One Little Word 2013: Hope

 

As some of you know hope has been my focus for this year. It seemed appropriate as one of the most difficult years of my life was coming to a close. I quickly learned how faith, hope and charity are tightly intertwined. Many times we focus on faith and charity and seem to leave out hope. I first blogged about my love for the word hope here.

I am once again taking a class online where at the beginning of each month we are given a prompt to make our word (focus) more visible in our lives throughout the year. I blogged about my one little word for last year here.

Even though hope is one of my most favorite words, I have come to realize the depth that this one small word holds, and how much I had to learn about the power that it holds.

We were given the prompt to make 12 intentions using our word for this year. I really struggled and wasn't even sure what was realistic to hope for. Not until I worked on a hope collage that was the prompt for February using magazines I already had, some from my sister and some even pulled out of the recycling, did this word, hope, begin to take root in my heart. For I knew with a surety that this year would be a year of change, and with the limited strength I had I needed something to hold onto, and that was hope.



Being surrounded by darkness I found out how difficult it can be to hold onto hope and not let fear take over. Having the faith that if what you hope for doesn't turn out the way you expected that it is not the end. Heavenly Father has something else in mind, so you see where you are at and refocus and put your trust in God. Much easier said than done.

My 12 hopes for this year are broad in nature because under each one I have some specific hopes of a personal nature and some involvinvg those around me.

1. Discovering Hope
2. Cultivating Hope
3. Hope in God's Timing
4. Hope in Moving Forward
5. Hope in Strengthening Relationships
6. Hope in Sharing My Story
7. Hope in Healing
8. Hope in Embracing Charity
9. Hope in Forgiveness
10. Hope in my Redeemer
11. Hope for an Open Heart
12. Hope to Walk in the Light

It is now October, and the year is coming to an end. I think back to two years ago when the signs of depression started to emerge but when I was blind to them. Little did I know what was in store for me. I think back to a year ago when I believed my journey with depression and anxiety was coming to an end. I believed that November and December were to be months to grieve the many loses I had experienced and to find healing of my soul. Little did I know then that my health was beginning to fail. That choices I had made earlier in the year and issues that had traveled with me for many years were surfacing, and it would be a long journey. One that continues on today.

Today I think about this year and the many hopes that have seemed to be unfulfilled. How much could really happen in a little more than two months? Is this truly my year of hope?

Earlier this year before we moved but knew we would be, I was prompted to write down nine sayings that others tell me, I tell myself and I added what Heavenly Father tells me.

1. This is a year of hope.
2. Forgive yourself.
3. Hope for new doors to open.
4. You will end up where you are needed and where your needs will be met.
5. Don't give up on hope.
6. Hope can light the way.
7. I have a purpose and a path.
8. "Hope On. Journey On." -Elder Holland
9. Heavenly Father loves ME

I have learned this year that holding onto hopes isn't as easy as it seems. Many times I have wanted to give up hope on situations or certain people. Hope many times seemed to = pain for me. And those are times where my faith was failing. For hope is to cherish a desire with anticipation, to expect with confidence, to trust, and a desire accompanied by expectation of or a belief in fulfillment or success.

This year thus far has turned out nothing like I had imagined. But I was looking at it with my own mortal eyes and not those of my loving Heavenly Father.

"When you feel that there is only a thin thread of hope, it is really not a thread but a massive connecting link, like a life preserver to strengthen and lift you. It will provide comfort so you can cease to fear, strive to live worthily and place your trust in the Lord."

-Elder Richard G. Scott

 

And so I continue to hope and not give up. I do small actions of faith to help me carry onward with the expectation that my hopes will be fulfilled in the Lord's time. Simple things like buying a special box that will one day hold letters that I will always cherish, framing a photo of a loved one, following a prompting even when I don't have the desire to do it, etc.

 

"...but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass..."

-Alma 37:6





"Fresh Courage Take"

"Life's journey is not traveled on a freeway devoid of obstacles, pitfalls, and snares. Rather, it is a pathway marked by forks and turnings. Decisions are constantly before us. To make them wisely, courage is needed: the courage to say "No," the courage to say "Yes." Decisions do determine our destiny.

 

The call for courage comes constantly to each of us. It has ever been so, and so it shall be."

-Thomas S. Monson

 

The minute Tom read me the email that BYU was wondering if he was still available to be a visiting professor I knew he would get an offer. I knew it even though in the very beginning he was in second place for the position. Moving to Utah was not in my plan or my hope, and so I held on that he would find a job in Eugene. It is was what both of us wanted more than anything.

 

Tom noticed online that there was a job opening at BYU for a full-time math professor. Back in the day it had been Tom's dream to teach at BYU. To follow in his father's footsteps, but the thought of working with those who taught him daunted him, and he decided that isn't what he wanted after all. Plus while going to school and teaching at the University of Oregon he discovered that his heart was in teaching. Not in research. For those of you that don't know to teach at a research university in math you need a post-doctorate. It is kind of like a residency. A couple of years to give you more experience and to really focus on research with the hopes that you will get a few papers published. BYU requires a post doctorate which Tom does not have. So when Tom told me he applied for the job I just shrugged my shoulders. We both knew there was no chance that they would even consider him for the position. Little did I know what Heavenly Father had in store for us.

 

Heavenly Father made it crystal clear where our lives needed to head next. Just as he did when it came time for us to leave Provo and head to Eugene where Tom would work on getting his Ph.D. I believed that the University of Oregon was more like a pit stop along our path to where we were ultimately headed. I had come to accept that we would be returning to Utah where we would most likely live for the majority of our lives. The price I would pay for marrying someone from Provo. But throughout the six years that we lived in Eugene (we didn't realize the program was six years) we both came to love it and it became home for the both of us.

 

I sometimes wake up and wonder how did I get here. Especially considering my physical health, mental health and emotional health. I can't believe that Heavenly Father would ask me to leave my psych nurse, therapist and nurse practitioner. Sure I can find all three here in Utah, but two of them I met with for nearly two years. But Heavenly Father gave the call and somehow I drudged up the courage to say "Yes." I know without a shadow of doubt that Tom and I are supposed to be here in Utah, in this exact apartment and in our exact ward. Just like I knew when we moved to Eugene.

 

But for me, saying "Yes" was the easy part. The actual packing up and driving out here seemed unreal. It really felt like we were just going on vacation for a week as we stayed at Tom's parent's house until we could move into our townhouse. We have been truly blessed by family and friends who helped us get here at every stage of our move.

 

We have almost been in our townhouse for a month. Much time has been spent on figuring out where to put furniture, buying some "new" furniture, unpacking, rearranging and even more shopping. More than enough to keep us busy but overall it has been a very difficult month for me. Tom has often heard me say, "I want to go home." He always asks in return, "Eugene or Heaven?" The answer varies depending on how I'm doing emotionally.

 

It is hard because there are so many people we want to reconnect with here. We have family from all four sides, Tom's full immediate family, my sister and brother, and countless friends. But I am physically spent and feel like hibernating. There is still so much to do to make our townhouse feel like home. I even have on the wall "Love the heart of this home." Every time I pass it on the stairs I think to myself, "That is a lie." I feel that all the faith that I have built up over the past two years is leaking through a sieve.

 

"Brothers and sisters, this is a divine work in process, with further manifestations and blessings of it abounding in every direction, so please don't hyperventilate if from time to time issues arise that need to be examined, understood, and resolved. They do and they will. In this Church, what we know will always trump what we do not know. And remember, in this world, everyone is to walk by faith."

-Elder Jeffery R. Holland

 

I do know that we are where we are supposed to be. What is supposed to happen over the next two years as we are traveling this new path I do not know. This quote reminds me that I need to focus on what I do know and continue to have faith in Heavenly Father's plan for us here in Utah. And there are days where I am back to where courage is choosing to breathe. And I'm sure I will experience many more days like that. Many times these words come to mind as I struggle through the everyday.

 

"In that imaginary instant, I couldn't help calling out to him: "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead." Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come until heaven. But for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come."

-Elder Jeffery R. Holland

 

And so I continue to trudge onward. Organizing, unpacking, painting and doing a little decorating with the knowledge that in time this will feel like home. "If we now shun the fight? Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake. And soon we'll have this tale to tell. All is well! All is well!"



My Reason

Many of you know that I am a fan of Josh Groban. I have been since I first heard him sing. I thought he must be in his late 30's or early 40's with such a voice. Little did I know that he is my age. :o) Josh has recently come out with a new album. I have only listened to two of the songs, and I own the single "Brave." As I started to listen to it more closely and looked up the lyrics, I became puzzled. It made me also reflect on my own life because so many of the lyrics relate to my life and how I have felt for over a year now. I love the chorus but it is the last two lines that has caused me to reflect on my experiences over the past year and what I'm experiencing now.

"You wanna run away, run away and you say that it can’t be so.
You wanna look away, look away but you stay cause’ it’s all so close.
When you stand uṗ and hold out your hand.
In the face of what I don’t understand.
My reason to be brave."
 

