometimes I would just stay home because of my anxiety and the  agony of not feeling anything spiritual in my heart. I hardly read my scriptures because every time I read them, I would just feel guilty.  I would read things like “Wickedness never was happiness” and think… “Well, I’m not happy… so I must be wicked…” I felt my testimony weaken everyday… but despite all of this.. I always prayed.  I prayed every single day. Even if everything else was slipping away from me, I just couldn’t let go of prayer.  Many times I would feel so frustrated because I felt like no matter how hard I prayed, my prayers were just not being answered. That’s how it seemed anyway during the thick of it. But now, two years later, as I look back on my experiences, I can see that Heavenly Father was answering my prayers in the most amazing ways and through the most amazing people.  It just took me some time to recognize it because my healing was a process. A process that involved many steps. Each step was an answer to a prayer and that’s what the next few sections of my blog are about~~

Part Twelve: ~My Happy Heart~

When I was 16 years old I felt like I had the whole world in the palms of my hand. Life was so wonderful. The world of dating was new and exhilarating. I had tons of friends and was very involved with my school. I had a super fun job at a local frozen custard shop and lots of nannying jobs on the side. I was really involved with my church as well and loved serving as the president for the group of girls that were my age. One day, while at church the sweetest, kindest, most angelic and seemingly perfect person you could ever meet (we will call her Sally) came up to me and told me the following: “Emily, I just want to let you know that you are so beautiful inside and out. Please…. PLEASE don’t ever ever forget that.” Then she gave me a huge hug and walked away with tears in her eyes.  I stood still in my tracks with both a grateful heart for her kind words, and a confused mind for the sound of warning in her voice.  The last part of her statement seemed so strange to me.  I really loved and valued myself and I knew that I was a good person. And unlike many teenage girls, I wasn’t always criticizing the way I looked. I guess you could just say that I had a lot of confidence and I didn’t know how I could ever forget my individual worth. And I didn’t for a long time. But five years after that sweet lady had paid me such a genuine compliment with that edge of warning in her voice, what I never thought could possibly happen… happened.  I had forgotten my self worth. 

Now this didn’t happen right when my depression started… it was a more gradual process. And I never got to the point where I hated myself or even close to that. But I did get to the point where I really didn’t see my purpose anymore.  I had always strived for perfection, but because I was so sick, perfection wasn’t possible. (And never really was in the first place). I had always strived for good grades and now I was a “drop out” (at least in my own mind).  I had always had a job where I felt like I was making a contribution and now I was ‘unemployed.’ I had always had such a rich social life and now I could barely leave my house. And the hardest of all… I had always had such a strong testimony in my faith, and now even just going to church was too painful. 

So what was the point? What was I contributing to anybody by just staying in my parent’s house all day? Luckily, like I have mentioned before, my mom had gotten me involved with helping at the elementary school. The only problem was that was only for a few hours a day. And no one wants to feel important or needed for just a few hours.  That time that I had spent at the school had made me feel so much better that I craved for more ways to feel meaningful.  But I didn’t think I could handle anything else.  My anxiety was still extremely high and my depression was still so strong that sometimes even leaving my house for ten minutes left me feeling completely exhausted.  I was starting to give up on hope and on life and then I got a call from *Sally.

 (A little side story to emphasize the kind heart of this woman: The day that I was diagnosed with depression, Sally had seen my mom out in the neighborhood and had randomly asked how I was doing. My mom gave her a brief run down of what had been going on.  An hour later, she showed up at my door with flowers.  About a week later her husband brought by a spiritual book and some chocolates for me from their family… I’m telling you.. she is amazing!)

Anyway… So I got this call from Sally telling me that she was in a bind. She had signed up to help at her daughters’ school a few mornings a week and she didn’t have a baby sitter for her two younger boys.  She asked me if I would be willing to help.  I was nervous at first as to what to say, and so I told her I had to check with a few things and I’d call her back.  After I hung up the phone I got thinking…. “Sally has so many friends and neighbors that could help just as easily as I could, but she specifically called me. She wants me to watch her kids. She needs me.”  I called her back almost immediately and told her that I would love to help her out.  She was thrilled… and surprisingly… I kind of was too.

The situation couldn’t have been more perfect.  The mornings where always my times of highest anxiety as I waited to go to the elementary school at 12:00.  But Sally needed me from 9-11:30. This allowed me to get my day going before anxiety really had a chance to settle in. And even if it did start to settle, I knew I had a job to fulfill and so I forced myself to push my anxiety aside, something that I had never been able to do before.  Not only was the timing perfect, but also the children were perfect.  The two boys were ages four and two and they were the sweetest little things. Every time I showed up to their house they greeted me with squeals of delight and huge hugs. I didn’t have the energy or the confidence to be the kind of babysitter that I knew I had been in the past… in fact many of those mornings were just filled with watching Little Einstein episodes over and over again and pouring the boys cereal. But the boys were content and safe. Often times they would crawl up next to me on the couch and lay on my lap while we watched the television.  I knew that I wasn’t being the kind of babysitter that I had been in the past, but I also knew that I was doing about all that I could handle for that time in my life, and for me that was a very big deal.

I grew to love these sweet little boys so much and I began to feel like their home was my second home.  Shortly after I started watching the boys in the morning, Sally began calling me to watch all four of her children on the weekends when her and her husband went on dates.  Each time I went, I felt more confident in myself and I felt a little more joy enter my heart.  These children were so pure and full of love.  They didn’t care if I was broken or sick.  In fact, they didn’t even notice.  They loved me for how I was at that given moment, which is more than I could do myself.  One evening, when I was at their home, I noticed a drawing hanging up on a corkboard:

This simple drawing had such a profound impact on me. It made me realize that these sweet children were helping my sad heart become happy again.  It was a slow process, but it was definitely happening, I couldn’t deny it.

Sally and I became the closest of friends.  After every evening babysitting job, she would drive me home and we would have the best conversations about life, trials, and joys.  These conversations were far more valuable then the money I received for watching her children.

When my grandma died in December of that year (which I will talk more about later) I had volunteered to sing at her funeral.  I hadn’t sung any kind of solo since high school and I felt that my singing skills were definitely lacking.  Sally had the most beautiful voice and often sang solos in church.  So I asked her if she would be willing to help me prepare. Of course she agreed and I was given even more time to be in her angelic presence and feel my heart continue to grow.

Unfortunately right before the funeral I got a pretty bad sore throat and if you combine that with my sobbing tears… the song at my grandma’s funeral was less than pretty.  However, she told me that it was beautiful. At first, I thought that she was just fibbing so that I wouldn’t feel bad.  But then I realized that she wasn’t necessarily talking about the sound of my voice.  She was referring to the fact that despite my depression, and insecurities, I had enough love for my grandma that I was willing to sing in front of hundreds of people, sharing my testimony through song.  That was what was beautiful.  Sally was so wise and insightful.

One evening I was talking with my mom about how wonderful Sally was and my mom told me something that gave this whole experience a much deeper meaning. “Emily, did you know that when Sally was was in her 20’s she suffered from depression? It was horrible depression that led to many terrifying and scary things.  It lasted for many years. She lost sight of who she was and it looked as if she would always be this way.  But she overcame all of that, and so can you.” 

As my mom was telling me this I remembered when Sally approached me all those years before, reminding me of my self worth, and telling me never to forget it.  All of a sudden I was so filled with emotion that I couldn’t hold it in, and I began to cry.  But they weren’t tears of grief or pain; they were tears of extreme gratitude.  Somehow, someway, Sally had seen herself in me at 16 years old.  I don’t think she could see into the future. But I do know that the Spirit had given her a little glimpse of what was going to happen in my life, and that I too may experience some of the hardships that she had experienced as a young woman.  Then, when I was 21 and my mom was telling Sally what I was going through, she took immediate action.  She knew more than anyone else how she could help me.  She never told me that I was her “project” and never made me feel that way either.  No, all she did was quietly love me and make me feel needed. 

When I went back to school in January of 2013, Sally sent me the following message:

The love that I have for this woman is unexplainable.  She saved my life, and she saved my heart. She restored it to its original state… a happy heart. 

