Doorways

 Not much surprised me these days, but I was surprised to see my momma in my doorway that morning.

"You know that quote about our loved ones from the other side being able to help us? Well, we're going to need them now, because I crashed last night. I am where you are."

No. Oh no.

*****

I had been surprised to see my momma in my doorway because it was backwards. These last several months, it had always been me darkening her doorway.

It had started with,

"I don't think I can marry him."

And after that had been resolved, it became,

"Can we pray together?"

"I don't know why I'm not feeling better. Can we pray together?"

"I feel like I blew it somewhere."

"I feel like God isn't listening."

"I did something to push Him away." 

"I feel like I'm losing my faith."

"I wish I could go back."

"I never should have gotten engaged."

"I feel broken."

"I wish I was still a good person."

Each phrase was my effort to sum up the terror and anxiety I had been feeling all day into a few words. Each time I stood in their doorway, my parents responded with love and encouragement. In the beginning, I would breathe it all in and feel confident in the future again for a short time. But the panic had always returned by morning, accompanied with the sense that I had descended even deeper into hopelessness. 

It was apparent that my parents were becoming distressed and frustrated at their inability to put my fears to rest. My insides were screaming, "I just wish for a second you could know how this felt." I wanted to be a normal, healthy 20-year-old. For goodness sake, most of my high school friends were out living on their own, some were even married and expecting children while I laid in the fetal position on the couch in my parents' room. I wanted to move on with my life and quit pretending I was okay, to really be okay. After another night-time discussion, I went back to my room and as I began to not fall asleep for the night, repeated over and over, "I wish they knew how this felt. I wish someone knew how I felt."

 *****

My wish had come true, and I couldn't be more mortified.

I had said that I wished they knew how I felt so that they would be able to understand why I couldn't snap out of it, not so that they could experience the blackness of this pit and the horrors of mind that came with it. 

Mom led me to her room and sank to her knees. I joined her on the floor as she offered up a prayer.

She hugged me. I didn't deserve it. I had betrayed her. I had brought this upon her. I didn't know what to say. I went back to my room. 

I heard the bath water start to run and then turn off. 

Several minutes later I heard my mom on the phone. She asked to speak to her doctor. The tone of confidence had dropped from her voice. I only caught bits and pieces. "I tried to get in the bath, but I feel like if I'm able to do that today it will be monumental."

I truly had thought things could not have gotten worse. How terribly, terribly wrong I was. How much longer was Dad going to be able to hang on before he slipped too? How would he work? Who would care for the kids? How would we survive?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

*****

"I don't understand these feelings of worthlessness you're having. You're not wretched." 

I was sitting in the office of another trusted church leader. I needed someone to agree that I was wretched, so we could start piecing the broken shards of my life back together.

He brought up the name of a man who the media had been following for the last several months after he admitted to murdering his wife. 

"THAT is wretched. You are not wretched."

How could I explain to him that yes, I was. I had slowly, purposely etched away at my mom's well-being til she crashed. Do you know what an incredible woman my mom is? A pillar. And what about the rest of my family? I stole their wife and mom from them. I was likely stealing their own well-being from them. I did that. I couldn't formulate all that into a sentence, so I let him think I agreed with him.

"Have you been reading the scriptures?"

I had. And every time lakes of brimstone and weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth were mentioned, I related on a whole new level.

"I think you need to read them some more."

*****

Many afternoons Dad came home and found us just where he'd left us eight hours before. The blinds were closed and there was a staleness in the air. 

"How are my beautiful girls?" he would say. Less true words had never been spoken of me.

One Monday he appeared with flowers. 

"I love fresh flowers," my daddy said. "They bring life into the house."

The next Monday he appeared with flowers. 

"I have decided we will have fresh flowers on our table every Monday until my girls get better."

How could he be so cheerful? I was floored. I hated to tell him that there weren't enough flowers in the world.