There have been so many instances when I have wanted to run away, whether that meant jumping into the car and driving off, leaving the apartment with Tom chasing me down and following me, (making sure I stay away from the river), or having moments where I wanted to physically end my anguish. I thought moments like these were behind me, but once again, as I have been struggling with my physical health, which also makes the emotional & mental more difficult, I have wanted to run. And nothing has scared me as much as an unpremeditated episode that took place the beginning of January. My therapist asked me, "What stopped you?" when yet another attempt was made later. What is my reason?

 

I wish I could look away; sometimes I can compartmentalize my actions so that I'm not haunted by memories. My psych nurse even has a hard time imagining what I've had to tell her at times. She looks at me and just can't simply see it. But there are moments where it does hit me strong, and I can't look away.

 

Recently a close friend was in a car accident. He was on his bike and was hit in a cross walk. At first I thought, 'a cross walk of all places!' He has biked both coasts more than once. He is an avid biker and has had moments where he has had to jump off a road with his bike for his safety. He wants to bike cross country once he retires. When I heard the news, (and not much was known then), my heart stood still. It was like time stood still, and I pleaded with God that he wasn't dead or dying. He is like an uncle to me. He has been there for me in all the big events of my life. He even created a nickname for me that now all his family members call me. My friend, (his daughter), and I rode down to southern California to pick him up from one of his biking trips, and we spent three days at Disneyland. I went on a small roller coaster with just him. It was one that he would never had gone on had his sister not encouraged him. She has since passed away. It was a moment for me to share that experience with him. I love him dearly, and life wouldn't be the same without him. Thank goodness for miracles! He is alive and I'm told improving a little each day.

 

But it caused me to reflect on the gift of life. Tom found me next to the couch crying my heart out. I felt that I had been so selfish. In my weakest moments I don't care how my actions will impact my loved ones. Thinking about how life would be so different for myself and especially for my friend's family made my heart heavy. I couldn't look away. And once again I contemplated what is my reason for being brave? For stopping before it is too late?
 

For almost over a year I wouldn't have been able to give you an answer. In those short moments what caused me to turn away? I am physically, emotionally, and mentally weak. It is hard for me to mentally take in much. Poor Tom. So many times I've cut him off mid sentence telling him I can't take any more. My brain just can't process it. Emotionally I'm still struggling with depression and anxiety. I never imagined in a million years that I would still be struggling this long. My physical weakness has a lot to do with why I'm still struggling. I'm getting stronger, but there are days that taking a shower drains me of all energy for the entire day. I have to take at least one nap a day. I don't sleep through the night very well, and I often wake up at 4:30am and am not able to fall back to sleep. Overall I'm one weak individual. So what keeps me moving forward? What is my reason for being brave?

 

Many of you know and share my religious beliefs. Some of you may not. I believe that we existed before we came to earth. That we are literally spirit sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother. Our spirits are sent to earth to gain a body, learn, grow, experience the good and the bad and ultimately become more like our Heavenly Parents. A soul is the combination of body and spirit. My body is weak, but I have been impressed upon that my spirit is strong. Stronger than I realize.

 

My reason for being brave? I wish I could say that at the last minute I think of loved ones or how I still have a full life to live, but I do not. I don't completely understand it all, but I believe it is because my spirit is strong. It causes me to turn around at the last minute, move forward, hang on for one more day...I strongly believe it is a HUGE reason why I'm still here. It is my reason for being brave.

 

Watch the Music Video Here

Adrenal Fatigue: Part 1

 

I'm not exactly sure when I started to notice a decrease in my energy levels. As many of you know I became an avid biker over this last summer. I usually spent two hours biking a day, which was anywhere from 18 to 24 miles each day. I often went with a friend. It was like my body craved it, and my bike called my name each day. I sometimes would go out two times a day. It was also a great way for me to cope with my anxiety and help me get to sleep since I still struggled with getting a full night's worth of sleep.

At some point biking became a chore. I would often get dressed and ready and find myself sitting on the floor staring at my bike for hours. Sometimes I would force myself to eventually get outside and bike hard, while other times I just couldn't find enough motivation. Eventually I had to pick between bike riding and accomplishing something else during the day. I couldn't do both. The days I picked something else I felt guilty. The choice was then taken from me and I was lucky if I got much of anything done during the day. The days that I got on my bike became history. I haven't biked in months.

The beginning of October I know for sure that I started to notice other changes in my body because I asked my friend what happened to her when she ate wheat (she had celiacs). My symptoms didn't match up. I didn't know what was wrong but took peanuts out of my diet since that is a very common sensitivity or allergy to develop. I think I may have noticed a small difference.

Towards the end of October my energy levels started to decrease even more. Tom was getting stressed out with his research, so I went to spend almost the entire month of November with my parents. I took up plenty of things to work on. Tom warned my parents that I would probably hibernate in my room quite often. This visit home I chose a different room to stay in than "my" old room since I associated it with negative memories from earlier in the year.

My stay at home in November was mostly positive. All of a sudden I had a huge desire to make cards. It was my first time wanting to do one of my old hobbies. I got my friend to drive me to my favorite craft store in Vancouver (Craft Warehouse), and I went a little crazy. My last visit to that store I had left empty handed. I'm not sure that had ever happened before. Since I usually woke up really early I would head downstairs and work on cards. But as Thanksgiving drew closer I just started to make card kits to put together later. I felt that I finally was finding something that helped to bring happiness into my life. Well, those kits never even got put together.

The day of Thanksgiving I found myself feeling sick just at the smell of meat cooking. I couldn't even imagine eating it. I spent the meal up in my bedroom. I also was beginning to notice that I could only spend so much time doing something or being around people before I had to retreat into my own little space. I believe my mom was disappointed that I didn't join my family and friends for the meal. She didn't fully understand why and neither did I. I thought I was going crazy!

My therapist always starts off asking me how I'm doing (I sometimes try to beat her to it first...catches her off guard a little. Ha!). I guess I had been answering tired for quite sometime. She asked if she could go get something and she came back with a book titled: "Adrenal Fatigue: The 21st Century Stress Syndrome" by James L. Wilson, N.D., D.C., PhD. I had never heard of adrenal fatigue before. There are two tests that you can do at home to see if you have it and since she had a blood pressure cuff she had me lay on her couch. I found it ironic because just the night before I was thinking it was a good length couch for some Freudian therapy.

As I laid there for five minutes she read off some of the symptoms. Many of them she didn't even need me to reply...she already knew the answer. Some of them applied to me some of them did not. Some of the symptoms are:

• Difficulty getting up in the morning. (Nope. Total opposite.)
• Continuing fatigue not relieved by sleep. (Big YES!)
• Craving for salt or salty foods. (Nope- craving for refreshing foods.)
• Lethargy (lack of energy). (YES!)
• Increased effort to do every day tasks. (YES! So annoying!)
• Decreased ability to handle stress. (Yeppers!)
• Increased time to recover from illness, injury, or trauma. (Oh yeah! Caught a simple bug from Josalyn and it took me forever to get over it.)
• Light-headed when standing up quickly. (Light-headed and tingly often.)
• Mild depression. (Well this one was a no brainer. More than mild.)
• Less enjoyment or happiness with life. (Yes though depression also plays a big part in this.)
• Increased PMS. (I don't remember how I answered this one.)
• Symptoms increase if meals are skipped or inadequate. (Yeah. And at the time I was eating the same three meals every single day.)
• Thoughts less focused, more fuzzy. (For sure and so frustrating!)
• Memory less accurate. (Yes. Though long-term is mostly fine. I struggle with talking and getting the word order right and the tenses. I notice it and repeat it right but get very frustrated.)
• Decreased tolerance. (Poor Tom! My mom also thought it was becoming a new trait to be rude and abrupt. Or if you put a twist on it I was letting my feelings out more which is good right?)
• Don't really wake up until 10am. (I didn't find the next three to be true. I have since learned why.)
• Afternoon low between 3:00pm and 4:00pm.
• Feel better after evening meal.
• Decreased productivity. (Yes. Do I get anything done besides resting and laying on the couch? Sometimes it feels like I never do.)

After the five minutes my therapist took my blood pressure while I was still on the couch and then once again after I stood up. Everything was normal but she still wasn't convinced. She copied the questionnaire/test out of the book to have me take over the Christmas vacation.

Tom, Chris and I spent close to two weeks at home. I would say it felt like the majority of that time I spent in my room alone. Tom & Chris shared a room so that I had my space and my sister ended up sleeping in my parent's bedroom. I sometimes asked myself "why did I even bother going home?" Once again I skipped the big family meal. I decided I wanted to become a vegetarian. Just the thought of meat made me sick. I procrastinated in taking the questionnaire but eventually pulled it out. As I took it I felt that I was going to come out mild. Some areas I scored mostly zeroes but guess what? It showed that I had a severe case of adrenal fatigue. I let my therapist know and she wasn't surprised.

Now that my behavior had a name it seemed that everyone was a little more understanding of my behavior. There was something to blame that wasn't "my" fault. Did any of us know what exactly adrenal fatigue even was? No not really. I've been assigned by my therapist and the nurse practionaner that I'm presently seeing to read the book and try to implement the lifestyle it suggests. The idea is that under certain circumstances you can deal with adrenal fatigue on your own without seeing a doctor.