*Name has been changed

Part Thirteen: ~I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends~

“A friend who understands your tears is much more valuable than a lot of friends who only know your smile.” I truly have been blessed with THE best friends in the whole entire world. They helped me through my depression in a way that I think they could never truly understand. This next part of my story might seem a little sporadic, but I feel that I need to try and mention all of the amazing things they did to help me throughout my time of suffering.

  I had mentioned before that once I had been officially diagnosed with depression, I knew that I needed to let my friends know. Being social is excruciatingly exhausting when someone is depressed.  Sometimes you can barely get out of bed, so the thought of going out at night with your friends, exposing your weaknesses and putting your self out in the open seems so overwhelming.  Even just hanging out with a close group of friends is difficult because you are painfully aware that you are not your “usual self” and you are worried that they will realize this too and judge you for it.  Of course, true friends wouldn’t judge you, but distorted thoughts lead you to believe that they will. There were times when my friends would text me to do something and I would just never text them back because I felt too embarrassed and ashamed, plus I was sick of making up excuses.

 All of this behavior had been going on for a few weeks before I was diagnosed and so when that time came, I knew that I needed to fill them in on what was going on so that they wouldn’t take my behavior and actions personally. I wasn’t ever, in any way expecting a pity party. In fact, I didn’t want any attention on me at all because I was so embarrassed. But of course friends just can’t ignore someone they care about who is severely struggling.   After explaining everything to my friends, they gathered in and gave me the biggest hugs and expressed their love to me.  It meant the world. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of not being worthy of such awesome friends. 

In order to give them the full credit that they all deserve, I would like to go into detail about some of the ways that my friends helped me, using their names with their permission.  Even if those of you reading this aren’t personally suffering with depression, perhaps my friends examples can show you how to help someone who you care about that is going through some similar things I was going through. 

A.C.

Out of all of my close, best friends, A.C. has been my friend for the longest amount of time.  We became best friends in the third grade and our friendship hasn’t wavered since.  A.C is really into basketball and he is so tall that if I didn’t know him better, I would be super intimidated by him! He is super funny and sarcastic and sometimes it’s hard to tell if he is joking or not. And I love that about him! But there is one thing that he is always serious about, that is no joke… and that is the kind of friend he is. Being friends with A.C for 15 years has taught me that he always has my back. 

The summer after 9^th grade, we went on a school trip to Europe. One day, when we were in Ireland, this extremely intoxicated man came up to me on the street and started flirting with me in a way that made me feel really uncomfortable.  Right away, A.C. came up to me, took my hand pretending to be my boyfriend and walked me away from that guy. For the next little bit, he continued the boyfriend act so that no other drunk men would approach me.  What a champ! He has always treated me like a true friend, whether it’s exploring the world or making up dances to “Grease” songs. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised at his kindness to me during my time of struggle, but like I said, I didn’t really feel worthy of any friends at all. 

One day in the mid fall of 2012 I was having a particularly tough day. I had been in bed for most of the day, and I was finally getting ready in the late afternoon. My grandparents were over and were talking with me, asking how I was doing.   I remember my mom asking me to tell them about all of the accomplishments that I was having while working at the elementary school, but on this particular day, I felt like I wasn’t making a difference in any one’s life, much less my own. I was trying to tell my grandparents that things were going well, but I felt like every word coming out of my mouth was a lie.  I felt trapped inside my own home and I just wanted to cry.

 The next moment, the doorbell rang. There at the front door was A.C., with a big smile and a Keeva Juice in his hand.  For whatever reason, he had just felt like he should come and visit me and bring with him one of my favorite treats (and as I recall it was my favorite flavor as well). He came in and talked with us for a little bit, and I automatically felt a little happier, a little more free.  To him, it might have not seemed like a big deal, but to me it meant everything.  That visit from A.C. also left a lasting impression on my Nana. She still brings it up every time she sees A.C.

There was another time when A.C. asked if I wanted to come over and watch a movie. I didn’t want to tell him no, but as weird as it might seem, movies were really hard for me to watch. Either they painted an image of what happiness was supposed to look like and left me feeling like a failure for not feeling the same way, or they had aspects that were scary, sad, or disturbing, all of which were too much for how sensitive I was feeling.  But my parents had been urging me to be more social because they knew it would eventually help.  And I knew that if I was to start being social again, A.C. was the perfect person to start that process with since I felt comfortable around him. And sure enough, going to watch that movie with A.C. was a gateway into me being comfortable to hang out with friends again. I could never thank A.C enough for being such a wonderful friend, for so many years. Through the good times and the hard times, he has always been there. Everyone needs an A.C.:)

Courtney

Courtney is, and always has been, one of those friends where you feel like you can tell her anything. When I am around Courtney, I can be totally my self.  In fact, besides my own husband, I would say Courtney is the one person who I can be 100% my self around. Courtney and I have been best friends since Jr. High. We were super close throughout Jr. High and High School, but nothing compared to how close we became as roommates in college.  She was there for me with the anxiety I felt about leaving home, the late night study sessions, and the confused feelings and confused heart that I often felt about boys. But in those tricky times, she was always there to talk to, cry with, and then get up and go do something crazy to get my mind off of things. Like jumping off bridges, running around campus in our pajamas at 5:00 in the morning, having dance parties to Justin Bieber, and eating our weight in Aggie Ice-cream.  That’s just the kind of friend Courtney is… she is there for you while you need to vent and cry, she listens and gives advice… but then she makes sure that you always, ALWAYS do something fun to make you feel better. 

When my anxiety and depression first started settling in, I was living in Bountiful for the summer and Courtney was still living in Logan (about 2 hours away) with her husband.  She was working full time and I had barely enough energy to get out of bed, let alone drive up to Logan. But the great thing was that I always knew that Courtney was just a phone call away, and most of the time, that was enough to help me feel better.  

The thing about Courtney is sometimes I feel she knows me better than myself.  She always saw my qualities in a better light than I saw them myself.  She knew that I deserved the best and tried to remind me never to settle for anything less… something that took me a while to listen to.  It was hard to have Courtney not right up the street when I wanted to see her (in fact there was one time when I just went up to her house and talked with her mom for hours and hours, because she and her mom are both so alike in the fact that they are so easy to talk to and give the best advice… more on that laterJ)

There was one time, when I was starting to feel better, that I did drive up to Logan.  Courtney came over to the apartment where I would’ve been living and where I ended up staying at when I came to visit.  She came into my room and we talked for what seemed like hours. I don’t even remember everything we talked about, but I’m sure I was talking her ear off.  All of the thoughts and feelings that I had been holding in for so long could finally come out when I was with Courtney.  It was really hard to say goodbye to her after that, not knowing how long it would be until I would see her again.

 Courtney wasn’t just there when I was struggling, but she was also there to celebrate with me when I was feeling so much better and starting a whole new chapter in my life.  She was so happy to see ME so happy. Now Courtney lives much further than a two-hour drive away … try 32 hours away! Darn you Virginia! Ha-ha! But once again, the distance doesn’t really matter cause we still talk on a regular basis. AND she flew all of the way to Utah to be my bridesmaid! I couldn’t have imagined my wedding day, or any other day for that matter, without Courtney in it!

Kelsi

There is a popular song from the Broadway Hit, Wicked,  called, “Dancing Through Life.” Kelsi is someone who has danced through life with me… literally.  I met Kelsi when we were both in elementary school, at the local dance studio, Bountiful School of Ballet.  We were in each other’s ballet class for years. This is where our friendship started and where we made many of our first memories together.  We went to separate elementary schools and Jr. High schools and so I was thrilled when we finally were first starting high school at Bountiful High together!  Kelsi is the one that introduced me and Courtney (also in our ballet class) to all of her friends and essentially doubled our group of friends almost instantly.  K.T. and Sarah, who I will mention shortly, came into my life thanks to Kelsi.

 After high school Kelsi went to BYU while I went to Utah State, but that didn’t have any negative effect on our friendship whatsoever. In fact, if anything it made it stronger.  We both had some very similar experiences in college and I could relate to her in ways that I couldn’t with others.  Some of these experiences that I was dealing with eventually spiraled into the huge collection of things that led to my depression.  And even though Kelsi didn’t know the whole story behind my depression, I knew that she knew enough to know that I needed help. In fact, Kelsi was the first of my friends that I called when the whole ordeal started.  I love my entire group of close friends equally but for whatever reason I felt that Kelsi was the first person I needed to call.