But even I couldn't argue that the house felt better with them there.

*****

 "I feel like my identity, like my very self has been stolen," Mom confided.

"Like you have clothes on your back and food to eat, and you've never been a slave, or in a concentration camp, or through a war, but you can relate to the suffering of humanity on a whole new level?" I threw it out there, holding my breath to see what she'd say.

"Yes, yes."

She knew. And as much as it killed me to know that, I was no longer alone.


Next Chapter: Running Away

The S Word

"WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU?" my insides screamed.  "How could that even cross your mind????"

It was day two of my trip to Washington state. I had gotten up early. Not woken up early, because I had been awake all night. I couldn't remember getting a good night's sleep since well before the break up. This morning Aunt Angela and I had plans to visit Snoqualmie Falls.

As Angela and I hiked together to the falls, I had great hopes that the next couple of hours could have a little bit of a healing effect on me. I had always enjoyed that sense of reverent awe I felt when I saw something majestic like a waterfall. A wonderful sense that this grand piece of work could crush me but that it was made by my Father in Heaven and He loved me and was in control all rolled into one. As we came upon the falls, I was floored at what I felt instead.

Jump.

I was alarmed at the thought. Just the fact that it had crossed my mind sent adrenaline pulsing through my body. I rejected it immediately and continued commenting on the gorgeous sight with my aunt. She pointed out an eagle on a ledge far off in the distance.

I felt a longing to be where that eagle was, several hundred yards from my current view. From there it would be easier to jump. I had been terrified and confused at the constant rush of panic going through my body for the past several days. I was completely flustered at why every attempt to help myself feel better resulted in spiraling down even further. That waterfall offered the escape I craved. I wanted to jump.

I was mortified at what was going on inside my head. Killing myself was not the answer to my problems. In elementary school, a boy in our community had accidentally shot another boy while playing with a gun and then turned it on himself. My teacher had given our class a powerful talk in which she expressed that no matter hard life gets, the answer does not lie in ending it. She had won me over in my first exposure to this difficult concept. I wholeheartedly rejected the idea. But like everything else lately, I feared my attempts were going to be futile.

While I tried and tried to smother the thoughts of jumping off the waterfall, what concerned me even more was the idea that it seemed like something irreversible had happened inside of me. I was mortified that what would be a normal healthy human reaction to a waterfall had been removed and replaced with a desire to jump off of it. Like something natural and innate within me had been stolen.

*****

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

Morning.

Today had to be the day. Every day I woke up in this bed was one more day I was dragging everyone around me down into my pit.

I tried to remember what it felt like to feel. How would the used-to-be-me react to knowing that her once happy home was being smothered by the effects of my wretchedness? I recognized now that that first thought of jumping off a waterfall would have been the most merciful way to go. Instead I had come home and selfishly required my whole family to swim in my misery with me. The longer I stayed, the more damage I did. Getting out of the picture was the best thing I could do for them now. I had heard it said that killing yourself is the most selfish thing you could ever do, but now that I stood on the edge, I wanted to shout from the mountaintops that this would be the most selfless thing I had ever done.

*****

There was one major condition. There had to be a note. It could not just be an afterthought. The taking of my life was going to have a monumental effect on the people who meant most to me in this world. Getting out of their lives would, in the long run, be the best thing I could do for them at this point. I prayed that any good I had done in my life would be payment for somehow granting them the ability to understand that. Through the note they also had to understand how much I loved them. I loved them so much. And that nothing they could have done would have saved me. My wretchedness was my own doing. They must know that. I would not go until the note was written.

On at least three separate occasions I sat down to write my letter. So strange, I wasn't even able to compose a sentence. When I picked up the pencil, my mind would cloud over and all I could manage was, "Sorry. Love you." That was not going to cut it. On one occasion, it was as if someone was holding the pencil, preventing me from writing.

 *****

"Are you suicidal?" my bishop asked me.