I'm still not reading. *sigh* I only have read the forward and since buying the book I have only cracked it open once (today to type out the symptoms). But from the 1930's to the 1960's an extremely safe remedy was approved by the FDA called adrenal cortical extract (ACE) and was very safe. Since the 1970's the FDA has "outlawed" and persecuted this remedy. Reasons? Money and politics. What used to be known as a widely accepted syndrome is now pretty much unknown. I even asked my brother-in-law who is about to graduate from medical school if he knew what it was. His response was: "Your adrenal glands are worn out?".

Even though it is now March there is still much for me to learn and so many of my other health concerns are interwined with adrenal fatigue. That is why I'm splitting up this topic into parts. As my therapist has read bits and pieces of this book she has recognized many around her struggling with adrenal fatigue on some level including her oldest son (we have a couple of things in common). We both are seeking medical help (from the same nurse practioner) because of the severity of some of the symptoms we are experiencing. But I will leave that for another day.

But I most definitly have learned the difficult way that because of the way we treat our bodies, may it be through poor nutrition, lack of exercise, accumulating stress or reasons out of our control, our bodies begin to shut down to preserve what funcitions and body parts it deems most important. My lifestyle has been changed for months partly because of adrenal fatigue, but there is hope. And I try my best to hold onto that hope for healing in so many different areas of my life.

You're Still You

My favorite music videos are the ones that tell a story. Many times that story will make me view the song in a new way. It will bring the words to life and help me to relate to it on a personal level. I don't really like watching music videos where the artist is just singing. He or she may change clothes or locations, but I find them to be boring. I might as well just listen to the song on its own.

There is one song that I've loved for many years. Its music video falls under the later and so every time that I hear the song I see a music video in my mind. The song is "You're Still You" sung by Josh Groban. Every single time I hear the song the same story comes to mind.

Josh is entering a hospital room where his wife is laying in a hospital bed looking pale, very weak, thin and she is bald. You can tell that she is in pain. She has been fighting a hard battle with cancer.

When she sees Josh enter the room we zoom to her face and see her eyes light up and a winning smile replace the tired one.

We zoom out to see Josh stand next to her hospital bed on the left side. The window is at Josh's back and light is streaming into the room. Josh slowly bends over to kiss his wife on her forehead. Her eyes shut for a moment in peace. Josh then reaches for the chair behind him and draws it up beside her bed and holds her right hand in both of his.

It is quiet except for the humming of the machines. Josh looks intently at his wife as she smiles through the pain. Josh begins to sing the song.

We are then taken back to a crowded college campus. Josh is walking swiftly to his next class and happens to glance to his left to see a beautiful young lady leaning against a tree studying some papers in her hands. She happens to look up and their eyes connect. Her eyes light up as she smiles.

We are then taken to a small chapel where Josh is wearing a tux and the beautiful young lady is wearing a simple but exquisite wedding gown. They are facing one another in front of the preacher. Josh lifts the veil up and over head and looks into her eyes. We get a close up of her eyes shining with joy as a tear slips down her cheek and meets her soft peaceful smile.

We are then brought back into a hospital. But this time we see Josh and his wife sitting together on a hospital bed looking down at a newborn wrapped in a blanket. For a moment their eyes meet and her eyes are once again filled with unspeakable joy as she holds her first child in her arms. She can't stop smiling.

We are then taken to a cozy dinning room with a long wooden table and chairs. Food is spread across the center and and there are many people of all different ages sitting together chattering as they eat a delicious meal. It becomes apparent that three generations are represented in the room. Through all the noise and passing of food Josh's wife looks once again at him with eyes bright and filled with thankfulness as she grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze.

We are now taken into a doctor's office where the doctor says a few words and Josh's wife's head drops as tears pour down her cheeks. Josh is holding her left hand and is speechless. He helps her stand and gathers her into his arms. Her eyes squeeze shut as she continues to shake leaning into Josh.

We are then taken to a master bathroom. Josh's wife is standing at the mirror in shock as she sees her brush full of hair. She is too scared to look in the mirror for fear of what will be looking back at her. Josh pops in to tell her something and notices that she is frozen in place. He quickly realizes the situation and pulls his wife from the bathroom to sit on the bed beside him. She stares blankly ahead.

We are then brought back to the present. Josh's cheeks are wet with tears but he is smiling as he realizes that even through the pain his wife is still a light in his life. Their eyes meet and they both smile and her eyes light up once again as they did the first time their eyes met oh so many years ago. Even through all the pain she is still herself. A light in his life. A light that will never die.

This song has been on my mind for the last couple of weeks. There have been many times where I find myself staring at myself in the mirror. Looking into my own eyes wondering where I have gone. I think back on the horrific moments that most people can't imagine the actions I have taken. In those moments I am not myself. But even after those moments have passed I still stare blankly at myself in the mirror.

Trials of faith bring changes. These trials can strengthen or weaken our faith. Elder Andersen in this last General Conference says, "These fiery trials are designed to make you stronger, but they have the potential to diminish or even destroy your trust in the Son of God and to weaken your resolve to keep your promises to Him." There have been times that I have felt weak. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I feel as though I can't take on one more thing without breaking. Lately I have been more depressed and anxious and have said countless times that I just want to give up. And it is hard for me not to get angry at God. For all that is on my plate and now the added physical issues that I now face as well. It seems to be my year to experience it all.

But my faith in God and His plan for me is what has kept me going. Taking one day at a time. I often ask God why are you asking so much of me. Especially in my weakened state. In the scriptures the Lord says: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways...

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." I can't see the big picture. I can barely see to the end of the week. I sometimes feel that I am weak but I am told that I am actually becoming stronger. I can't see it or feel it. Elder Andersen says, "By definition trials will be trying. There may be anguish, confusion, sleepless nights, and pillows wet with tears. But our trials need not be spiritually fatal. They need not take us from our covenants or from the household of God."

As I now look into my own eyes I try to remind myself that I am a daughter of God. He has made certain promises to me. Promises that He will keep. That though I may be changing, learning more about my weaknesses and strengths I am still me at the core. How much more time before I feel like myself? I don't know. Saturday I took the wrong drugs in the morning and I broke down wondering if some of these changes were permanent. My short term memory is horrible. My patience has worn thin. My desire to do the things that I used to is in many ways still buried deep. As time goes on I forget what I feel like when I am my "normal" self. Elder Andersen says, "Like the intense fire that transforms iron into steel, as we remain faithful during the fiery trial of our faith, we are spiritually refined and strengthened."

My hope is that I am being refined and strengthened. That I'm learning the lessons that I need to. I know that my trust in God has been strengthened. And even though I may feel so far away somewhere deep inside I'm still me.

My Pavilion

The definition of pavilion in the dictionary is "a light, usually open building used for shelter, concerts, exhibits, etc., as in a park or fair." When I first think of the word pavilion I think of Lewisville Park, which is close to where my parents live. It has quite a few pavilions. I reflect on 4th of July breakfasts, birthday parties, barbecues, the start of summer parties, water fights and many other wonderful memories when I think of those pavilions in that park. And being located in the Pacific Northwest they were most definitely used to shelter us from the rain at times. They were a safe haven that protected us from the elements.

It wasn't until hearing President Eyring's talk this last October General Conference that I began to give further thought to the word pavilion. I think many of us think of a pavilion as a sort of protection. Something good that helps us enjoy the outdoors. How could the word pavilion have a negative connotation?

In the past when I have told others that I'm struggling with depression I'm asked if I'm praying, reading my scriptures, going to church or going to the temple. As though those actions can chase the depression away. Now for those that are having a depressive day they most certainly can help. They can even help me, but no; they cannot chase the depression and anxiety away as much as I wish they could. The past year has been a roller coaster. I at times feel that I'm getting close to the top of my mountain to only slip down a few feet. Since this particular trial has now lasted more than a year it is hard for me to imagine actually making it to the top of the mountain. To even imagine what that will feel like. It has been so long in so many ways.

A couple of weeks ago I felt the gray that surrounds me develop into a deep dark fog. I couldn't mentally process much. I couldn't handle being around people for very long. The simplest acts would drain me. When I have always envisioned depression I picture in my mind a black fog surrounding me. Blocking all good things and all good thoughts. I feel as though I'm clawing out for something to grab onto. Anything. At these times I know mentally that Heavenly Father is there and is aware of my needs, but I cannot feel Him. I can't feel the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I can't feel of His love. It is like the conduit between me and heaven is blocked.

And this is my pavilion. It isn't one that I have chosen through my actions or the intentions of my heart. But it describes exactly how I feel. It is not a protection. It is something standing in the way between me and God. President Eyring says, "The pavilion that seems to intercept divine aid does not cover God but occasionally covers us. God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are." And it is during these moments that I feel so alone. It is often during these times that I feel frustration. I ask God "why do I have to go through this again? Don't I have enough on my plate as it is?" I find myself kneeling, sobbing my heart out to God for something to hold onto. For His hand to reach out for me to grab. But a pavilion stands in the way.

It is during these times that I rely heavily on those around me. Elder Ballard shares President Monson's thoughts on the matter. "President Thomas S. Monson has taught that in many instances Heavenly Father answers another person's prayers through us - through you and me - through our kind words and deeds, through our simple acts of service and love." Elder Ballard goes on to say, "And President Spencer W. Kimball said: God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other." I'm not sure where I would be were it not for the simple acts of service and love that have been sent my way. Things as simple as a loving text, being given more eggs to throw against the shower wall, having good health insurance, having a home to go to when I need a safe haven, care packages left in front of my door, quotes, scriptures and music shared, comments left here on my blog or on facebook and the love and prayers sent from those near and far.