 A few days later Kelsi took me to get a Keeva juice (my friends just know that Keeva juice has magical powers for me or something;)  We sat outside in the late August air for a long time just talking.  I tried to blame all of the things I was feeling, and the way I was acting, on the breakup I had just gone through. But I think Kelsi could see right through that.  She didn’t try and tell me, “No Emily! Something is seriously wrong with you!” She just listened and spoke many comforting words. But looking back, I remember seeing a worried look in her eyes. 

Kelsi is the most caring person and the type that would do anything for someone she loved.  As she dropped me off that day she gave me a gift and a note.  I still have both of them. But the note is what I hold so dear.  It is the note of a concerned friend letting me know how much I mean to her. In a time where it was hard for me to see what my purpose was, it was so comforting to know, that despite my flaws, I had a friend that loved me. That NEEDED me. I read that note over and over again and it was one of the many things that kept me going.

Obviously I didn’t go on to be a famous Ballerina… In fact I quit Ballet before I even got the chance to do my senior solo. I was just too busy.  So clearly my reason for taking ten years of ballet wasn’t to become a prima ballerina… I honestly think it was so I could meet Kelsi… who would be there for me, dancing by side, through thick and thin as we both danced through life together.

K.T.

Oh K.T.! The moment I met her at Kelsi’s 15^th birthday party I knew that we would become friends. But she has proved to be so much more than just a friend. My friendship with K.T. is so unique.  Out of all of my friends she is the one that has the ability to make me laugh more than anyone else can. I laugh a lot with all of my friends.  But it’s like K.T. knows about a secret laughing switch that I have and only she can flip that switch. But the thing that makes K.T. so unique is that she knows just when the laughing needs to subside and a serious talk needs to take place.  She has a way for me to stop and think about things in a light that I hadn’t before. She lets me know in the most serious, yet kind way if she is concerned about something in my life and she helps me figure things out just by talking with me. 

During my months at home, while I was trying to get better, K.T. became a backbone for me. She gave me stability.  She invited me to do things every single week.  Even if I told her no one week, she didn’t give up and called me the next week. Every week K.T. would invite me to the LDS Institute for lessons about the gospel with other young single adults in the area.  At first I would deny her offers. I don’t know if K.T. knew this at the time, but as I mentioned before, my testimony was really struggling and I had a very difficult time feeling God’s love for me. It was hard to be in church settings because I couldn’t feel the Spirit in the same way that I used to. But K.T kept on inviting me and I felt bad saying no. So I would agree to go. Sometimes these weekly institute classes were the only real social interactions that I would have with any peers. They needed to happen.   Not only to interact with people again, but to start the process of softening a hardened heart. 

  The lessons that we were taught in institute were all about Christ and His life and mission.  And what was the reason for His life and mission? Me.  I was the reason that Christ went through the experiences that He did. Me and everyone else who has been through a difficult time, who has lost their way, or needed to feel loved.  Which equates to every person that has ever lived. K.T. also invited me to play volleyball every week as well as come with her to various parties throughout the semester.  At these parties I would meet new people. People that didn’t know “the past me” and so didn’t have anything to compare me to. This helped me feel less self-concise.  I even went on a few dates with some of the boys that K.T. introduced me to.  This also helped build my confidence in many ways. I love K.T. so much and don’t know if I could ever truly thank her for not only being my friend during my difficult times, but also for being a hero.

Sarah

There is a fault in the English Dictionary.  Somehow they forgot to put a picture of Sarah next to the word “Angel.” Angelic is really the best way to describe Sarah. I would not be surprised if she woke up one morning to discover that she sprouted wings in the night.  

I mentioned Sarah quite a bit in the earlier part of this story. If you recall, she was one who literally saved my life by getting me help when she found out about my suicide attempt. Sarah dealt with things that no friend should ever have to go through. Yet she did.  She saw me at some of my lowest beyond low points and she lifted me up every time that I fell. 

  She prayed for me every night.  I know because I could hear her. She would plead with Heavenly Father to bless me, to keep me safe, and to heal me.  Sarah was dealing with enough stress on her own, but took it upon herself to help me as well.  She read me several talks by church leaders, and scriptures that she thought might be helpful.  She even talked to some of the Institute teachers to get their opinions on how to help. There were times where my anxiety levels would be so high, that Sarah would go grocery shopping for me.  