"No," I lied. I had always been a truthful person, but once you're on your way to hell, the sins add up pretty quickly. I did feel bad lying to him, he had devoted a lot of time to meeting with me in his office at the church and even visited our home a time or two out of concern for our family. 

He pulled a notepad out of his desk. "I am going to give you my home phone, my work phone, and my cell phone. I don't want you to do anything drastic without calling me first."

I nodded and this time I meant it. He had my respect and admiration. He was a good man and I trusted him wholeheartedly. I owed that to him. It didn't mean I wouldn't go through with it. I pictured myself in a number of terrible scenarios with my cell phone by my side. I would keep my word by calling him first no matter the outcome.

*****

"Fine," I thought as my dad left the room. "But you don't know what you're asking. You'd all be better off if I was gone." 

The future was definitely going to involve padlocks and padded rooms.

Whether it was inspiration or the whisperings of concerned people in my life who had picked up on the thoughts I thought I had been masking so well, my dad had met me in my room that night with a special request.

"Do not take your life. I beg you, do not take your life. You don't know what that would do to us. We will do whatever it takes to help you, but taking your life is not the solution."

There was nothing he could do to help me. He'd already done it all, and I was still hopelessly broken beyond repair.

However, I would do anything for my daddy. Including getting out of his life because I was ruining it. He had done nothing all my life but earn my trust and my devotion. He had provided the kind of childhood that dreams are made of. Tickle monsters, bike rides, and daddy/daughter dances in the living room. And because he asked me to stay, I had to. I could not deprive him of that. 

I would never need the bishop's three phone numbers. I wouldn't need to finish the suicide note. Even if it meant all hell was going to rain on our house, I would not take my life.


Next Chapter: Doorways 

A Well-Worn Path

Twelve hours I had been sitting at this table working on my final project of the semester. Twelve hours was supposed to be more than enough time, but now it was dark outside and panic really began to set in. I would doubt I was even halfway done.

Note to self: do not break off an engagement right before finals week. 

I don't know how else I would've done it though. I couldn't imagine still carrying on pretending there would be a wedding and that I was enamored with the idea.

I also couldn't imagine why I couldn't feel hardly any degree of relief since calling it off. Yes, separating from my fiancé had been very painful, but the feelings I was having were hardly even related to him anymore. They were related to me. I had expected my confidence to grow after I called off the wedding and discovered that I could do hard things. Instead, the sleepless nights had continued along with a growing sense that something was very, very wrong.

*****

"We're going to get control of these negative thoughts you're having."

I was sitting in the office of a trusted church leader. I could feel of his genuine concern and desire to help me. It gave me hope.

"I'm going to give you an assignment."

Anything. I'll do anything.

"I want you to carry a notebook with you, and anytime you have a negative thought, I want you to mark it in that little notebook. That will help you sift through the thoughts that aren't helping you, and we're going to get rid of them."

A few hours later that notebook had become my trusty companion because I was pulling it out frequently. Tic. Bad thought. Tic. Bad thought. Tic tic tic. 

A sweet lady came and picked me up for a drive, probably to take my mind off of my broken engagement. Do I bring the notebook? I wondered. Do I want to feel better? So as she drove, I tried to carry on a conversation, but she had to be wondering what I was doing in my lap. Tic. Tic. Tic tic tic.

Later that night I concluded something. There had been almost a constant flow of panic rushing through my body for the past couple of weeks leading up to the breakup and beyond. It was very distressing and one of the ways my body coped with it was to try to release it through my foot. I had developed a shaking foot. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, as long as I was sitting down, my foot was shaking. I realized that my fear and anxiety had become so constant, that I could mark a tic with every shake of my foot. 

****

I knelt in my dress after finding a quiet, secluded spot in the park. This actually wasn't the first time I had knelt to pray in this park.

At five years old, I had come to this park with my mom's friend Cindy and her little boy Cole. It was a huge park, and it didn't just seem like it because I was a kid.