Now I'm far from perfect, and there is something that I occasionally do that most definitely keeps the pavilion in place. That is when I get angry at God. That He doesn't answer my prayers the way that I would like Him to. That He doesn't follow my own timetable. President Eyring talks about this pavilion, "...another way we can create a barrier to knowing God's will or feeling His love for us: we can't insist on our time table when the Lord has his own." There are other trials where I completely trust His timing. His timing is perfect and he sees the big picture. He knows when Tom and I are ready to be parents or when those souls are ready to join mortality. He knows when to heal. Having trust and faith in His timing makes these burdens so light to bear. President Eyring says, "His time should be soon enough for us since we know that He wants only what is best."

I don't know when this pavilion will be lifted. How much longer I will have to struggle taking one day at a time. How long it will be till I feel of God's love or feel His guiding hand in my life. I can see it, but I can't feel it. I don't have all the answers to my questions, but I do know that He cares, and just because I can't feel doesn't mean He has forgotten me. President Eyring shares, "God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children." He is there. He loves me. He has helped me to get to where I am today by answering my prayers through other faithful sons and daughters. I am thankful that even with this pavilion over my head I am not alone. Never alone.

Grieving

Grieving is a process with how we deal with loss - big or small. There are five stages of grief. They don't have to be experienced in order. Sometimes you can experience two of the stages at the same time. Everyone experiences grieving in their own way.

1. Denial, disbelief, numbness
2. Anger, blaming others
3. Bargaining
4. Depressed mood, sadness, and crying
5. Acceptance, coming to terms

When Heavenly Father told me it was time to start the grieving process I started sobbing. I didn't want to. It felt like giving up. It felt like losing hope. I viewed it negatively. I kept asking God haven't I been through enough this year? Why this? Why now?

I believe I mentioned before that I haven't been sleeping well for almost three months now. I wake up a number of times throughout the night. Sometimes feeling more and more anxious as the morning begins to dawn. I am physically spent, so you would think that I would actually sleep. I am on a natural sleeping aid and a medication, so falling asleep isn't a problem. It is staying asleep. Well early this morning I was feeling overly anxious and sitting next to my bed. I had tried sleeping on the couch and in the chair. When 5:30 am hit I sat in my new corner waiting for 6 am to arrive. That is the earliest time I allow myself to take my morning medication which does contain an anti-anxiety medication. Tom came and sat down next to me on the floor and said something that really got me thinking. I was expressing how tired I was. How anxious I was feeling. Why do I have to grieve? He said so that all the emotion could be dealt with. So that I could cry in an environment where I felt comfortable doing so (I hate crying in front of people).

I have experienced a lot of loss this year of many types one after the other. I'm not sure I have grieved fully any of those losses because another one hits soon after. And I believe I have stuffed all that emotion deep inside. My therapist has tried to get me to bring it up on a number of occasions, but I always tell her that the minute I enter her front door I stuff it away. Usually. Lately I have found everything to be draining. Even good things. I have come to be dissatisfied with my calling which I love and I really wouldn't want a different one. I couldn't understand it. I have felt strongly that I do NOT want to teach sharing time.

This week I have been the Ultimate Hermit staying at home and keeping my phone on silent. Now I haven't been just twiddling my thumbs. I found myself one day cleaning all day. Scrubbing and painting walls. Doing laundry. Reorganizing spaces. Purging. Taking out the garbage. Doing the dishes (Tom usually does them). Yesterday I found myself working on Project Life for 2011. It is so close to being completed. I have even been reading a little bit. The TV has hardly been turned on. For some reason I haven't really wanted to watch movies for months.

It was early this morning that I came to the conclusion that I have been in many ways fighting the grieving process. Humans in general will run from negative emotion. But you know what? It is a part of life. Something that we shouldn't run from. Running just prolongs the agony and can actually make us physically sick. I have been experiencing Limbo Loss for three months, and I can tell you that it has taken its toll. Part of me just wants to skip over the next three months. I'm not in a mood to celebrate the holidays. I'm ready for this year to be over. I'm now viewing those months differently.

I think that for the next three months I need to focus on healing. I have given all that I have, and I am worn out. It is time to let the varying emotions lose. I have been feeling guilty for taking time to be alone. I keep telling myself that I should be focusing on other friendships now that this other one has come to an end. I keep telling myself that I should put forth effort to get to know certain people better. All good things. But emotionally, mentally, physically, and even on some level spiritually I am not at a place to put forth that effort. It feels selfish, but it is time to take care of myself. And if that means I need a couple of weeks without interacting with anyone but Tom that is OK. If I tell people 'no I can't do something' that is OK. My body needs a rest. And I'm still dealing with varying levels of depression and anxiety.

It is time to stop running and turn around and face what I have left behind. The loss of my grandparents. The loss of my uncle. The loss of Sketch Support. The loss of Josalyn & Bryce. The loss of Leslie. The loss of this new friendship. The loss of physical health. The loss of our savings. The loss of mental health. The loss of losing the desire to do the things that I used to love. The limbo loss of not knowing if this is our last year in Eugene or not. The limbo loss of whether or not Tom will have everything done in time for graduation. I could go on. And so these next three months I am going to allow myself to be sad. Allow myself to cry. Allow myself to get angry. Allow myself to not feel guilty for any of it. And I'm sure as I start letting go that I will slowly rejoin the world of the living.

To everything there is a season,

and a time to every purpose

under heaven.

 

A time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant,

and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

 

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 

A time to cast away stones,

and a time to gather stones together;

 

A time to embrace,

and a time to refrain from embracing;

 

A time to get, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

 

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

 

A time to love, and a time to hate;

a time of war, and a time of peace.

 

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

 

And so I'm going to allow myself a time to weep, to mourn, to hate (get angry), to break down, a time to keep silent, etc. I believe as I allow these emotions to run free I will then find that slowly there will be a time to laugh, a time to build up, a time to heal, a time to get, and a time to love. For our Heavenly Father is wise and knows what we need most. I'm going to do my best to view these last three months as a gift of a time to heal. No deadlines. No hurry. Because I think we have all experienced that grieving takes time. And I am blessed that I really do have three months where I can take time to heal. Now of course it could take longer than that or less. But "to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven". 

Blown Away

Saturday evening I found myself contemplating whether or not January 1, 2005 was the hardest day of my life or that day (Saturday). Many similarities but in many ways different. Another door has fully shut in my life. A door that Heavenly Father said was opening months ago. The evening of January 1st I got dumped by my boyfriend over the phone. I have shared a little of that experience in my blog post titled "Change". It took months for me to move on. I don't think I was fully over the experience even when I married Tom. Did I still love my ex-boyfriend? No. Love is an action word. It takes effort and time. It needs to be fed. Did I still care for my ex-boyfriend? Yes. But mainly I was still feeling hurt. I had to come to accept that this relationship would never have closure. A few years down the road he actually sent me a message and apologized for all the hurt he caused me and for the way that he broke up with me. It was nice but I had moved on and I didn't feel the need for closure anymore.

In this instance this was the only time that I was dumped. All my other relationships just fizzled over time. And the first guy that I really fell in love with still holds a special place in my heart. Loosing your boyfriend, best friend, potential mate is HARD. And it hurts. And it takes time to grieve over that loss. I was able to walk away from that relationship knowing that I had given it my all. I think some of those around me were surprised at how hard I took the loss. But they didn't know the full story. No one did but my parents up until we broke up.

Those who are close to me know that if they bring up the "Twilight" series to me that they are going to get an earful. But if I am asked which one is my favorite out of the four I would choose "New Moon." Many are surprised because that tends to be the one on the bottom of the list unless you are a die hard Jacob fan. I have heard people say that it is their least favorite because Edward is hardly in it. I've heard others say that Bella is being over dramatic with the loss of Edward in her life. Who would fall into a deep depression and fall apart over a guy? Come on she is just a teenager! "New Moon" is my favorite because I can relate to Bella. I know what it is like to want to die after a relationship ends. How much you wish you could just disappear because it hurts too much. How you almost wish they had died instead because then they didn't make the choice to leave you. How easy it is to slip into depression.

I was recently asked by a friend if  I could go back to when I made the decision to enter that relationship (one that no one supported and my mom came to Provo to talk me out of) would I still make the same decision. I quickly answered yes. Now if he had asked me that question the night of January 1st I may have said no. I learned so much over those nine months. I became less judgemental. I became more compassionate. Those nine months were anything but easy for me. But if I hadn't gone through them then I probably would have walked away from relationships I have made since then because I wouldn't even have a glimpse of understanding or empathy towards them.