 Even after I moved home, her help never ceased.  I was so embarrassed about leaving school and so worried about what people would think of me, that I put it on Sarah to pick up the pieces for me. She had to tell everyone that I went home to work (which was partially true) and that I just needed a little time off.  She also kept me connected with everything going on at school and told me how excited she was to have me come back.  And honestly, if I didn’t have Sarah waiting for me to come back as her roommate, I don’t know if I would have been able to go back as soon as I did.  A year after I returned back to school, I got married to Carlos.  Sarah, and all of the other friends that I have just mentioned… including A.C. (ha-ha), were my bridesmaids.  There was a point during my wedding reception where all of my bridesmaids came through the greeting line.  When Sarah walked through, my mom gave her the biggest hug and just started crying.  She knew that if it weren’t for Sarah, I wouldn’t be in a beautiful white dress, smiling ear-to-ear, and standing next to my eternal companion. I think God sends people into our lives for very specific reasons.  The reason Sarah was sent into my life was to save it.  

 ~~~                                                                                                                                         ~~~

   

The biggest thing for me was that my friends never gave up on me. I don’t know what was going through their mind’s during this time in my life, but I’m sure there were times when they were tempted to think, “What’s the point of inviting Emily when we know she won’t come?” Or they may have wondered if I would ever be my fun-happy self again. But they never forgot about me or stopped caring, even in the slightest.  As you read, the things that they did weren’t only big events or huge sacrifices, but they were also the little things that made the differences. To me, just knowing that my friends still loved me and cared about me, despite the way that I felt about myself, was enough to help me get back on my feet again. The Beatles said it best. I really DID (and do) “get by with a little help from my friends.”

Part Fourteen:~Nana and Pa~

I’ve mentioned my parents (and siblings) several times throughout this blog, but I feel like I really need to take some time and talk about the impact that my grandparents (aka Nana and Pa) had in my healing process.  I’ve always been extremely close to my Nana and Pa.  We have traveled the world together. We have been on many great adventures from cruising the Mediterranean, to playing slapjack and eating Oreos while watching I Love Lucy re-runs.  They have always been very involved in my life and supportive of all of my activities. When I got diagnosed with depression my grandparents were very concerned.  But I didn’t want them to worry so I tried to downplay it as much as possible. But it was hard to hide the excruciating way I was feeling and they could see right past the wall I was trying to build to “protect them.” In their eyes, I always wanted to be the “perfect grand-daughter.” But I wasn’t perfect.  I never had been, and I certainly wasn’t then either. And even though they knew about my struggles, they didn’t love me any less.   If anything, they loved me more.  They knew I was hurting and so they did all that they could to make me feel better.

One day, while I was still up at school, struggling beyond belief to even continue living, I got to my apartment and found a package on my doorstep addressed to me. Inside was a teddy bear with a note that said, “I love you very much. Love Pa.” Giving me a gift was a regular occurrence for my Pa.  But saying “I love you” was not.  Not that he didn’t love me; he loves me very very much! But my Pa is a man that has a hard time expressing his feelings through words, so instead he expresses his feelings through his actions.  And his actions were always of kindness and generosity, so I never had a doubt that he loved me. But seeing those words written out, in a time that I needed it the most was SUCH a big deal and meant SO much to me!  I took that super soft teddy bear out of the box and just held it and cried and cried.  When I called my Pa to thank him, my Nana got on the phone and told me that when my Pa saw that teddy bear at the store he immediately thought of me and started to cry and said, “I need to get this for my Emily.”  I don’t know if he will ever truly understand how much not only that teddy bear meant to me, but more importantly that note reminding me how much I was loved.

When I did end up coming home, my Nana took me under her wings.  I had began to “let myself go”, in the fact that I didn’t really take care of myself anymore.  I reasoned with myself that there wasn’t really a point to make myself look pretty if my insides felt so ugly.  My Nana could see me start to “deteriorate” in a sense and wanted to remind me of my beauty and to give me a day to remind me that I am worth getting love and attention, no matter how I felt inside.  She dedicated a whole day to this. She took me to get a massage and then to get my haircut. We then went shopping to get some new outfits. We ended the day with a nice dinner. It was just what I needed.  I’m not in anyway suggesting that a new wardrobe or a fancy dinner will take way your depression… it won’t. But it wasn’t the material things that made me feel better.  It was knowing that my Nana loved me so much and wanted to dedicate a day to make me feel beautiful and remind me that I was worth being treated like a princess.  My Nana and I have always had a special connection but that day made it even stronger.

Part Fifteen:  ~Understanding the Atonement~

By November of 2012, I was doing a lot better in many aspects. My anxiety was somewhat under control, and I wasn’t having nearly as many suicidal thoughts (although they did sometimes creep up on me). I didn’t feel like I was at the bottom of a deep dark hole anymore. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything.  And that is where it got tricky. Yes, I wasn’t feeling completely and totally distraught anymore, but I definitely wasn’t feeling happy.  I wasn’t feeling nervous, but I also wasn’t feeling calm.  People would tell a joke, and I wouldn’t laugh.  Nothing was funny.  My mom would be crying because she was so worried about me, and I couldn’t even feel sympathy for her heartache. 

The worst was when I would go to church, and people would be baring their testimonies, pouring their heart and soul out, and I couldn’t even feel the spirit.  I was aching to feel the spirit. I had missed it so much. But as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t. Not during the hymns, not during the talks or testimonies, not during the lessons, and not even during the Sacrament.  The only thing I was feeling can be described in one word: flat.

 It got to the point where I was so tired of feeling nothing that I almost wished that my “pit of despair” feelings were back, because then I would at least be feeling something.   One night however, another feeling did present itself and that feeling was fatigue.  Not just fatigue from lack of sleep, but from being so sick and tired of living the way I was living.  I was in the kitchen with my parents, and seemingly out of nowhere, I burst into tears. Huge, alligator tears that would not stop.  My parents asked the same question that they had for the past three months straight, “What’s wrong?” And I told them, what I told just told you, “I’m so sick and tired of living this way. I’m sick of not being happy. I’m sick of not being able to laugh. I’m sick of not being able to cry about normal things. I only cry when it’s a huge breakdown like this. And I’m sick of not being able to feel the spirit of my Heavenly Father.”

 After a moment of silence, my mom quietly suggested, “Honey, maybe you need to have your medicine adjusted.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.  In the past 12 weeks I had taken so many pills and different kind of prescriptions that I was surprised I wasn’t just one giant pill myself.  Sure, they had pulled me out of the deepest part of my depression, but I almost missed being there, where at least I felt something.  I was bitter.  I was stubborn. And I was sick of people thinking that I needed a pill to make me happy. Why couldn’t I just do this on my own?! I expressed these frustrations with my mom, and she sadly dropped the topic and went to bed. Probably just as exhausted, if not more, than I was.

 During all this time, I had been pleading to my Heavenly Father to help me, but I never felt like my prayers were reaching Him.  Either that, or He was just choosing not to answer them (looking back now I can totally see that he had given me answers all along the way, through friends, family, and other angels in my life). I’m sad to say it, but I had really thought that I was a lost cause and that surely, if Heavenly Father was going to heal me, then He would have done it by now.

 However, no matter how distant my testimony seemed, or how shallow my faith had become, there is one thing that I just couldn’t let go of… prayer.  Even though it felt like Heavenly Father wasn’t answering my prayers, I just couldn’t stop.  Even though it felt like my prayers sometimes weren’t even going past the roof of my house, I couldn’t cut off the one chance I new I had left.  And so despite my frustrations, I kept on praying. 

I will never forget a prayer that I said shortly after Thanksgiving.  Thanksgiving had been yet another painful reminder of how much I missed the “old me.” I had hardly any appetite to eat any of my holiday favorites. I hadn’t laughed at any of the family stories. And instead of enjoying the company of my loved ones, I just wanted to go home.  That was it.  It was like the final straw.

 I got on my knees and I literally BEGGED my Heavenly Father to take away this hideous disease that I felt had total control of me. I told Him that I had done everything that I could think of and that I was now leaving it up to the Atonement to cover the things that I could not take care of.  I told Him that I had faith in Him and that I knew that if I had enough faith, I would be healed. 

For whatever reason, I was expecting my depression to leave me as soon as I said “amen.” But guess what? It didn’t. I thought that surely I had waited long enough, and so after this final effort of faith, Heavenly Father would say, “Well done, you passed the test. Now you are healed. “ But it didn’t work that way.  And I couldn’t understand why.  I felt defeated.  It was well past midnight, but I could see the glow from the fireplace in the living room and I knew that my dad was still awake.  I slowly walked down the hallway to where he was sitting on the loveseat. 

“Daddy, I don’t understand the Atonement.”

“What do you mean, sweetie?”

“I mean, I thought that Christ died to take away all of our sins AND afflictions.”

“Well He did.  And He does take away all of them. After we have done everything we can do.”

“But Daddy, I HAVE done everything I can do. I’ve met with counselors and doctors, I’ve provided service, I’ve kept myself busy, I’ve read my scriptures and I’ve prayed.”

“Emily, do you think that if someone was diagnosed with Cancer, they would just try and pray away the sickness without getting any treatments?”

