Background.

I feel like even on my good days it gets worse. I get out. I enjoy the sunshine. I talk to good people. I am told that I am loved. I am served. I am complimented. I am offered so much of the good that the world has to offer. I count my blessings. But then, out of nowhere, I am in tears. Convulsing sobs in the confines of my bedroom or even the back seat of my car. I feel unworthy to be on this earth. I didn’t do anything wrong. The guilt comes out of nowhere. But it’s consuming.

 I go out to socialize. People say that having a strong social support group is important for happiness. But there’s always a moment.  A moment during the social interaction where it’s no longer enjoyable. There is a switch- a switch that just turns off and I feel a complete void. I don’t want to be social anymore. I just want to sink away to my room. But how do I tell that to people? How do I tell people that I’m too overwhelmed—even though my daily activities have consisted of nothing—yet I’m too exhausted to be around people. How do I tell them that without them taking it personally that even though we were laughing and having a good time a minute ago—I just have to be alone?  They notice that something is wrong. But it’s never the time to get into it when there’s a bunch of people around. I feel trapped. I feel like I’m sabotaging my relationships. I feel like no matter what I do, I can’t win.

I get angry. I get so, so irritated that I just want to scream and cry and tell people off. People who I love, who are kind, who are doing their best to help me. Instead, I hold it in and I release it in silent sobs at 2 am when I can’t sleep. I laugh off cutting remarks in the moment that eat at me and fuel my hate fire for the next time I see those people. And then the anxious anticipation comes. When I walk in my house and hold my breath, knowing that if my roommates are home I will have to do anything I can to get out of talking to them. Every question they ask feels invasive—even though I know they are just trying to make conversation and be kind and loving. “how are you doing?” “how was your day?” “what are you watching.” It takes all I can muster not to snap and say “none of your business.”

And I hate it. I hate it all.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be so even tempered, it was insane. I mean, I had the occasional breakdown and fit of rage here and there, as is normal with the typical with depression that I’ve had since childhood, but I was convinced that by 16, I had grown out of it. That was until it came back hard at 18. Then it went minor again. But at 21…I couldn’t deny it anymore. I never admitted that I had depression. I think that maybe it’s because of the church, and the constant sentiment of “you get to choose how you feel” and “you are not the victim of your circumstance.” I was convinced to believe that I was just a negative minded young woman, afflicted by hardships in childhood, and that was the reason I was so pessimistic. So after years of effort, I overcame the negative thinking, the self harm, the public emotional outbursts. So many people had told me that I had changed and become a different person. And I LOVED that. I was the poster child of how positive thinking makes all the difference. I was a living example of how choosing your emotions could change your life. That’s who I wanted to be. And I grew to love myself.

Lots of things happened over the next few years. I experienced some severe lows and some euphoric highs. I graduated high school, I got my first jobs, I went to college, I served an LDS mission, I came home, got my associates degree, had a good life, for the most part. I was still in the choice mentality. I was having some issues, dad being in the hospital, car issues, money issues, and then a break up which was the final event in a chain that sent me reeling. I tried to not let it get to me. I tried to choose to be okay. I threw myself into things like the temple, ward involvement, family stuff, road trips, all of the things they say to get your life back. I reconnected with old friends, I tried so. hard. I felt like I spanned the entire spectrum of human emotion every day but always ended up at the bottom. I told my best friend about all of it, and she made suggestions. I got priesthood blessings that made things wonderful for a few days, but within the week things would sink back to being terrible. I talked to my bishop and his wife, individually and they both expressed their concern that I had depression. I refused to acknowledge that suggestion. I was just a person having a hard time looking for a solution. I knew there was one, I just hadn’t found it yet. Or so I thought.

In a final decision of needing to get away, I made the quick decision to move to the neighboring state. I had $200 in my bank account and no job secured. Well, I made it. I was so happy the first week. I thought all my troubles were gone. I had gotten a job and in the meantime before that job started, I found temp work. It was working out. But though I could get a new routine, move to a new place, have a new scenery, interact with different people and all of that, my demons followed me. I was still trapped inside myself and nowhere I went could get me far enough away from myself. I had a lot of friends in my new location, so for a month I drew on them for support. I made some spontaneous road trips with new friends. But eventually I spiraled. I was under my roommates bed at midnight sobbing uncontrollably on the phone to my parents about how I didn’t feel like I had any future  and I wished I was dead. It got to the point where I could only get out of bed to go to work and home. I didn’t talk to anybody unless it was my roommates or my coworkers who I had to be around. All of my commitments I immediately regretted because it meant going to things and trying to be my old self—the one I had lost in all the emotion. One day I was just sitting at work answering phones, wondering how I was going to make it, when the only quote I could hold on to was Holland’s “do not vote against the preciousness of life by ending it.” I repeated that over and over in my head as silent tears rolled down my cheeks. My friend finally said needed to seek professional help.

It took a while. And since I couldn’t handle any responsibility, she was the one who ended up calling making appointments for me while I lay there curled up on the couch. It’s been five months since then and waking up every day is still a struggle. I don’t know what to do…but I feel like getting it out written down somewhere so it’s not just festering inside me is good.

It’s been …

Humiliating.

Frustrating.

Problematic.

Hopeful.

and Emotional.

And I’m not going to lie and say it’s been okay. And I’m also not going to lie that it’s okay now. But I know that someday everything will be absolutely perfect; and that’s going to have to be okay for now.