First Week of the Mission

Honestly, I'm not sure how I made it through that first week. Everyone told me that if I could make it through until Sunday, I would be in good shape. However, when Sunday rolled around, I was still a bit of a mess. I told myself that if I could make it to the following Wednesday, then I'd be good. Maybe.

The routine of a missionary is very different than everyday life. Being the MTC is even more strange. Everything is scheduled: we'd get up a little before 6 (in the actual mission-field, missionaries usually get up at 6:30) and quickly get ready for our gym period at 6:05. Afterwards we would clean up and go to our classroom for an hour of personal study. Finally it would be time for breakfast (we would all be starving by then. I wasn't used to having a late breakfast). Once that half-hour or so was up, we went back to our classroom for three hours of class. The morning for me was devoted instruction on speaking Spanish and grammar. A chunk of those three hours was given to study with your companion and prepare for teaching our "investigators" (they were actually just our teachers acting like someone interested in learning about the LDS church). Next was lunch, another chance to stretch our feet before sitting in the classroom for another three hours or so. This portion of the day was generally directed towards Gospel principles and how to teach them. We again had an "investigator" to teach. Then we had either more study time or we were permitted to go to the computer lab and use the TAL program to help with vocab and grammar. Then it was dinner. Once that was over, we went back into the classroom for more language and personal study.

There were some things that broke up the monotony of all the studying: Every Sunday and Tuesday night there was a devotional. Every Tuesday evening was choir practice, and we sung for the Sunday devotionals. I attended these because I love to sing (although I'm not very good), it gave me a break from all my studying, and it helped with anxiety. Other than these few things, the days were very much the same. Everyday we get up, exercise, study, eat, study, eat, study, eat, study.

According to most of the RMs (returned missionaries) that I've talked to, they all said the the MTC was absolutely amazing. For me, that was not the case. Don't get me wrong--I loved the devotionals and the spiritual learning, not to mention the wonderful BYU brownies and ice cream served there. I just felt trapped. We could only stay within the little campus, which was gated, except on trips to the temple on P-days or special circumstances such as going to the health center. Outside the gate and down the block was the apartment I had lived at just a few days prior. I could see BYU campus from there. It felt strange to see it, to hear the belltower ring every hour, but not to be able to go there. We stayed in the same classroom all day, everyday. I think this is where the majority of my anxiety for sitting too long in one spot or staying in the same room for too long really started to develop. I think it must have also added to why I don't like having many closed windows or doors--I feel trapped inside.

These are a lot of new changes for any new missionaries. For me, I think I was just extra susceptible due to all the craziness that happened so recently. I made it through that first week, yes, but not without first having a massive breakdown--outside the temple, of all places.

My first P-day was the following Wednesday from when I reported to the MTC. I remember waiting
for that day with such great anticipation. I remember desperately wanting to see an email from my family, just to know that I was loved. Early in the day, we as a missionary district walked up to the Provo temple. Memories flooded through my mind as I remember walking there so many times, usually with my best friend Kaylyn. Oh, how I missed her then! I kept thinking about all the love she had shown me as a friend that past year and how poorly of a friend I was. Just like that my head was swarmed with memories, regrets, and pain. I thought about how I once went to the temple with Dan, how fun that evening was but how things had so drastically changed shortly after that. The wave of memories and emotions hit me so hard that it left me gasping. I stood in the dressing room of the temple, clutching at my heart. It hurt. Like a physical stab, my heart and chest ached. So much pain. I stood there several moments, trying to collect myself and willing myself not to cry.

My companion and I walked out of the temple. I told her I needed to walk for a moment, so we headed to the backside of the temple. I couldn't hold it in any longer; I collapsed on a bench and started crying. Not just crying. Bawling. I told her I needed to see someone about this. If I was going to be a successful missionary, I needed to heal from these emotional wounds. I needed to overcome my depression.

Hermana Schumacher was a blessing to me. She didn't judge. She didn't scold and tell me to snap out

of it. No, she listened to me. For so long I felt like I couldn't tell anyone about how I was feeling, that no one would listen or want to listen, but here she was, sitting patiently as I told her through sobs my story.

We decided that I would see the counselor at the MTC. That became the first of many therapy and doctor visits. I started taking medication. I tried new things to help me feel better. I started trusting more people with my story and admitting some of my fears and distorted thinking that had been plaguing me since middle school. To this day, I still see a therapist near-weekly. I take medication. I take care of myself. I'm doing so much better than I was at that time, but the road has been rough, and each day continues to be a challenge to overcome.

I made it through that week, somehow, undoubtedly through divine intervention. It took many prayers at night, many tearful pleadings to my Heavenly Father for help and comfort. It took the love and support of my wonderful friends, family, and companion. I am so grateful for them all.