“No, and neither have I Dad.  I just explained to you all the other things I have done… service, counselors, doctors…”

“Okay, but Emily, do you think that if one type of Cancer treatment didn’t work, then the patient would give up without trying a different option?”

My mom’s words came into my mind. I knew what I had to do.

“I need to get my medicine adjusted… don’t I Dad?”

“I think so Emily.  You have come a long way, but you still have a long way to go.   Christ’s Atonement has already worked in your life and it will continue to work if you continue to do all that you can as well.  He has not forgotten you Emily. Heavenly Father has not forsaken you.  And I knew my dad was right.  Looking back on that moment I realized that Heavenly Father knew that since I couldn’t talk to Him face to face, he gave me earthly parents to talk to, knowing that the words my earthly parents would say to me, were the words my Heavenly Father would want me to hear. 

Part Sixteen: ~Doctor’s Orders~

The next morning when I told my mom that she was right, that I did indeed need to meet with the doctor again, she was so relieved.  Now I just needed to make sure I followed through with it.  With the strength that I know could only come from one source-God, I called the Doctor’s office and scheduled an appointment.  My appointment was scheduled for the next week. My mom could tell that I was nervous and so she told me something that made me feel a lot better.

 “Emily, you have been praying for help, right?”

“Every day, several times a day,” I told her.

“Well do you realize that Heavenly Father helps us through other people?”

“Yes”

“Including scientists and medical specialists. And who gave these people their brains to help them figure out medications that can help, and even cure disease?”

“God.”

“Exactly. God gives people His knowledge to help His children. “

I knew she was right. And I knew that maybe, just maybe, this doctor’s appointment would be an answer to my prayers.

I went to the Doctor’s office fully expecting that the Doctor would either prescribe me to a different, stronger medication, or at least drastically increase my current medication's dosage. And I had accepted this and even realized that I truly needed it. Yes, technically I was doing better since I was no longer a danger to myself, but I was so incredibly and dreadfully sick of feeling absolutely nothing.  I wanted my life to have meaning, and at that point, it didn’t (at least it didn’t feel like it did.)

The doctor was very happy to see me. And the feeling was mutual.  This man had helped save my life after all.  He said to me, “Emily, just by looking at you, I can tell that you are feeling a lot better.” I told him that yes, technically I was doing better, but now I was stuck. He asked me to explain what I meant. I said something along these lines

“Well, when I first came to see you I was trapped in a really dark place.  It was like being in a deep, deep pit and having no way out.  I was suffocating. But then after lots of work and taking the medication you prescribed me I was able to get out of that hole. But now that I’m out, I see that there is still a huge mountain in front of me. A mountain that I know has fulfillment and happiness waiting at the top, but I have absolutely no energy to climb it.  Not only do I have no energy, but also I have no…. well nothing.  I don’t laugh when someone tells a joke. I don’t cry when I hear sad news.  I don’t smile when I see a pretty sunset.  I don’t sing when I hear music. And the hardest part is I feel totally incapable of feeling the spirit of my Heavenly Father.  It’s like, before I was living in Hell, and now I’m not living at all.  And I’m not sure which one is worse.”

The doctor smiled kindly at me and said, “I understand.  We just need to lighten your dosage.” 

My heart stopped. Lighten? LIGHTEN?! I had finally come to terms that I needed a stronger dosage and was actually looking forward to the fact that it might work, and now he was telling me that we needed to lighten my dosage?! I was so confused!

He could see the confusion and fear on my face and said:

“Let me explain. The purpose of the medication that I prescribed you was to literally depress your sadness and anxiety.  Those were the most extreme things that you were feeling and your mind didn’t have room to feel anything else.  Well now that those feelings are under control, you are more aware that the other emotions you have felt in the past are also lacking. The reason is the  medication hasn’t just depressed the sadness and anxiety, but it has also depressed all of your other feelings too, making it so you can’t feel anything.  This happens sometimes and can be necessary in order to get the more terrifying feelings under control.  By lightening the dosage, those other feelings will be able to re-present themselves. “

“But what if the depression and anxiety come back as well?” I asked him.

“They might, but not like they did before.  Just in the more normal way that everyone feels those feelings from time to time.  I think that we have them in check enough that it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I was a little apprehensive, but I trusted Him.  This was the man that made a house call to my home on a Sunday afternoon.  This was the man that never made me feel like a “crazy person” but as someone that was a good, kind person, who just needed some help. This was the man who had confidence in me that I could heal and get better.  I knew that he was one of the angels that God had put in my path to help me get better.

After meeting with his medication assistant, I was prescribed a lighter dosage of the same medicine I had been on ( and the same medicine that I am on today).

After only a couple of days into this new dosage, I started to feel again. It was a slow process, like everything having to do with depression seems to be, but it was progress…. How did I know? Because one night, shortly after that meeting with the doctor,  I looked outside and saw the sunset, and I smiled.

(*** Medication may not be the answer that everyone with depression is looking for.  Maybe different treatments work better for some.  But for me, taking medication (in the right dosages, and not abusing it) was one of the many things that helped me.  I repeat: It was one thing of many.  I still had to meet with a therapist,  talk with friends and family, stay involved in the community, and continue to put my trust in God. But I know that He, God, helped the doctor help me.)

Part Seventeen: ~My Best Friend's Wedding~

It was amazing how soon I started to notice a difference in the way that I was feeling.  I started to feel… hopeful! Which was a feeling I had completely forgotten was even possible to feel.  I also found myself looking forward to events, where before I felt that there was nothing even to look forward to… nothing to live for. Looking at my life now, that almost seems ridiculous cause I have EVERYTHING to live for.  But when you are depressed your mind is blinded from seeing anything positive or hopeful.

  So when this blinding curtain slowly, ever so slowly, began to lift,  I knew that there was once again a glimmer of hope.  One of these events that I was looking forward to was the wedding of my older brother Joey to his beautiful fiancé’ Angie.  Joey and Angie had been friends since High School and so I knew her pretty well and I knew that I liked her.  But what made me love her was the way she made me feel during my toughest times with depression.  She never made me feel like I was anything less because of what I was going through, in fact she validated my feelings and would listen to me as I would try to explain what I was going through.  She offered lots of great advice and it wasn’t just “well, have you tried just being happy?” (one of the worst things you can say to someone suffering from depression, by the way). No Angie’s advice was wise and caring and full of love… and wisdom.

One day Angie asked me a question that would be enough to make any girl giddy with excitement, but for me, it was more than that… it made me feel valued.  She asked me if I would be one of her bridesmaids. I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked since I was going to be her sister in just a matter of months… but I still was surprised. Why? Because I felt too damaged, too weak, too undesirable because of my mental illnesses to be considered a bridesmaid for anyone. Bridesmaids were supposed to be happy, beautiful, giggly girls and I knew I was the furthest thing from that. I asked her if she was sure she wanted me and she responded “absolutely.”  This one request to be her bridesmaid made me feel needed, which is a very very VERY important thing to feel, especially when you are suffering from depression.  Joey and Angie continued to make me feel needed and included in the months and weeks leading up to their wedding.  I distinctively remember going over to Angie’s house to try on my dress.  Her mom and all of her sisters were there as well and I remember feeling a little self-conscious at first thinking things like, “Do they know I have depression?” “Do they know I’m faking all of these smiles?” “Do they know my secrets?” But it didn’t take longer than a couple of minutes for me to realize that no matter what they knew or didn’t know about me, it didn’t matter. They were so nice and so excited about me being one of the bridesmaids.  I tried on the dress and everyone told me how beautiful I looked.  This was such a wonderful thing to hear because for the last few months, it was a huge ordeal if I even had enough motivation to put on mascara, I never felt pretty during my hardest moments with depression.  But as I looked in the mirror, I began to see myself through my “previous eyes” and I knew that once again, I was beautiful.  I don’t mean to sound conceded, really I don’t but you have to understand what a big deal it was to see myself as beautiful.  I didn’t hate myself, in fact I never got to the point of hating myself, but I had definitely lost sight of my beauty (see part 14).  The love that I was feeling from my future sister-in –law and her family, helped me regain that little piece of me that I had lost.

The last few weeks leading up to the wedding were filled with bridal showers and last minute planning and I tired to be involved as much as I could, even on the days that were particularly hard.  Because I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, even when you can feel yourself getting better, there are still days were you feel weak and hopeless, and barely able to get out of bed, but luckily those days were becoming fewer and farer in between.