I was playing in the sand when I looked up and realized there was not one familiar face to take in. Panic struck my little heart, followed quickly by the thought of something my parents had always taught me: You can pray to Heavenly Father anytime you need help.

I walked over to a park bench and knelt down. 

"I'm lost. I'm scared. Help me," I prayed. 

Instantly, the image of a yellow shirt flashed through my mind. "Cole's mom was wearing a yellow shirt!" I think I even said it out loud.

My eyes scanned the park. Not far from where I stood there was the peak of a small hill and up and over that hill came a woman in a bright yellow shirt. I got a better glimpse as she came closer. It was her. As relief flooded my insides, I ran to join her. He had heard my prayer! And answered it! And I knew it.

15 years later, the needs I would express here in the park weren't much different. 

Please help me. I'm scared. 

This time however, it wasn't my grown up I feared I had lost. It was my mind. And I wasn't saying that to be dramatic. I could feel myself on the verge of insanity. 

Please, show me how to fix this. I know you can.

I knelt for a long time waiting for something.

Nothing.

I tried to remain hopeful on the way home. I knew God often doesn't answer prayers immediately and that's when faith sustains us. But with a growing sense of dread I realized that the place where faith lived in my heart had been filled instead with a quiet sense of terror.

****

What a shame. What a horrible, tragic shame.

It was several weeks later and I now had it all figured out.

I was going to hell. 

That was the only possible reason why my cries to Heaven were going unanswered and my mind was in a constant state of fear and torment.

I had always wanted to be good and to stay out of trouble.  But I was also humble enough to recognize that I wasn't invincible, that I could make mistakes.

And somewhere between the winter and the spring, I had made a big one. Or a series of small ones that had led to my downfall. God had had a different plan for my life that did not involve my ex-fiancé, but I chose to pursue the relationship anyway. He had made several attempts to help me change my course, but in the end I had forged ahead with my own agenda. God had no choice but to sadly step out, and when He did, Satan stepped in.
 

I'd always heard he was good at what he did, but I really had to hand it to him. I never saw it coming.

My misery continued to sustain itself day in and day out, and each day I would review the trail of mistakes that led to my tragic fate. I could trace them like points on a map until they were ingrained in my brain like a well-worn path.

I was going to hell and no one could talk me out of it.

God, save my soul.


Next Chapter: The S Word

This is What We've Trained For

This was a new kind of pain I had never experienced before. My insides felt similar to how I imagined a pumpkin felt after its guts had been scraped out for carving. Calling off that wedding had not been easy.

But it had been the right thing to do.

I had anticipated pain, and now that it was happening, I accepted it. I might be heartbroken for a couple of weeks, a couple of months. But I would hold out for that new beginning I was positive was in the distance. It would involve a more polished, confident version of me. I couldn't wait to meet her. And it would involve dating.

In order to get there sooner, I would allow myself to be sad, but I would also keep myself busy. I wouldn't have school to help me with that anymore because the semester was almost over, so I would have to be very deliberate about it. Exercise in the mornings, maybe get a new job, stay in touch with close friends who would help me feel better.

I had a great aunt and uncle who always promised us a place to stay if we wanted to come visit Seattle. Now might be the perfect time for a change of scenery to help me transition into this new stage of my life. I made arrangements to leave town shortly after I turned in my final project for the semester.

Most importantly, I was determined to immerse myself in the love of my Heavenly Father. I needed to feel His love for me well up in my heart like it always had when I had been in quiet places throughout my youth--around campfires at girls camp while testimonies of His goodness were shared, in church as I opened my heart in belief to the truths taught there, in my room at night as I sought Him in the scriptures.

And as it was with Moses and Joseph of Egypt and countless other prophets, I knew that He would be my refuge during times of trouble. In this most troubled time I had yet known, I was almost excited to see how He would lead me through it.

Yep, God. This is what we've trained for.