But even having experienced all that I think that Saturday was the hardest day of my life. In my blog post titled "Change" and the one I wrote just before this one talks about a relationship that was in turmoil. For a little more than ten weeks I was experiencing limbo loss (just relearned that phrase from a book I'm reading). A friend demanded six weeks of space. She obviously had given it a lot of thought, but it side-swiped me. I have never experienced anyone needing that much space from me. I was hurt, and I didn't completely understand. But to the best of my ability I began to give her those six weeks of space (though I did have Tom talk to her mom two times in the beginning so that I could start the six weeks with a sense of peace). I loved her and was willing to give her what she needed. Well four weeks later I get a short and curt email that basically said that our friendship wasn't worth the cost. Basically I wasn't worth it. I lost it. I wanted to ingest every single pill that I had. Instead I threw them all over the living room. I was so angry and hurt. I collapsed to the ground sobbing and  asking "Why?" over and over again. I would do anything to salvage the relationship. She meant that much to me.

Now some of you may be thinking that it was time to let go and move on. And if someone had shared that experience with me I would tell them that they are better off without that friend. That maybe she was never truly a friend. That it was her loss. But she was a close friend. A friend that I trusted. A friend that knew more about what I had been experiencing than anyone else besides Tom and my therapist. She stood by me through it all. She received inspiration on my behalf. She in many ways saved my life. I admitted myself to the JU because of her understanding and the trust that I had in her. She sacrificed much for me. And I'm guessing that I don't even know all the sacrifices that she made. For a time I could only feel the emotion of love when wrapped in  her arms. Her hugs were magical, and I never wanted to let go. I couldn't imagine her never coming through my front door again or to never receive another hug or to hear her special nickname that only she called me.

Once I calmed down enough I sobbed a prayer to God telling him how I was feeling and that I didn't want to give up on her. That I loved her so much and that I felt that she was worth it. I then asked for a priesthood blessing. In it it stated exactly what I needed to email her. And one of those things was something that I had decided that if it came to that that I would end the relationship. But I put my trust in God and sent the email. I then waited (still going about doing things but didn't take anymore action towards that relationship). The last couple of weeks my patience began to wear thin. I hadn't had a decent night's sleep since it all began. I now can't stand sleeping in my bed because every time I do I wake up with panic attacks or I'm hyperventilating. So now I spend my nights on the couch. My memory has gone way downhill. My energy levels have dropped to where I don't even have the energy to ride my bike. I'm exhausted. I've been overly emotional. Simply put I've been a mess.

I poured my heart out to God telling Him I felt like I was getting weaker by the day. That I wasn't sure how much longer I could wait. I came close so many times to telling her that she was right, I wasn't worth it. Well I was told that she was given enough time and that it was to be a week of action. Little did I know that what He was going to ask me to do would be so difficult. In the previous post I share the first thing He asked of me that I considered a miracle because I was able to accomplish it. A couple of mornings ago I woke up with the need to write down a list of all the things I loved about this person. I felt that I was doing it for myself so that I would remember why I love her so much. But I felt strongly that I needed to give her the list. It was up to me on when and how I was going to do it. I wasn't sure what action to take. I felt that if I made one slight mistake that my second chance would be toast.

Saturday morning was hard for me. I really was coming to the end of my rope. I felt that I had no more left to give to anyone. Well God asked one more hard thing of me. I was to visit this person at work and give her the list of reasons why I loved her. I was terrified. Before the previous Sunday we hadn't communicated in weeks. I didn't know what she was thinking or feeling. But once again I put my trust in God and was hoping for the miracle that He promised me days before. That she would turn towards me with an open heart.

To say that our conversation went badly is an understatement. I have never ever been treated so coldly. I asked her for a minute of her time and I could tell right off she was not happy that I was there. We went into a back room and she glared at me waiting for me to start talking. I got so nervous that it took me awhile to gather back my thoughts. But I started to talk and express that I was doing my best to follow God's will. I handed her my list and she folded it up. I won't go into the whole conversation, but I ended up crying and I mean crying hard and she just stood there. Stone cold. She came to understand that I was not there to delve into the past but to pass her my list and tell her that I was confused about what I could have done that was so unforgivable and that would make us go from close friends to just simple acquaintances (I wasn't even sure what that meant). She understood that I wanted to resolve things. She said she would have to pray and think about that. I told her that I respected that and that I loved her. She opened the door and I stormed out.

My immediate reaction was why did I put myself through so much suffering for this? Was God playing with me? Had I said too much? Did I get too defensive towards the end? I went away more confused than ever and deeply hurt. I came to the realization that she had hardened her heart against me. My desire to meet with her to talk things out died, for I know that no matter what I say I would be wrong or it would fall on deaf ears. She had made her decision, and as I thought about it I realized that she had started to harden her heart towards me from the very beginning. My heart wasn't only broken; it was shattered.

Tom had to work that evening, so I prayed and played "When You Believe" over and over again. Trying to believe that a miracle was still possible. That God is a God of miracles and He could soften her heart. But we have been given the gift of agency and God respects that. I waited until Tom got home from work (almost 1 am) and we talked til 2 am. I then asked for a priesthood blessing. I was told that my friend had missed her opportunity and it was time to start grieving. I started sobbing. This was not how I pictured things ending. I didn't want my last memory to be having her look at me with cold uncaring eyes.

I have never experienced the end of a friendship in such a way. It is obvious that in her mind it ended weeks ago, but I held onto what God told me and inspired me to do. I find myself at a loss. She is everywhere in my apartment. I went home from talking to her and changed and ended up putting on a top she gave me. I ended up sleeping in a nightgown she gave me. As I went to put my wallet away I came to realize that she gave it to me. I have no idea what to keep, what to hide, and what to part with. What will make the loss of my trusted friend more easy? I don't know. I know that I'm still in shock. I was looking through a scrapbook from 2010 and came across a picture of her. I saw warmth in her smile and in her eyes. Where did she go and what caused her to harden her heart against me? What did I do that has made her so angry? I have no idea, and I'm not sure if I will ever know the answers. I still love her so much, but it is time to turn her over to God and move on.

I want to ask God, "How in the heck is this going to be a year of joy?" Because right where I'm standing right now it is still a year of Hell. I can't even begin to imagine what would make the next three months joyful ones. I started reading "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" yesterday and with all the different types of losses there are I have experienced ten this year. And they haven't been small ones.

Not that long ago I came across the song "Blown Away," sung by Carrie Underwood, and it really stuck with me. I wasn't sure why. Thankfully my mother is not an angel in the ground and my father is not an alcoholic. It is the chorus that really speaks to me. How do I blow away all the negative memories and hold onto the good ones? I don't want to harden my heart towards her. I don't want the past memories to be tainted by recent events. Relationships are so important to me so how do I let go because I don't want to. I want to believe that somewhere deep in her heart my friend can be found. That it isn't too late. I don't want her blown away from my life.

When You Believe

I am not a consistent journal writer by any means. Next to my bed you will find a few journals where half of them are blank. I always made goals to improve in that area but never really have. I know scrapbooking is a way of documenting my story. They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but on my scrapbook pages my journaling is usually brief and really doesn't delve into my emotions. I also do Project Life which is a photo scrapbook with journaling. For the past three years I have used it to document my life using the 365 approach. As in I take a photo every single day. Only 2009 is fully completed. 2010 is in need of lots of journaling. 2011 is close to becoming completed.

At the beginning of this year I knew that taking a photo a day was unrealistic. I already had my album set up and ready to go. I decided to take the weekly approach (document my life week by week). I have picked up my camera a lot less this year. I started to collect memorabilia to fill in the gaps. I had one good week while my mom was down and we got an organizational system down. A folder for each week so I would know where all that stuff would go. I have been working on 2012. At times I have to set it aside because it hurts too much and I haven't even begun journaling yet! The last three albums only took one scrapbook album each. This year it is going to take three because of all the inserts I'm adding. I know this is the only way I'm going to really document this year photo-wise, and I feel that it is important to document my story. My struggle. My heartache. My time in the Johnson Unit. The cards that loved ones have sent. Care packages that have been sent my way. Loving texts. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

This year I have actually been keeping a journal since April, and it is nearly filled. I don't write in it everyday. Some days I feel the need to blog and on other days I feel the need to write in my journal. Some days it is hard to do either. Sometimes I don't want to relive what has recently occurred. As I have mentioned in a previous post I am tired. I am worn down. There are moments where I just want to give up. Moments where I feel that I can't take one more step. Last night as I was sitting next to my bed two journals caught my eye. They are from the last time that I kept a journal. They are from when I first came face to face with depression. I pulled them out and began to read. Tom joined me around the time that I was going through a breakup. I was asking myself what is my purpose in this life? Where am I headed? Where would Heavenly Father have me go? Where is Mr. Right and when will we meet? Little did I know that I had already met Mr. Right and that we were friends. I write about getting engaged and there are a few entries after I'm married, but then I stopped writing and haven't written until this year.

I felt a little disheartened after reading my journals. I then had Tom read my journal entry that I had just written hours before. And guess what? I am asking a lot of the same questions. What is my purpose in this life? Where is my life headed? Where would Heavenly Father have me go? I even took a week long class on finding your divine purpose at education week. It is something that has been my mind as I move forward in recovery. What comes next? I really have no idea. No desire burns within me towards anything. I'm still not really reading and I haven't scrapbooked in months (in the traditional way).

