When all you CAN do is say I CAN'T (Pt. 1)
Okay, I figured the best way for you to feel a connection with me and to continue on this blogging journey with me is to just jump in and get real with you. Anxiety and Depression, two words that seem to be floating around a lot in recent years; two words that a lot of people can relate to, but very few want to talk about. Well, I'm one of the few who is going to talk about it.
Only very recently (like two months ago) did I finally embrace the fact that I suffer from anxiety and depression. I haven't gone to a doctor and been officially diagnosed, but that doesn't diminish my suffering (and I am currently seeing a behavioral therapist).
Let's start at the beginning: When I was a teenager I experienced a traumatic experience (I'm not going to go into detail here, but will hopefully feel up to putting into writing at a later date, stay tuned). After it happened, my parents asked me how I was coping and, every so often, would ask how I was doing, if I felt like I should talk with my bishop, if I wanted to go to therapy, etc. My response was always the same "I'm fine and I don't want to talk about it". They say hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I wish I had gotten help back then, but I didn't. I made it to college without any major depressive episode or anxiety-induced panic attacks. But, moving out, starting college, and feeling quite alone brought about my first major depressive episode. I get quite shy and introverted in new social situations, so I made like five new friends my freshmen year and that was about all I could handle (and these friends were literally angels in my life). My eating went down the toilet (like my breakfast came from the vending machine almost everyday and my social anxiety kept me from going to the Cannon center for dinner most nights), I never exercised, I made it to my classes but then would come back to my dorm and nap/work on homework from my bed. I was feeling drained but I didn't realize I had a problem; this was just me sinking deep into my shell. I moved into an apartment after my first semester and things only got worse. I only left my room to go to class (and sometimes not even that), I was living off of granola bars and ramen noodles, and my friends had to literally drag me to social events and church activities. People were constantly posting about activities, game nights, movie nights, etc. and I wanted to go, but I couldn't get myself to actually get up and go.
The summer after my freshman year I moved back home to nanny for my sister and spend time with my family. I was able to break out of my depressive episode. At the end of the summer I was in the market for a new apartment and God sent me literal angel roommates (He is really in the details of our lives y'all). These roommates kept my depression at bay and I was able to push aside my social anxiety for a year and a half. I was making more friends, I was going to more activities (and even planning a few myself), I was happy. But I always has a small cloud in my mind reminding me that this could all stop in a moment. If I didn't keep moving forward, I knew I would sink right back into my depression. But, I still really hadn't come to terms with my depression and anxiety. I'd had the thought a few times that I might have depression and/or anxiety, but I never talked about it and I told myself that what I was feeling wasn't really that serious.
At the end of my sophomore year, I was feeling unsettled with my life and thought that maybe I should serve a mission for my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints). An age change had recently occurred that let 19- and 20-year-old girls serve and many of my friends were out on missions, or preparing to leave. I started the process, but still wasn't sure if it was really what I was supposed to be doing with my life. That same summer I also started working as an EFY counselor (LDS church camp counselor) and that job saved me, for a while, from sinking into another depression. I loved being a counselor and when I was with the youth I was truly happy. But the summer ended and I had a mission to prepare for. I took a semester off from school and moved back home to move forward with mission prep. I quickly sunk into another depressive episode. I was scared to serve a mission, wasn't really sure if it was what I was supposed to be doing, and was fighting it every step of the way. I didn't want to work on preparing and I dragged my feet when it came to shopping/packing. But, I didn't talk with anyone about it. It was around this time that I realized I may also have anxiety to go along with my depression. I was scared that I wouldn't be successful on a mission because I wouldn't be able to talk to strangers on the street or even want to leave my apartment, and I was worried that I would go out to serve only to be sent home because I couldn't handle it. So, I found a way out. I met a guy, we kinda started dating, and I used him as my excuse not to go (it was easier for me, and in some ways more socially acceptable, to tell people I wasn't going because a potential marriage could be on the horizon).
Needless to say, that relationship went pretty much no where and I settled back into my college routine. For the next twoish years I was in a precarious tug-of-war with my anxiety and depression. I was still fairly social, I got a job with co-workers that I absolutely loved, and I was working hard in school. I also spent another summer as an EFY counselor and, again, it was a time when I experienced true happiness. Depression and anxiety still loomed ever-present in the back of my mind, but I was pushing forward.
Continued in Pt. 2