What to Do When the Blues Hit

Thanks to my many wonderful friends and amazing therapist, I have started developing an arsenal of things to do when those depressive moments hit. Here is a shout-out to Tammy and Amanda who have given me wonderful advice. (Amanda, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I haven't responded back yet. Oops!) Anyway, I just wanted to share some of the things that have helped me that perhaps someone else might benefit from them. They are not in any particular order, and not all of them work all of the time. Often I have to switch between many of these in order for something to help. Some days nothing helps, and then it's just a matter of making it through the day.

1) BREATHE! This is probably the most effective for me, and it can be done anywhere. Just breathe in for about five seconds, and then breathe out for five seconds. It's amazing how well this works! Oxygen begins flowing better throughout your body, and you start to relax. Suddenly decisions and stressful moments become a little easier.

2) Exercise. Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I love to work out. I'm that crazy person who is at the gym at six every morning. Many times people comment on how dedicated I am, but I usually don't tell them the real reason why I do it: it helps control my depression and anxiety. More specifically, it helps me best with anxiety because I struggle to sit for very long. If I haven't exercised, I get super anxious. Sometimes if I have long days of sitting or studying, I'll also take an afternoon walk or something to stretch my legs again. It also helps me mentally for depression. When I'm having a really off day, if I can, I'll push myself harder to burn out the sad feelings. Other days when I have no energy, I'll lower the intensity, but I'll still do it.

3) Eat well. Food is extremely important for the body and well as the mind. When I don't eat enough during the day or not very well, I have a greater tendency to get depressed. There is a reason why doctors recommend fish oils so much for this. The oils help with reactions in your brain. Eating a healthy balanced diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables really make a difference in how you feel.

4) Treat yourself. Along the same lines as the previous tip, it's good to eat well, but it's also good to treat yourself once in a while. When you have that little snack or dessert, suddenly the day seems a little more manageable. I'm not saying that you should go out and buy a tub of ice cream and eat it right then. You'll feel even worse after that! Especially if your depression is because of your poor self-image. Eating so much sugar like that will leave you feeling bloated (your body holds three grams of water for every gram of carbohydrate) and just sick. My go-to is usually a spoonful of peanut butter or a little bit of chocolate. Cliche, I know, but it works. If I have the time or means, I sometimes make myself a fun or delicious dinner or treat myself at a cheap restaurant. Remember, I am a poor college student.


5) Do something with your hands. I personally keep a coloring book handy. Don't judge! It has dinosaurs--completely legit. This usually works when I'm in the library or somewhere that I can take a break from homework. When I'm at meetings, in class, or anywhere where a coloring book would not be appropriate (crazy, right?), then I make sure to have a pen and paper to doodle. This was especially effective on my mission when we had meetings all the time. It helped me to focus more on my hands and what the speaker was saying while not focusing as much on my anxious legs that wanted to move. I even did cross-stitch for a while, too, on my mission because it was cheap and looked (usually) nice when done.



6) Sleep. Just don't overdo it. Then you will feel worse and sluggish. It's important to keep a normal sleep pattern and try to get 7-8hours of sleep if possible. Yes, that means not procrastinating on homework or other assignments. Maybe your social life won't like you for a while, but your body and brain will. Then you might actually start wanting to be more social and having the energy to do so.

7) Give yourself permission to take a break. My problem is that I can't sleep, even if I'm exhausted. Instead, I take time for myself to relax. At first this was really difficult for me because I felt like I was wasting time and should have been working or studying. In reality, when I tried to force myself to keep working, I wasn't effective. It would have been like I hadn't done anything at all. However, after giving myself a break or taking the night off, I would be more productive the next day because I wasn't emotionally worn out.

8) Confide in someone that you trust. I have been seeing a therapist pretty much since my first week in the MTC. Before my mission, I certainly had people I could talk to, although as my reporting date loomed closer, I closed myself off somewhat because I didn't think I could trust anyone with my real feelings about going on a mission. The therapists I had in the MTC and in Mesa were fantastic. I felt like I could totally tell them everything that was on my mind, although it was hard to do sometimes. Well, they are paid to listen, right? On top of that, Heavenly Father blessed me with wonderful companions and a loving mission president and his wife to help me through things. When I got home from my mission, I told very few people about what was going on. I only really had my parents and a therapist around at that time (all of which were so loving and understanding), but I've kept in contact with friends. Coming back to college, I again have few people to confide with, but I cherish them deeply. I am becoming more open about things, but there are only a few that I share the whole story with because I know that they will not judge me.

9) Pray. Really, this should have been up next to 'breathe' because it's such a crucial thing. Prayer is literally what sustained me day-to-day on my mission. Sometimes it was the only thing that could keep me going hour-to-hour. Often I felt like my faith was too weak, but I had enough to trust in God that things would be ok. My head would never totally clear, but I would find enough energy to help me through the rest of the day. I still have days like that. Prayer is such a powerful resource, I've learned, and I feel like sometimes we under-use it.