I have come to realize that Josalyn has left a void in my life that I'm not sure how to fill. I got a small taste of what it is like to love a child unconditionally. I would do anything for her. I picture in my mind when I walked into the White's home in August and saw Josalyn for the first time since she had moved. She came running and jumped into my arms. I dropped whatever I was holding and we giggled and laughed and hugged. It was a moment where I felt that we were truly connected. And then I think of the moment when it came time to say goodbye. Her crying and screaming with arms stretched out as her babysitter held her at the door. This isn't the first time she has done this, but this time it broke my heart. For as the door shut I didn't know when I would see her next. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I miss "my" little girl.

I have another relationship that is in turmoil that has caused my heart to ache every day for weeks now. I don't even know the whole story or see the big picture. I am lost and confused. I have prayed fervently and acted on all the inspiration I have received. Last Saturday was rough and I so wanted answers. I know He knows what is going on, and I find myself begging Him for even just a little light so that I will understand. Each time I'm promised that He will help me to be patient and wait. Not exactly what I want to hear. But last Saturday I was actually told through a priesthood blessing to take action. It was something that I never thought I would have to do, and I was terrified. My anxiety levels skyrocketed, and I honestly wasn't sure I could do it even though Heavenly Father told me He had faith in me and I would be inspired as to what to say. As the time drew near I sat frozen in place telling myself this is too hard. I can't do this. This might actually make things harder on myself. But before I knew it I was up and moving forward and I did what Heavenly Father asked of me. And I emotionally lost it afterwards.

I find myself asking why now? Especially considering my emotional and mental state. My therapist smiled and said, "Isn't it amazing how Heavenly Father knows how strong we are? Stronger than we realize." I can't say that I feel strong, but what I did took a lot of courage. I was promised at the beginning of this year that it would be a year of joy and that I would see many miracles. Sometimes I have worried that I'm not looking hard enough because I know miracles can be small tender mercies. What I accomplished on Sunday was a miracle. One I wouldn't have been able to complete if I did not believe Heavenly Father's promises.

I may have changed my one little word from 'Trust' to 'Light,' but Heavenly Father already knew what was in store for me this year. He knew that I would have the desire and energy to seek after Light. He also knew that I would have to come to trust Him to make it to the end of this very difficult year. I also took a class at education week about placing your will on God's altar. It is truly the only one thing we can turn over to Him. I have learned a lot about trusting God this year. As I have shown in other blog posts there are times that I have turned my back on Him but then find myself turning back to Him once again. My future looks empty right now. I sometimes wonder why I am even fighting. What is the purpose? I pray fervently for an answer and have yet to receive one.

One morning last week I woke up and the song "When You Believe" came to my mind. I had happened on a music video of it a few weeks back and hadn't thought of it since. I immediately got on the computer and watched it again and again. It says what is in my heart. Trusting God and His timing isn't always easy, but I always tell myself that His timing is perfect and why would I want to mess with that. I know that Heavenly Father is there with a listening ear, and I do believe in miracles. But being the human that I am I need the reminder especially during my darkest moments.

"They don't always happen when you ask
And it's easy to give in to your fear
But when you're blinded by your pain
Can't see your way safely through the rain
Thought of a still resilient voice
Says love is very near"

 

"There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
It's hard to kill
Who knows what miracles
You can achieve
When you believe

Somehow you will
Now you will
You will when you believe"

 

And the moments where my hope is frail Heavenly Father sends loving hands to help hold me up and move forward. And through the power of the grace of Jesus Christ I am able to find the power within. Even if it is just one small step at a time. Even if all I have strength for is standing still and resting before I take one more rugged step up this mountain I find myself climbing. There have been many miracles this year, and I have the hope and belief that miracles are achieved even through the pouring rain.

 



Jesus, Take the Wheel

Next month marks the beginning of the road I have found myself traveling down. Last October I didn't realize what the future held or that I was already taking steps towards this Hellish path. The first sign of depression is a change in sleeping habits and to think that I laughed. I found it annoying that I was waking up earlier each morning no matter what time I went to bed but joked to my mom that I was finally becoming the morning person she always wanted me to be.

It is hard for me to comprehend that it has almost been a year...a whole year. In so many ways it has passed by quickly and in so many ways it has been the longest year of my life. A year of so many changes. A year of so many losses. A year of unkind words spoken. A year of making myself do things that I had no desire doing. A year of where I looked in the mirror and wondered where I had gone. A year of transition. A year of hardship. A year of Hell.

For the last few months I have been in recovery. Taking steps and moving forward. It didn't mean that I wasn't anxious. It didn't mean that I wasn't depressed. It did mean that I had no desire to take my own life. There were moments where I wished I could die because the emotional pain felt like too much to bear but somehow I pulled through. I truly believed that I had seen the end of suicidal thoughts or suicidal rampages. That I was fine being left alone and didn't need to be under suicide watch. But I was wrong.

Last week I celebrated my 31st birthday with family and friends. Towards the end of the celebrations I caught a nasty cold. I became physically, emotionally and mentally drained. I began to notice that I felt sick inside and I wasn't sure why. I also noticed that I was having a problem pronouncing words that never before had given me any trouble. I repeated to Tom many times that I was losing it. Tears were constantly below the surface and many did fall. I ran out of my antianxiety medication on Sunday and my anxiety went through the roof and I found myself going through withdrawals (it is truly addictive). Even after getting the medication on Monday I still felt out of control and that I was on slippery ground.

Yesterday I felt like hiding in my little corner but I pulled out my scriptures and read. I worked on Project Life (photo scrapbook). I still found myself crying. I also found myself worried that I might be pregnant. We really didn't think I was but the last two months have been so abnormal that I wasn't 100% sure. I kept telling myself that my psych nurse is going to kill me if I am. The natural sleeping aid I'm taking can do a wicked number on a baby and I had given her my word that there was no chance that I would become pregnant. Tom finally went out and bought a test so my fears could be put to rest. It was negative. I didn't feel happy or sad. I just felt dead and did go hibernate in my corner.

Not more than an hour later a friend texted me that she was expecting. I lost it. I fell to the ground sobbing. Do I wish I was pregnant? No. But I felt it was another example of someone getting what they wanted when all I could do was hold on for dear life. Tom being the good husband that he is tried his best to comfort me. The more he went on the angrier I got. I went into what was probably my worst suicidal rampage. Tom had to fight me once again and do his best to keep me pinned to the ground. Eventually I calmed down enough that he could clear the bathroom of everything and I got my space. How long was I in there? Oh for a few hours and then I moved to the couch. Tom went to bed with his clothes on because I've been known to bolt from the apartment in the past.

Now in the past I have blogged usually after the fact once I had my emotions somewhat in check. Today I am blogging amidst those emotions. I am tired. I am drained. I feel as though I have no more fight in me. I don't want to hear for the thousandth time that everything is going to be okay. I have been hearing that for almost a year and you know what? Everything is not okay. Today is a day that I cannot fake it. I have fought hard and I want to be done. My faith? On the shaky side. Some days it is just hard to hang on. I'm sure most of you can relate.

And so for now I look heavenward and throw up my arms and say, "Jesus, take the wheel. Take it from my hands because I can't do this on my own. I'm letting go so give me one more chance to save me from this road I'm on. Jesus, take the wheel."

Medical Roller Coaster

I will admit that I was naive when it came to antidepressants. My first therapist said that I could make it through without them and I believed him. My next winter semester at BYU I found myself struggling. Old habits die hard. I started seeing a counselor at the counseling center but didn't really find her helpful. I decided to go see my doctor and tell her how I was feeling, and she put me on Lexapro. I'm not a very good pill popper, so slowly over time I stopped taking it. Did my doctor ever follow up on me? No. I ended up withdrawing from all of my classes that semester even though I only had about a month to go. All of my professors were understanding. Many of them told me that BYU wasn't going anywhere and it was more important that I take care of myself. That was my only experience with an antidepressant until this January.

A close friend that is also a counselor advised Tom and I that I should seek the help of both a psychiatric nurse practitioner and a therapist once I got back from Utah for Christmas. Tom and I carefully and prayerfully considered this and felt strongly that this is what I needed to do. Once we got back to Eugene we soon discovered how hard it is to get an appointment with a psych nurse. The closest appointment I could get was a little more than a month out. That appointment gave me a lot of hope and a date to reach for.

In January I began to find the anxiety unbearable. I found myself walking outside for hours because it was the only way I could cope with it. I didn't want to stop, but eventually my energy gave out and I would have to return home. I knew I needed help and as we talked with family and friends and were prayerful Tom and I decided to visit the ER. It was a big step for me. Up to that point I had only been to the ER when my mom was in a car accident. I didn't know what to expect or what to say. At this point in time I was not suicidal but was worried that if the anxiety persisted that I might find myself there. I expressed this and quickly found myself in what I call the "crazy" room in the ER. It is a weird shaped room with two benches that are covered in black fake leather. There are windows in one corner where the security guard can keep an eye on you. They take all of your possessions and lock them up. They then have you change into some thin scrubs. They bring you warm blankets and then different people come in to see you. Someone to fill out the paper work, a nurse, a doctor, and then finally a social worker. They all ask you the same questions.