Finally, the day of the wedding arrived. I was trying to savor the excitement I was feeling cause I wasn’t sure if and when that feeling would come back. The day was perfect.  It was really nice to be with all of my family while we waited for Joey and Angie to come out of the temple and although I still felt vulnerable and self-conscious, I felt that all of my smiles in the picture were genuine.  Mostly because I was happy to see my brother so happy.  The reception that night was beautiful. All of the wedding party sat at the front of the room, which was not really ideal for someone who had spent the last few months thinking everyone was staring at her, but I tried to not think about it too much. Besides, why would anyone be looking at me anyway when there was such a stunningly beautiful bride sitting at the same table?  I was pretty sure I was safe.  We were served an amazing dinner complete with decedent chocolate cake for dessert.  Toasts were made and the wedding video was shown, with adorable pictures of my best friend and older brother as he was growing up. Then the video cut into an interview where Joey was talking about all of the reasons why he loves Angie. I remember my heart hurting, as I wondered if any man would ever love me the way Joey loves Angie.  Especially if he knew about my past and the things I had been through as result of my depression. The dancing began and it seemed that everyone had someone to dance with but me. Then, my brother’s best friend, and one of the groomsmen asked me and I felt a small smile creep across my face.  Little things like this were proof that things were looking up.  After the dance I sat back down and watched my brother and Angie continue to dance. I couldn’t help but notice the radiant joy that beamed from Joey’s face. I knew I was starting to feel better, but as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t picture myself ever being that happy again and it hurt. I started to cry and although I tried to hide it, my dad noticed very quickly.  He came down and sat down beside me and held me in his arms as we both watched the newly weds dance the night away.  “I want that daddy, I want that soo badly.” You’ll get it sweetie, I promise, someday you’ll get it.  99% of me didn’t believe him. “Who would want me? I’m injured. I’m used. I’m weak? I’m mentally ill for crying out loud.” All of these thoughts were swimming through my head.  But there was 1% of me that did believe my dad.  And that’s what I held onto.  And that’s what allowed me to fall asleep that night with a glimmer of hope in my heart and a soft smile on my face. 

Part Eighteen : ~Even the Darkest Night Will End and the Sun Will Rise~

Shortly after my brother’s wedding, and right before Christmas time, I had a dear friend invite me and Sarah to the early premier of “Les Miserables” on the big screen. We would be seeing it a full two days before it was open to the public. Now you have to know, Les Mis is my absolute, hands-down, favorite story OF ALL TIME!  Let me give you a little background as to why:

When I was a very little girl, my grandparents took me to some fancy show where a group of performers would be singing some Broadway favorites. This was my first introduction to Les Mis. I distinctively remember a man, with the voice of an angel, singing “Bring Him Home.” I was probably only five or six years old but I remember a feeling stirring in me for the first time.  A feeling that I still don’t quite have the name  for, but it is the feeling that I still get every time I hear that beautiful song.  I remember looking over at both my Nana and my Pa and seeing tears streaming down their faces.  I was in love with the way I was feeling and I wanted more of it. 

Shortly after this time, my parents purchased the cassette tape  (yay for the 90’s!) of the original Broadway cast performing Les Mis. Now, not only was I able to listen to “Bring Him Home” again and again, but I was also introduced to “Castle on a Cloud,” “I Dreamed a Dream” “On My Own” “One Day More” and yes, even “Master of the House” ( one that quickly became my favorite my senior year of high school).  I loved the music so much but I still wasn’t familiar with the story besides the watered down version that my parents gave me.

When I was in Jr. High I saw Les Mis performed on stage for the first time at the Pioneer Memorial Theater at the University of Utah. There the story behind the music that I loved so much  unfolded before my eyes.  The single most beautiful story I had ever known.  One of redemption, forgiveness, and dedicating your life to the service of others (and God) despite the trials that are heaped upon you. It was settled. One day I WOULD be on stage performing those same songs that I grew up loving so much. I had no idea how soon my dream would come true.

Just three years after seeing that performance of Les Mis, I anxiously ran down the halls of my high school to the drama department to find out what the next year’s musical performance would be. I think I broke into tears of pure joy when I was told “Les Mis.” I was ecstatic! I immediately went home and started practicing for my audition.  

When the cast list was posted I laughed out loud. I was given the part of Madam Thenardier! It was a pretty big part and definitely the funniest role.  Les Mis, although a truly inspiring story, is also extremely sad. “Les Miserables” is French for “The Miserable.” The Thenardiers are the in-keepers who raise little Cosette and are far from being morale examples to look up to. And even though they are sly, cunning, and down right disgusting, their part is integral to the performance.  Not just because of their contribution to the story line, but because they provide the comedic relief to an otherwise very sad story.  Like I said, it is a beautiful story, but somewhat overwhelming.  It would be my job to give the audience a break from crying every once in a while and provide some good laughs!  I was thrilled!

Master of The House

The cast practiced long and hard for several weeks. And I loved every second of it.  It was definitely the highlight of my high school education. Everyone involved became family. We had so much fun and I couldn’t even wait until we were able to share all of our hard work with the community.

 

The Thenardiers in all of their glory!

Performing the amazing  Les Mis was a dream come true.   I was able to help share my all time favorite story with hundreds of people every night. Every performance was simply incredible to be a part of, but nothing would ever compare to the last night during the finale. Jean Valjean had just  been taken to rest by Fantine and Eponine  and the whole cast slowly and quietly began singing:

"Do you hear the people sing

Lost in the valley of the night?

It is the music of a people

Who are climbing to the light,

For the wretched of the earth

There is a flame that never dies,

Even the darkest night will end

And the sun will rise."

Then the music grew louder and the singing more intense:

"They will live again in freedom

In the garden of the Lord.

We will walk behind the ploughshare;

We will put away the sword,,

The chain will be broken

And all men will have their reward."

And then, I looked around at all my fellow cast members. I looked out at the audience and saw my amazing friends and family. I saw President Henry B. Eyring, a member of the first presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. And I saw my sweet grandma, sitting in her wheelchair beaming up at me.  Tears overcame me and I'm sure my voice cracked as I sang the last stanza of this incredible experience:

"Will you join in our crusade? 

Who will be strong and stand with me? 

Somewhere beyond the barricade

Is there a world  you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?

Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that they bring

When tomorrow comes!"

Click here to see the YouTube clip:

Bountiful High School Les Mis Finale Closing Night

That was a moment where I felt like I was on top of the world and nothing could tear me down.

Now back to going to see the premier of Les Mis in the movie theaters:

Obviously I was really excited (or as excited as my depression would allow) to see my favorite musical be brought to life on the big screen. Not to mention all of the great actors and actresses that would be portraying my favorite characters.  But something had changed within me since the four years earlier when I was on stage. I no longer felt on top of the world.  My depression had torn me down and the future seemed bleak.

But as I watched the characters and their daring acts  of bravery, their moments of extreme weakness, the sacrifices they made for loved ones,  and the  realization that they gained of the love and forgiveness of God, a feeling swelled up inside of and filled my heart with song.

I was reminded that night that this life is about love. And that “to love another person is to [truly] see the face of God.” I knew that this new song within my heart was a sign of what the future would bring me. And more importantly I finally knew that “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

Part Nineteen: ~The Most Meaningful Christmas~

Christmas time was approaching and everyone was listening to happy Christmas carols and seemed to have so much joy in their lives. And although I was getting so much better, especially from where I had been even just in the past few weeks, Christmas time was a painful reminder of how far I was from where I wanted to be. Listening to music was a very challenging task for me but I found this to be even more true with Christmas carols. Each time I heard a Christmas carol, it reminded me of happier times and I feared that I would never feel that way again.  Certain songs were harder than others with phrases like, “Tis the season to be jolly,” “Laughing all the way”  “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” Well… it used to be the most wonderful time of the year. Now it was just proving to be a painful time.  And so I avoided listening to any kind of Christmas music.  However, there was one day where I felt that I should turn on the radio and so I forced myself to do it. When I did, the song, “I Cannot Find My Way” by Michael McLean came on. It was the first time I had heard this “Forgotten Carol” and it changed me.  The lyrics described exactly  how I was feeling, :

 "Somewhere beneath the glitter, that comes this time of winter, in many souls there is a cry.  They may not clearly say it, but in their hearts they pray it, and you can see it in their eyes. I cannot find my way at all. There are so many voices, so many different choices, I cannot find my way at all."

 This was totally me, I could not find my way at all. But then, the true message of this song, and really the true message of Christmas revealed itself as the rest of the music played on:

"There were three kings who followed the star of Bethlehem. They came from afar to praise and honor Him. His light which beckoned them to see, the Lord of Man. It calls to you, It calls to me. We're not alone, we have a star, and it shines today. The love that He gave teaches how and shows the way. That light, it's clear to see if we have faith and believe.  Three kings found the Lord and so can we. And if you've lost your way, that light burns bright today, and it will shine eternally. Three kings found the Lord and so can we."

This song gave me so much hope and reminded me that the reason why the Savior came to this world on that first Christmas was to save me from my sins, sorrows, and pains.

Click HERE to listen to "I Cannot Find My Way"