10) Cry a little. Seriously, it's ok. It helps purge out the awful feelings and sometimes leaves you feeling much better.

11) Listen to good music or relax with a funny movie. A lot of people I know like to listen to sad and depressing music for when they are feeling down, but for myself, I realized that I feel worse if I do so. Instead I prefer to listen to something fun and upbeat, something I can sing along to or even dance to. Sometimes you do just need to dance. At night if my head is filled with worries, anxieties, or depressive thoughts, relaxing instrumental music helps calm me down enough to sleep. As for movies, I avoid things that make me cry. Life is already sad enough without adding more sadness through film. Funny movies leave me feeling more uplifted and positive about life.

12) Serve. Do something for someone else. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to actually do it. We have to yank ourselves out of our pity-party and think about another person. It's hard to do, but when you're done, you feel a little better. For a brief moment you forget about your own pain and think of what another person needs. It doesn't have to be big. For me, I love to bake (another one of my stress-relievers), so I'll make something and give it to someone who lives in my apartment complex. They love the food, I love the baking, and both feel better.

13) Medication. There is a lot of negative stigma with taking medications to help with these mental problems. Some people view the medication that changes who you really are.  I admit that I was a bit nervous at first about taking medicines, afraid that they would change me. I always thought of how people would call them "happy pills". In reality, that is not how they work. If used properly, they merely help balance out the chemicals in the brain. I'm not quite sure how it all works, but they help level out the emotions so that there are not these giant dips in moods. Chronic depression is NOT a normal state. People are not meant to be sad all the time. "Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy" (2 Nephi 2:25). We are supposed to have joy, but something in our brains tells us that it is not so. The medicines bring the chemicals in the brain back to normal, or at least more balanced, so that we can feel more normal. I definitely have recognized the difference when I'm really depressed and when I'm not, and honestly, the depression side of me is not my normal 'me'.

I hope this helps someone out there. Feel free to comment with more ideas if anyone has something that's been helpful.

The MTC

Honestly, it probably took a miracle to actually get me to the MTC, considering the emotional state I was in. The last few days before hand were awful; I woke up every single morning with a feeling of extreme unease, almost to the point of nausea, in the pit of my stomach. During the day, it wouldn't fade away, and in some cases, would get so bad that I would almost stop breathing if I thought too hard about leaving.

My parents came out the two days before I left so that we could do the necessary shopping. I am so grateful for their love and patience because I know I was short-tempered during that time. I also felt guilt on top of everything else. Here was my last chance to visit with my parents for 18 months, and we spent the time running around like crazy to get things done. There were just too many things to do to really appreciate the time I had with them.

If that isn't enough to make one cry, I don't know what would be.

The night before I left for the MTC was when I was to be set apart. For members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, being "set apart" means literally just that. When we are called to a position in the church, whether it is a teaching assignment, a bishopric assignment, or, in my case, a mission assignment, we are "set apart" or set aside for the calling. We are blessed with things we need to fulfill the assignment that we have been asked to do.

For me, this was to be done by a member of our Stake Presidency. He would give me a special blessing that would set me apart, in a sense consecrate me, to be a missionary for the next 18 months.

My parents, my brother and his wife, and my best friend came to this special event.

We went up to a building on BYU's campus where my Stake President had his office.

We waited.

And waited.

No one was there. We wandered around the building a little, knocked on his office and such. Nothing. I called his secretary. He tried getting a hold of the President. Nothing. He called his cell-phone, his home phone, his work phone. There was no response. Finally, the secretary told us to wait in a room on the floor above while he kept trying to contact him.

We went upstairs and waited some more. We talked, I paced; we read magazines, I worried. I don't remember how long we were there, but I think it was at least an hour and a half, maybe two, before the secretary told us to just go home for the night.

So we did. I came home and finished packing. What had happened? Did my Stake President forget about me? Why didn't he answer his phone? Was he ok?

I didn't sleep well that night, that I remember. However, early that Wednesday morning, one of the councilors called me. Apparently, with it barely being the end of the school semester, my Stake President had gone on vacation with his wife and were in an area that they didn't have phone service. His first councilor, therefore, would set me apart that morning before I left.

I remember rushing to get ready. His councilor lived a ways out of Provo, somewhere in the canyon, so we had to hurry if I were to make it back in time. However, in the back of my mind, all I could really think of was that he forgot. My Stake President, who interviewed me and helped me get ready, forgot that he was supposed to set me apart that night. Looking back, I feel a little guilty about thinking this since he was also a college professor and very busy with so many other things, but in my emotionally-broken mind, I couldn't see that. I saw it as another evidence of why I should not go.