I was given three options. I could admit myself to the hospital (Tom was against it), check out the Royal House (where you can come and go), or make a plan of what we would do once we returned home. We went with the plan of safety. I was also given four pills of Ativan to help with the anxiety. I was told to make an appt. with my doctor quickly for a follow up. Well it was a holiday weekend and the soonest we could get in to see my doctor was the following Tuesday. I would run out of Ativan by then. So we went to Urgent Care that Saturday. The doctor was very sympathetic and understanding. She gave me a prescription that would last me beyond my doctor's appt. Well we didn't want our pharmacy to think we were going around trying to store up Ativan so we cancelled my doctors appt. and made one closer to the time that my prescription of Ativan would run out.

I will admit that I loved Ativan. The first time I took it I was able to relax enough to take a nap and Tom finally got some time to himself. We were warned by a number of people that it is addictive so try to stay on a low dose. We also found out that it is one prescription that is very marketable and abused. I started on a low dose but eventually went a little higher. It took about a half hour to kick in and I could tell when it started to wear off. Those who saw me soon after I took it could tell that I was different. I felt a little groggy and so much more relaxed.

Well the time came to meet with my doctor. We tried to explain to her that we had an appt. with a psych nurse but she either didn't know what that was or thought she could do better. She gave me a prescription for Xanax and a low dose of Zoloft. Xanax is very similar to Ativan and is an antianxiety medication. I'm not sure why she made the switch. Zoloft of course is an antidepressant in the SSRI class. When I went to pick up my prescription the pharmacist warned me that the first ten days or so I would actually feel worse. I call those ten days my Ten Days of Hell. They were terrible. I even taught Sharing Time during that time. I have no idea how I pulled that off, but I pulled through. The hard thing about antidepressants is that they usually take around six weeks to kick in and for you to notice a difference. Lots of waiting, but I was still hopeful.

The day I had been holding out for finally came: My first appointment with my psych nurse. I have a friend that sees a psychiatrist, and she gave me some information about how it all works so I felt prepared. We were just about to walk out the door when we noticed we had missed a call and had a voice mail. Well it was the office of the psych nurse letting us know that she was sick and wouldn't be in that day. Tom called them and found out that the next time they could fit me in was more than a month away. I was devastated to say the least. Tom started calling other offices to see if we somehow couldn't get a closer appointment. Well one office was just getting a new psych nurse, so I was able to get an appt. a week later. A HUGE blessing and miracle.

But in the meantime my mood decreased dramatically. I snapped and had my first episode. Tom stayed in close touch with my therapist who talked to her husband about the situation. As I have mentioned before he works at the Johnson Unit. He isn't a psychiatrist but is very well versed in all of the medication. He immediately advised that I go off the Zoloft. He believed I was having a bad reaction. As it turns out I was on a ridiculously low dose for someone my age, and the fact that I had such an adverse reaction to it rang some bells.

Well I finally had my appt. with my psych nurse. She shot question after question at me. I could tell that some of them were the same question but phrased differently. I was open and she took what I said seriously. She had my mother-in-law and I remove certain items from my apartment and that is when she told Tom and his mom that under no circumstances was I allowed near the river alone. I found it a little scary that she took what I said so seriously but at the same time I began to feel heard and more safe. Since I had such a bad reaction to a medication in the SSRI class I was given a prescription for Wellbutrin that is in another class (aminoketone class). I was told that it would make me a little antsy but would get me doing things. I was also given a prescription for Ativan once again. This time my psych nurse was switching up when I would take it. She wanted me to be able to get the sleep that I needed. I wasn't exactly happy about this. I wanted to be able to cope when I was awake. The morning after my appt. my psych nurse did a follow up call and Tom voiced my concerns to her. She decided to put my on an antipsychotic drug that would keep me from impetuous behaviors. I was put on Abilify.

Well the next day we got a call from the office saying that my psych nurse had decided to retire instead of move to a new office. Once again I was devastated and wondering if anything was going to work out right. Luckily since I had met with her I had my foot in the door and was able to get an appt. with a different psych nurse who I love. So in many ways it was still a HUGE blessing and miracle.

From that point on it is a blur as to when I was taken off or put on a new medication. It became apparent that I am quite sensitive to medications. The three antipyschotic drugs I was put on all had side effects that I wasn't willing to take the risk of them lasting even beyond the time I stopped taking the drug. Haldol and Abilify caused restless legs. I could not hold them still. I attribute to that fact that I actually got up to bear my testimony the fast Sunday after I got out of the Johnson Unit. :o) Needless to say I was taken off those two (was not on them at the same time). Seroquel was an antipsychotic that would help me sleep. I was put on a low dose (every time you start a new drug you are put on a low dose that won't really do anything but help your body get used to it). I was in the middle of writing an email when all of a sudden I knew I needed to make it to my bed. Tom actually had to carry me to bed and take off my shoes. I was out. Sometime in the night I got too hot and had a sweatshirt on. My body felt like a ton of led bricks and so it took me forever to wriggle out of it without being able to lift any part of my body. My psych nurse called the next morning and freaked out when she heard what happened. She suggested that I take an even lower dose. Well there isn't a generic of Seroquel and so we had to pay $55 for it even after a large insurance discount. We weren't willing to pay that again for a lower dose when we had a full bottle, so Tom carefully cut a pill into fourths. For the next two nights that is what I took. I didn't have the same extreme reaction, but I felt groggy and horrible. I spent both days in bed. I decided myself that I wasn't going to take it anymore. It just wasn't worth it. I haven't been put on an antipsychotic since.

I took all of my medications with me the second time I visited the ER with the intention of being admitted. Of course all my possessions were taken away and not given back until the end of my stay. I went off Ativan cold turkey. My first full day in the JU was difficult. I wanted to break through the window and run. I was going through withdrawals. My therapist's husband came to my room and visited with me for a bit. I asked him all the questions I had about medications. I was put on another antianxiety medication but wasn't feeling a difference. He said I didn't notice it because it doesn't give you that initial high but that its effects actually last longer. I told him that I wouldn't call it a high, but as I've thought about it he is right. Ativan makes you feel like you don't have a care in the world. It relaxes you, and when my friend saw me for the first time after I had been taken off of it she noticed that my eyes weren't glazed over and I seemed to be more present. The antianxiety medication I am presently on is still addictive and I have lowered the dosage a little, but to me it doesn't feel addictive. When I left the JU they gave me back my bag of medication which was sealed off in two bags with strong tape. I had a nurse help me open it, and I gave her the bottle of Ativan. She asked me if I was sure and I told her that if she didn't take it I would. I sometimes still find myself craving that "high."

I came out of the JU weak physically. My psych nurse was concerned, so she put me on Remeron. The goal is that it would help me sleep while also increase my appetite. The interesting thing about this drug is that the lower dosage makes its side-effects stronger. The higher you go those effects lessen. I have been on Remeron for months. When I got back from California and started having trouble staying asleep my psych nurse started to decrease my dosage. She was concerned because I was doing things at night that I have never done before like sleep walk and talk in my sleep. I haven't had a normal night's sleep since California with the exception of my time in Utah. We dropped the Remeron to its lowest dosage and it made no difference to my sleep habits, but I did find myself eating in the middle of the night because I was so hungry. We are now in the process of upping the dosage since it isn't helping me sleep and eating in the middle of the night isn't helpful either. :o) I also have noticed a dip in my mood.

A couple of weeks after my time in the JU I felt the brunt of the depression. All of a sudden it was hard to get out of bed each morning. I had no desire to do anything. I kept asking myself if I had a choice would I rather feel anxious or depressed. I was told over and over again that I needed to "fake it til I make it". I did not want to fake it. For some reason I fought it for a few weeks. During this time my psych nurse put me on another antidepressant that works well with Remeron. It is called Effexor. I have to eat before I take it in the morning or else I get a horrible stomach ache. I've noticed that even then I sometimes will feel nauseous afterwards. Now each time you add a new drug or adjust a dosage you take the chance of having the opposite side effect than you want. I feel blessed that I haven't had that problem since I stopped trying antipsychotics.

A couple of weeks after being on Effexor my therapist began to notice a change. She literally became giddy. I was cautious. I have shown great improvement over the last couple of months. Things that in the past would have caused me to spiral downward I am able to slowly take in stride with the help of my therapist. Every time I see her she always tells me how good I'm doing. I don't always feel that way, but I'm sure she observes more than I do. Am I not anxious or depressed anymore? No. Recovery takes time. Lots of time. Especially as you begin to enter the world again and take on more responsibility. I have to keep reminding myself that I need to be patient with myself. There is no rush. I just need to do what I can handle and say no to everything else. Easier said than done.

So for right now I am on three antidepressants, one antianxiety medication and a natural sleep aid. My psych nurse hopes that I can be weaned off the antianxiety medication and that I won't stay on all three antidepressants. So there is still more change in my future. Once we get the medication stabilized I then stay on it for a year. After that time I guess I meet with my psych nurse and see where we want to go from there. I may slowly start weaning myself off the medication, but if I take a dip in mood then I will most likely need to be on medication the rest of my life.

For years I have watched the commercials about different drugs. Some seem to be the answer to everything, but then they go and list the side effects and I wonder who in their right mind would take that risk. And now I find that I am taking that risk. It really has been a medical roller coaster! I never knew how complicated it could be. How horrible it can be. I am always tired and often have a metallic taste in my mouth. Minor compared to what side effects I could be dealing with. I have a friend that has become diabetic because of the medication she is on. Every so often I probably will have my blood tested to make sure that the medication isn't affecting anything else in my body. But I have learned when Heavenly Father tells you to do something, you do it. Even if it is an adventure you would rather not live.