Lead the way.


Next Chapter: A Well-Worn Path

Stop Light

Stopped there at the stop light, my left hand was angled on the steering wheel just right so that the sunlight flung sparkles from my ring all over the car. I should have been on cloud nine. Instead I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Gosh, this is really not how I expected to feel the morning after I got engaged. 

If these feelings are real and justified, then you have a hard job ahead of you, I told myself.

My fears eased when we were together. We had four years of history, countless dates, conversations, and inside jokes. I needed my fingers and my toes to count all the times we'd been told we were perfect for each other. Getting married made sense, and by extension, so did making wedding plans. But every dinner that was placed on the calendar, every decision and reservation made left me making a growing mental list of what we'd have to cancel were we to call it off.

Was this just who I was? Maybe major life-changing events just threw me for a loop and things would level-out in time. I decided to hang on a little longer. However, I set a date on the calendar. If my uneasy feelings were not resolved by that time, I would have that difficult conversation.

I gave the relationship my all for the next couple of weeks. I moved ahead as if there most definitely would be a wedding. I graciously thanked people for their congratulations and mentally prepared to be in a marriage relationship. But rather than more confidence, all I experienced was a nagging sense of guilt whenever I was with my fiance and sleepless nights where I vowed to call it off as soon as the sun came up.

I had never been at such a crossroads. Either way I turned was not a happy direction. Calling off the wedding would be hurtful to my fiance. It would also drastically affect my relationship with many people I knew because I knew him, people I had learned to think of as family. Not calling off the wedding meant that this torment inside me would go on for who knew how long. In the last couple of weeks both of us had admitted we felt like we were draining the life out of each other. What if it didn't stop after the wedding? What if we were miserable for the rest of our lives?

Taking a gigantic leap into the unknown for the sake of a hopefully happy future, I called it off. 


Next Chapter: This is What We've Trained For

The Summer Before

It was a good one. My goodness it was a good one.

I was fulfilling my dream of being an EFY counselor. I had gone to EFY several times as a teenager. This time I got the opportunity to be one of the college-aged counselors who teach and testify of the gospel and lead youth in classes, activities, dances, put them to bed each night, make sure they STAY in bed, and wake them up early each morning. It was exhausting and so. Much. Fun. I still have friends from that summer.

When I wasn't working as a counselor, I was learning a lot about yard work with my momma, how to amend soil and plant. We had some good conversations and I learned it could be satisfying to sweat and get dirt under my nails.

I was also working as a receptionist for a company that serviced telephone systems from 9-5 on the days I was home.

In August, my aunt Cynthia was due any day with her second baby. Her family lived out in Nebraska and her husband was off taking the bar exam after graduating from law school. They were crossing their fingers that he would get home in time. Realizing that I was the only one in the family old enough, young enough and flexible enough, I dropped everything and hopped on a plane to go spend two weeks with them. I had a little stint as a homemaker as I ran errands, entertained my cute cousin, and made meals at night.

It seems like every night that summer I went to bed appreciating the feeling of a hard day's work.

I was finding college-age life to be a little perplexing but mostly lots and lots of fun.


Next Chapter: Stop Light

For My Friends

There will be many of you who know me now that will find it hard to believe that this chapter of my life occurred. 

I have weighed the costs and benefits of telling my story. I could....

let people believe that I do and always have had it together

or

shed light on my personal battle with depression in the hopes of helping others.

While both would satisfy inner desires, it didn't take long to settle on which one was more worthy. 

You may find some aspects of my story heart-wrenching and disturbing. Please know these experiences and overcoming them played a major role in shaping me into the person you know me to be today. I hope knowing these things about me can lead to a more meaningful relationship. Heaven knows you've fought your own battles.

You may be interested in understanding depression better. Clearly, I am not afraid to talk about it. :) If you ever have questions, please don't be afraid to ask.


Next Chapter: The Summer Before