  On Christmas Eve, another event took place that reminded me of the real,true true meaning of Christmas.  It had been quite some time since the break up between me and my previous boyfriend and I hadn’t really talked to him that much.  But I knew that he knew I was going through some pretty intense trials, because of when I told him and all of my friends shortly after I was diagnosed with depression.  But after that moment, I never really let him know how I was doing. And everything happened so fast and was so confusing that I felt like there was still a lot left unsaid.  So the day before Christmas Eve I sent him a text telling him that I had a Christmas present for him and if there was a time we could meet up.   We arranged for Christmas Eve morning.  It was s short visit but it offered just the kind of closure that I needed.  I gave him a gift card to one of his favorite restaurants  and just explained to him what had been going on with my depression and how it would’ve happened eventually, regardless of whatever would have happened in our relationship. He filled me in on what was new in his life and that all was well.  We kept it short and sweet.  But as I was about to get out of the car he handed me a picture of Christ and said, “The best present I can give you is a reminder of what Christmas is all about.” It was so simple, but had a lasting impact. I'll never forget that Christmas gift that he gave me and I'm forever grateful for it. 

That night as my family was reading the nativity story from the Bible, I listened to it more intently then I ever had.  I wasn’t thinking about what presents I would be receiving the next day, and frankly I didn’t even care.  The best gift I could ever receive had already been given to me two  millennia before. The gift of my Savior, whose atonement was literally saving my life right at that exact moment.

 As I think back on that Christmas (hearing the song, “I Cannot Find My Way”, receiving that picture of Christ, and listening to the nativity story with my family) I realize that even though that Christmas wasn't as "merry and bright" as most... it was definitely the most spiritual and meaningful Christmas I have ever had. It was the Christmas where Christ became real in my life.  It was the Christmas that Christ became my best friend.

Part Twenty: ~Saying Goodbye to Grandma Goose~

Most children grow up hearing “Jack and Jill went up the Hill,” “Hey Diddle Diddle the Cat and the Fiddle” and “Little Miss Muffet” and most of these children know that these famous poems were told by a loving, little lady with square spectacles who goes by the name of Mother Goose. But what most children do NOT know is that Mother Goose was my grandmother. True story. My grandma was the real live Mother Goose.  My Grandpa Jerry Pitt owned a children’s store called “The Mother Goose Shop” and it was the classiest place in town with beautiful children’s clothing, furniture, and toys.  After my grandpa passed away, my grandma took over the business and also took on the role of Mother Goose.  She filled that role not just because she looked like Mother Goose, but most importantly, she acted like her.  She loved children and doing anything to make them happy… especially if they were her own grandchildren.   We had the privilege of calling her Grandma Goose.

During my senior year of high school, Grandma Goose suffered a stroke and she was never quite the same.  Her movement became slower as did her speech.  She had a hard time connecting her thoughts into words and it was difficult to see the frustration behind her eyes as she tried to communicate her thoughts as beautifully as she did before. As time passed, my grandma’s health slowly declined.

When I went to college I decided that I wanted to make sure I stayed in contact with my sweet Grandma Goose as much as I could so I would call her every week.  Some days she was easier to understand then others. On the good days she would say “Oh sweetie, I’m so glad to hear that!” Or “Oh honey I  just love your gizzard” (she was the queen of terms of endearment) but on the days that were harder I was told to just talk so she could listen. These weekly conversations I had with her are treasured memories, even if they were just one sided… it was so tender knowing that I always had someone to talk to.  And when I was diagnosed with depression, those weekly talks became even more meaningful, because often, I felt like she was the only person I could talk to.

When I was living at home, I was living closer to my grandma so my weekly phone calls turned into weekly visits.  I didn’t want to go into details of what I was dealing with because I knew my grandma had enough to worry about without adding any additional worries to her fragile life. But the thing is, I didn’t have to tell her how much I was struggling. She could tell. Every time I would visit her she would pat down on the seat next to her on the sofa signaling for me to come sit down.  Next she would grab my hand with one of her hands and with the other hand would stroke my hand and say over and over again “I love you honey. I love you honey. I love you honey.”

I don’t think I can ever adequately express how much of a difference that meant to me. When you have depression, or any other mental illness, sometimes your mind distorts reality.  This led to me often feeling like everyone was judging me and talking behind my back about how weird I was acting. There were times when I questioned people’s motives, thinking things like, “They are only being nice to be because they feel bad for me.”    Those precious moments with my grandma were  moments of serenity… her couch was almost a sanctuary to me.  When I was sitting beside her, I knew that I was not being judged or thought about in any unkind light and I knew that the kindness she showed towards me by holding my hand and saying those four words over and over again, was about as sincere as one could possibly get. It was very plain to my grandma that I was struggling, she could easily see the hurt in my eyes, and although she was extremely physically limited at the time, she did all in her power to comfort me. If only she had any idea how much she did.

One day in December of 2012 my weekly couch visit had turned into a bed visit. It was a few weeks after my brother’s wedding and my family was hosting an open house in honor of my brother and new sister-in-law. My dad got a call saying as soon as we could, we all needed to come over to my grandma’s house and say our goodbyes. The hospice nurses had just been there and said she had less than 24 hours to live.  Everyone in the family was saying their goodbyes individually and when it was my turn, a little miracle happened.  I walked into the room and saw my grandma, seemingly unconscious.  The only sound that came from her was her struggled breathing.  I put my hand in hers and thanked her for always loving me no matter what.  And then the miracle happen.  Words came out of my mouth that I didn’t think I was capable of saying, “Grandma, I promise you that I will do everything I possibly can to be happy.” And at that moment, she gently squeezed my hand three times. “I. Love. You.” I told her that I loved her too, gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, and quietly left the room… resolved to do everything in power to keep my promise to my sweet Grandma Goose. 

Part Twenty One: ~Miracles~

www.lovethispic.com

2013 was a year of miracles, big and small.  The first miracle occurred when I volunteered to sing at my grandma’s funeral.  I had spent months on end being so self conscious and anxiety filled that I could barely leave my house.  Now I was volunteering to sing in front of hundreds of people? Truly a miracle.

I was still feel depression’s exhausting effect on me, but I had a promise to keep and I was determined to keep on pushing forward.  The dark cloud of mental illness was still following me around, but it was no longer suffocating me.  Still, I longed for it to be gone.

My dad suggested that I sing the song, “My Heavenly Father Loves Me” for the funeral because not only did my grandma love that song, but it was also sung at my Aunt Cathy’s funeral several years before I was born.  She was  another wonderful woman, with the purest of hearts. During my darkest times, I felt her strength as my dad told me that she also had suffered from mental illness.  Somehow I felt her cheering for me from the other side.  Now I had another cheerleader in my grandmother and I knew that with the strength of these two women, I could perform what otherwise would’ve been an impossible task.

My Angel Aunt Cathy

 I practiced constantly during the days leading up to my grandma’s funeral, and even had several family and friends coaching me.  I felt as prepared as I possibly could have.  On the day of the funeral I put on the dress from my brother’s wedding, which made me feel beautiful and important.  I did my hair and makeup as nicely as I could and even felt a surge of confidence as I looked in the mirror. 

So many friends and loved ones were present at the funeral and it was wonderful to see everyone (another miracle was that I actually talked to everyone). The talks and memories given in behalf of my sweet grandma were all so wonderful. And then, before I knew it, it was my turn to sing.  I walked up the pulpit and stood tall. I was smiling widely as the introduction was played. And then something happened. You would have never had known that I had been practicing for days and days. I sounded awful. But not because I was off pitch or anything, but because I was trying so hard to hold back tears that my voice was shaking so badly, it sounded like there was an earthquake inside my throat.

There was a feeling within me that I couldn’t describe. Something was happening and I wasn’t sure what it was. I seriously struggled through the whole entire song. It was extremely noticeable and I’m sure people thought it’s because I was so sad about losing my grandma.  While that was definitely part of the reason behind the tears, there was something else going on. I could feel it. But what was it?

 And then I knew, because when  I sang the very last stanza, “Yes, I know Heavenly Father Loves Me,” the biggest miracle in my then 21 years of life, took place.

I literally felt the dark, ugly, horrible cloud of depression that had plagued my mind, body and spirit, lift off of me.  I was free. I was finally free. I couldn’t even believe it.  Was this really happening?   I felt a voice whisper to my soul, “I told you that if you did all that you possibly could, I would take care of the rest.”  The dam holding back any remaining tears broke. The emotions I was feeling are too hard to describe, but I know that they were Heaven sent.

 We are often told that “God will never give you a  trial that you can’t handle.”  But I don’t believe that is always true.   God does in fact give you trials that YOU can’t handle.  I honestly could not handle the trial of depression and anxiety. It was all consuming and even had me attempting to take my own life because of the fact that I truly couldn’t handle it.  Yes, there are things in life that we can’t handle alone. But what that phrase that we so often hear should say is, “God will never give you a trial that you can’t handle with the help of Christ.” (A wise woman in my ward helped the ladies in our Relief Society understand this just today)