Weight Loss

I never imagined that I would find myself blogging about weight. I know that it can be a touchy subject for many people, but I feel that if I don't blog about it a part of my story would be missing.

It has always been a goal of mine to not be married to my scale. I beat myself up for too many things (weight included) as it is and didn't want there to be a number to back up my insecurities when it comes to my weight. You will most likely find my scale put away in the bathroom cupboard. This year I have probably weighed myself once every month. That is atypical for me. I usually weigh myself only a couple of times a year.

When I was little I was skinny. Both my parents at the time were skinny as well. I didn't give much thought to weight at all. My first memory of someone mentioning my weight was my fourth grade teacher. I can't remember her exact words, but I remember that it had to do with the fact that my skinny days wouldn't last forever and she was right. Puberty hit and I learned that I had inherited my grandmother's body type, or as many people call it, I was pear shaped.

I still didn't give much thought to my weight. In sixth grade my metabolism decreased quite a bit. I would go to school, come home and take a nap, wake up in time for dinner and to do homework and then I was back to bed. I was tired all of the time! Sixth grade is when I also formed a new friendship and came to the realization that a person could get straight A's. For some reason that thought had never entered my head. I think I just always assumed that math would be a difficult subject and grades didn't matter much. So I found myself working harder and pushing myself even with the lack of energy. And so my drive for straight A's began and continued until college.

My weight did become an insecurity as it does for many young women. We are inundated with media telling us what the perfect body type is without taking into consideration our genes, health issues, etc. that can play into how much we weigh. It didn't help that both my youngest sister and a young cousin told me that I had a big rear end. I became very self conscious of my thighs and rear end. It also didn't help that my dad told me I needed to become more active or else I would begin to put the weight on. The days of eating anything and not gaining weight were over.

My insecurities followed me through high school and college. Now it wasn't something that I dwelled on all of the time, but it was something I struggled with. I came to hate shopping for clothes. I preferred to shop for shoes and purses. They do not make you feel fat. I don't actually remember how much I weighed during that time, but I was probably considered at a somewhat healthy weight for my height. But even so I wished that I was skinnier.

I developed an intolerance to lactose my freshman year of college, and that began my love/hate relationship with food. Mostly hate. I came to learn that stress made my body even more sensitive to milk products. I wasn't too sad to give up milk because I never really was a big milk drinker. Interestingly enough I could still eat ice cream. Lactose intolerance can develop at anytime, and it doesn't always include all milk products. It varies from person to person.

One sign of depression is either an increase or a decrease in appetite. While in the MTC I found myself not eating very much. I was stressed and experiencing the darkness for the first time. I was also working out while trying to memorize the discussions. I also wasn't sure what food my body would tolerate. As I was packing for my trip back home my companion mentioned how she wished she was my size. Once I arrived back home a couple of people mentioned my weight loss. I had only been gone three weeks (I believe) and I had lost a bit of weight. I don't remember really focusing on my weight loss. I had more important things to deal with. I did eventually gain the weight back.

My second experience with depression definitely brought a decrease in appetite. I literally almost only drank apple juice. Why apple juice? I have no idea. And I did lose weight. When I returned to Provo almost two months later I was skinnier. My brother even made the comment that I should get depressed more often because I looked great. From then on I fluctuated within five pounds or so. I came to accept that as my weight. I still hated shopping for clothes and still felt insecure. My roommates were worried that I was becoming anorexic, so they were always cooking for me. I didn't eat much because I just never knew what food was going to make me sick. And after being sick I really wasn't in the mood to eat. But through all of this I worked at The Malt Shoppe and ate plenty of shakes. You would think I would have gained weight, but I didn't.

I then came to marry Tom. For Tom school and work became the same thing. School and work were separate for me, and I also had a lot of night classes because my professors were therapists during the day. Tom did most of the cooking. Now Tom loves food. He would snack on it all day if he could. When I married him he was a stick. He was also a fast eater. I found myself trying to keep up with him subconsciously, and therefore I started to eat more. I also wasn't walking to campus as often because I could drive and park in the graduate parking lot (Tom was working on his masters). Both Tom and I were also heading into our mid 20's. My metabolism lowered even more. Tom couldn't eat anything with no effect anymore. Our weight increased and decreased together. But there was a big difference because Tom is a foot taller than me. So he was starting to actually fill out and look healthy while I was becoming bigger. I didn't enjoy being the shortest and largest on both sides of our families (not that I could do anything about being the shortest).

I do know what my highest weight was, but since we are all different I don't think there is a need to share what it was. I kept making goals to become more healthy. I wanted to focus on living more healthy instead of just focusing on losing weight. I made goal after goal but never found the motivation to stick with them. I did lose some weight, but I pretty much came to accept that I would never reach the weight I was when I got married. Through all of this I started to wear tops that were a little too big. I stopped caring about what I wore, and I also developed an allergy to makeup so I rarely wore it. I can't say that I was happy with my outward appearance.

As some of you may know I chose the word Light to be my One Little Word. Instead of making a long list of resolutions you pick one word that you want to focus on. For example I wanted to get outside more often and feel the physical Light. I also wanted to improve my scripture study which would provide me with more Light. I also wanted to become more Light in body. I wanted to seek after Light in whatever ways I could. I was thinking that the Light in body would be my biggest challenge.

This time around I noticed my lack of appetite and for some reason thought it was the first sign that I was heading into depression. I found myself craving apple juice but wasn't really in the mood to eat much else. Later that night it hit me that I was depressed. This realization was followed by a panic attack which led to very high anxiety levels. There were days when I would only have a glass of orange juice or maybe some string cheese. I was also walking a lot because it was one way to cope with the anxiety. I began to stay away from anything that I thought would cause me to become more anxious, and that included food. Eating probably made me anxious because of my previous experiences with hating food and the problems it had caused my body in the past.

One evening it hit me that maybe I would get more calories if I drank them. That started me drinking fruit juice smoothies (bought not made). I also could get myself to eat string cheese. However during the Christmas break I ate pretty normal at my in-laws, so when I headed back to Eugene I was pretty optimistic that food wouldn't be a problem. Then my grandfather passed away. I guess you could say that was the last straw on the camel's back. I headed downhill from there. I went back to drinking fruit juice smoothies and eating string cheese. Tom was at a loss as what to do. I did eventually add Zoi Honey Greek Yogurt with cereal or berries to my diet. Even in the Johnson Psychiatric Unit I was put on calorie count. I didn't eat much. I even met with a dietitian because they became concerned. It was obvious that I was weak and had to move slowly around and use the handrails. The dietitian put me on carnation breakfast supplement with soy milk and fruit smoothies made with soy milk for the other two meals. They said I needed to try to eat at least 25% of my meals. What did I do? I just ordered less food.

I left the Johnson Unit pretty weak. My sister came out for a visit, and we did some shopping. I had to lean on the cart to help me stay standing. Eventually I would just have to sit down because I didn't have any strength left. My psych nurse became concerned and put me on a medication that would increase my appetite and cause weight gain. I did become more hungry and eventually added Cliff Bars to my diet. I made the goal to eat three times a day. It didn't matter how much; I just needed to eat and regain my strength.

Needless to say that I lost weight. It is the most weight I have ever lost. It didn't really hit me until I had to start wearing a belt with my jeans so they wouldn't fall off. I started needing to wear heels with my skirts because they were hanging lower on my hips. I was aware that I was loosing weight, but it was definitely not my top concern, and most people didn't comment about it. If someone did comment I told them that they didn't need to worry about it because I always gain the weight back.

Slowly overtime I regained my strength. My diet did not change. Maybe the amount I was eating but not what I was eating. It is still what I am eating. Yes I am aware that I'm not eating any vegetables except for an occasional cucumber or plate of broccoli. If I'm visiting someone else I will eat whatever they offer. It really isn't about the food but my emotions tied to food. My levels of anxiety have increased over the last few weeks, so with that my aversion to most food has increased.

People that haven't seen me for a month or so will comment about how great I look and how much bike riding must agree with me. Now I'm not saying that the bike riding hasn't been beneficial, but it isn't what got me to the weight that I find myself at now. I have gained a little weight, and the bike riding is probably what is helping maintain my weight this time around. I've decided that I went through Hell, and if I am going to make the most of that experience then I'm going to do my best to try to stay around the weight I find myself at and hopefully over time come to eat a more balanced diet (I do have to admit that I'm getting tired of string cheese and Cliff Bars).

But one thing I have learned over and over again is that it doesn't really matter what other people think. It matters what you think about yourself. In my mind I still view myself the way I looked last September though there is a big difference between then and now. I'm working on coming to accept myself just the way I am. I am taking more interest in the clothes I buy and put more effort into wearing make-up more often. Overall I am liking my outward appearance more than I have in a long time. But that doesn't even come close to the importance of liking who I am on the inside. Our loving Heavenly Father cares more about our hearts than he does about our size or what we wear. I know many of us have heard that time and again. But the big question is do we believe it and do the things we say and do show that we believe that our Heavenly Father loves us for who we are?