I had done everything in my power to get better, but there came a point when it was physically impossible for me to make my depression go away.  So, at the beginning of a new year, at the funeral of a woman who believed in the power of love, surrounded by people who loved me, I felt the miracle of God’s love work in my life, the miracle of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.  Although, I still struggle with depression from time to time, and even though I’m more prone to have those feelings than some, it is no longer a constant part of my life, and hasn’t been since I sobbed out the words “Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me.” 

I don’t know why I suffered longer than other people, and I’m even more confused as to why others are allowed to suffer much longer than I did.  But I do know that whether your weeping endures for one night, one year, or your whole life, joy DOES come in the morning.  I hope your morning comes sooner than later, but I know it will come.  Maybe depression will be something that will be a part of your whole life. That doesn’t mean you aren’t trying hard enough or that you aren’t worthy of being healed, so please don’t give up.   Like I said, I still struggle from time to time, but it isn’t paralyzing like it used to be. Why did God’s timing in my life play out like it did? I don’t know all the reasons why.  But maybe it was so I could help others.  To give other’s hope. To encourage other’s not to give up and to keep on enduring until your morning comes.

*This is the end of the “Depression” part of my story, yet my story is not done. Not even close. Because everyday a new part is being written.  I will still write follow up sections of what happened in my life following my grandma’s funeral and what is going on now.  One thing that people may not realize is even after the major part of  depression seems to be over, you still have to deal with stigmas, and allowing people to enter your life, and being able to trust others with your fragile heart.  But life after mental illness (and during mental illness) still has the possibility to be beautiful. I hope to continue to help any readers realize that. 

Part Twenty Two: ~Opening Up My Heart~

After my grandma’s funeral I felt like a whole new person… no,  not  like the girl I was before my depression. I don’t know if I could ever be exactly her again… sure many aspects would be the same, but when someone has been through trials so great it changes you… usually for the better if you let it. And I would like to think that’s what my trials did for me. My life seemed so much more valuable now because I had almost lost it.  My testimony was stronger than ever before because it was stretched to its limits. My appreciation for the beautiful things in life was so much more profound because I had spent so much time filled with ugly thoughts and feelings. And more than anything my eyes for the beautiful things in the world were so much wider because I had spent seemingly endless days in the darkness. Was my depression gone? No. It still isn’t gone all the way, but because of all of the insane amount of hard work I put in, and more than anything the Grace of God, the bulk of the beast has left me and I have been  able to work through what is left over. This new outlook on life had me not only ready, but somewhat excited to return back to school for the Spring Semester.

Luckily, everything up at school was pretty much how I had left it… same roommates and same apartment, same ward and friends, same job and scholarship waiting for me. I felt that God was really looking after me. However, there were two things that I knew would be different. One, I knew I would have to not overwork myself (like I had done every semester beforehand) so that I wouldn’t have another break down and relapse. I knew that to make sure that I maintained my current progress it would be a good idea to still meet with the on-campus mental health counselor on a weekly basis.  I was ready and prepared for these changes.  The other thing that would be different was I knew I would have to start dating again… and this time with a more serious approach since before my heart was always closed hoping things would work out with my previous boyfriend. I would have to put myself out there and be open to new opportunities.  I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for this change because one thing that definitely hadn’t come back in full swing was my fierce amount of confidence that I had had before my depression. I knew it would be a work in progress but I knew that with the help of God, I would be able to do it.

About a week after the semester started I threw a surprise party for my roommate. That right there was even more proof that I was doing better.  At the party, I tried really hard to be open to new experiences… and so I flirted with a bunch of guys! Like crazy! All the while this sweet, cute boy by the name of Carlos sat on the couch and watched. This was the same boy who five months earlier saw me crying uncontrollably in the car and came up to me to see if I was okay.  This was also the same boy who three months earlier was thrilled beyond belief to see me in Logan on one of the few visits I got up enough courage to take. This was the same boy who a month earlier had texted me to tell me he missed seeing me on campus. And this was the same boy who despite seeing me flirt with every other boy in the room still called me and asked me on a date an hour after the party ended.

I was shocked beyond belief how easy it was to talk to Carlos on our date. We talked for hours and there was never a lull in the conversation.  He was complimentary and treated me like a princess.  I was having so much fun, but in the back of my mind I questioned, “If he knew what I have been through, would he still be interested in me?” On our date Carlos asked why I had gone home the previous semester.  I told him more of the truth than I had told anyone else at school…. I told him that I had gotten really sick and needed to go home and get better.  He was very concerned and sensing that I didn’t want to go into detail, pacified himself by asking repeatedly if I was okay now. My reply… “I have everything under control.” I know that he was confused and wanting to know more, but even though he was a friend who I may or may not have been slowly falling for, I wasn’t ready to open up to him about my depression.  I wasn’t ready to open up to anyone about the truth… not really. I was proud of myself for coming so far but embarrassed about where I had been and how truly sick I had gotten. I know I shouldn’t have been embarrassed, but even though I knew that depression was a real, totally-not made up disease, I wasn’t sure if other people knew that as well.

As the weeks went by Carlos and I became inseparable. He would come up with the most creative dates to take me on and we went on them quite frequently. When we weren’t on dates we were hanging out at each other’s apartment talking, laughing, cooking, eating, watching movies, hanging out with our roommates, playing games and maybe a little kissing here and there too;).

 As we got closer to one another and started getting to know each other better, Carlos started asking more questions about my time away from school.  He knew what a perfectionist I was when it came to school. He knew how passionate I was about my major and how driven I was to succeed.  To him, taking time off right before my senior year of college didn’t make sense and didn’t sound like the girl he was falling for. And as much as I was falling for him too, I was terrified to tell him the truth.  Even though I knew that being depressed didn’t mean you were crazy, I wasn’t sure if he knew that.  Even though I had accepted the fact that I had been so sick and that it was okay that I took time to heal, I wasn’t sure if others would accept it too.  There were so many stigmas about mental illness and I was worried that those stigmas would get in the way of the relationship that was forming between Carlos and I.  In all honesty, I was nervous that if I told him the truth, I would lose him.

I expressed my concerns to the counselor I had been meeting with on campus.  I told her my fear of losing Carlos and how I just wished I never had to tell him.  Her advice was amazing.  First of all she said that  my depression had been a defining moment in my life and that it would be  hard to make someone such a big part of my life if they weren’t aware of something that had such an impact on me. Second she told me, “If he wants to be with then when you tell him about your depression he will stay by your side. And if not, well, You don’t want to be with someone who can’t love you for the challenges you have gone through anyway.” She had a point.  I didn’t doubt Carlos’s feelings for me, but if he still wanted to be with me after I told him about my struggles with mental illness then I knew he really loved me.

I rehearsed over and over again in my head how I was going to tell Carlos. I decided to start with a scientific approach so that he would understand that depression and anxiety are truly diseases and that it wasn’t something I was making up.  I even drew a diagram of the brain demonstrating the synapses that weren’t connecting. I said many prayers asking for peace and the ability to say the right thing and then the door knocked. It was time.

I was so surprised with how easy it was to tell Carlos about my depression and anxiety after I actually got started. In fact, I couldn’t figure out why it was so hard to tell him in the first place. I was in love with this boy and I knew he loved me too. That was proven as I saw him wipe tears from his eyes as I told him the whole, true story, of why I had gone home the previous semester. He listened so patiently and didn’t take his eyes off of me. When I was done we were both crying and he pulled me into one of the biggest hugs I have ever been given. He told me how proud he was of me and how the fact that I had come out of this trial as a stronger person made him love me even more.  

We have been married for two and a half wonderful years (more on that later) and Carlos has never seen me at my worst, and I hope he never has to see me as sick as I was when I was 21. But he has seen some moments of relapse where I’ve had small panic attacks or days where I feel more depressed than others, and he is always there for me to see me through those moments. But even though he is there for me, I don’t think he truly understands how bad it got for me, or what exactly I mean when I say “Carlos, I’m having one of those days.” I think he still views “one of those days” as just a bad day that we all tend to have from time to time. And that is more than okay. Because even though he doesn’t quite understand, I know that he loves me. And that’s what is important.

 To anyone who is afraid to share with a loved one about their struggles with mental illness, I ask you to find the necessary courage and do it! It won’t be easy to get up that courage but I promise it’s worth it. I can't promise that everyone you love will always stay in your life, and as I have learned, in some cases that is okay. Your family and friends may not understand, or may not even take what you have to say as seriously as they should, but if they are meant to be in your life then they will stay by you and love you no matter what. And that is what matters most. I know that even if Carlos doesn’t fully understand what I’ve been through, or what I sometimes still deal with, he loves me… despite my struggles. That is true love right there. 

To be continued...