Thankfully, the actual getting set apart process went smoothly. Although we may have gotten slightly lost on the way there, we found the right house in time. The blessing was beautiful, too. I may have been spiritually hardened at that time, but I could still feel the power of what was said.

When that moment was done, we drove quickly back to my apartment. As I was moving out that day, there was still necessary cleaning that I had to do, last-minute packing to do, and off to the MTC, literally down the street from where I lived, that very afternoon.

I was officially a missionary! I was dropped off in the driveway of the training center, collected by a fellow sister-missionary, and dragged my suitcases to one of the buildings. I know I must have looked back, know that I must have chocked back tears. Oh, how easily they came at that moment. I couldn't cry then. No, I had to be strong. I was off on another adventure, off to share the gospel. There would be time for crying later.

That first afternoon passed in a blur. So much information was thrust at us when they handed us our name badge. We were shown the dorms where we would sleep, the cafeteria where we would eat, and the classroom we'd spend the next six weeks in.

Yes, crying came later that night. When everyone was asleep and my tired head swirled in a fuzzy confusion, I shed those silent tears.

The Downward Spiral

Again I'm side-stepping from my missionary adventures for a moment and step into my head...

The thing is for depression--of all sorts, not just clinical--is that it's very much a downward spiral. It's ok to feel blue every now and then, and some people can just brush it off as a bad day. For others, however, it's a little more serious than that. For me, sometimes I wake up feeling sad for no real reason. Seriously, I don't know why. However, my brain likes to try and figure it out. There will be moments throughout the day when my brain seems to be searching for a reason why I'm feeling this way. If I end up doing poorly on a quiz that day in class, my brain tells me, "There! That's why you are sad. It's because you just don't understand this stuff." It will sometimes go as far as saying, "Why do you even try? You're just going to fail. You can't even do a simple thing such as____." Sometimes, if I'm feeling low about my self-esteem, my brain looks at other girls, how they dress, who they are with, and then explains to me, "No one likes you. You're too weird. No guy will want you when you look and dress like that." Actually, that particular list can go on and on and on. The point I'm getting at is that these thoughts that I get when I am depressed only make me feel even worse. The thoughts then escalate to a point where I just feel horrible about myself and I want to cry all the time.

Not fun.

Some people have told me to toughen up, to snap out of it. It's really not that easy, though. I get busy with things, but I still feel awful. I've had many people--friends, family, home teachers--who try to pull me out to do things when I feel this way (of course, they don't always know how I am feeling at the time), and sometimes it helps, but sometimes it makes things worse in my head.

Another thing, one of the annoying side-effects of depression, is the lack of concentration, something that has been affecting me before my mission, and has returned since I have gone back to school. I'll be sitting in class when suddenly my brain goes fuzzy, and I can't concentrate on what the professor is saying. I almost go in a dream-like state, although never actually falling asleep. Once I notice this happening, I try to fight it. I do everything: chewing gum, drinking water, doodling, standing up and walking if I'm somewhere that I can do so. Nothing, not even more sleep, seems to help this. I get frustrated in class. It seems to get worse the more I focus on it until it's like it wasn't even worth coming to class in the first place. I come home completely exhausted from fighting it, disappointed in myself, and still fuzzy-brained. Talk about a downward cycle!

So how do I combat these downward cycles?

I've been seeing therapists regularly since I've been home from my mission, and I've learned quite a few things from them. One of those things is realizing that my thoughts are not me.

Wait, what?

Yes, the thoughts are not me. We all have thoughts that flicker through are mind. Sometimes they are reasonable, sometimes they are downright stupid. They inevitably come through our mind, and to a point, we can't control them.

It's like as if our mind was a chessboard and the pieces are our thoughts. The thoughts play out on our minds, but they are not our mind. They are not us.

This was a crazy way to view things, because I always felt so guilty for some of the thoughts I've had, no matter how outrageous they seem. However, with this new view, the question changed from whether or not to have those thoughts to whether or not to believe those thoughts.

It all comes down to the concept of reality. Let's say a thought flickers in my head that I am stupid. Well, honestly, is that really true? I'd like to think not. Just because I've had a few bad test scores doesn't make me completely dumb. Even if I was, does that really change my value as a person? Smart or dumb, I'm Jesse. That's who I am. Does being smart or dumb determine if I am a good person? No! The things I do, the way I act, these are what determines who a person is. No matter how dumb or how smart I am, it will never change the fact that I am a daughter of God.

So if I can remind myself when I have those thoughts that they are just that--thoughts--and remember that they are not me, then I can do a little better with warding off depressed feelings. Sometimes I still feel sad when I tell myself these things, but it helps to combat the downward cycle of negativity.

As far as the not-being-able-to-concentrate-in-class thing goes, I'm still working on that. However, by remembering that if I perhaps do horribly this term in a class, it doesn't determine my worth. It doesn't change the fact that I am a daughter of God. I'm just trying to heal, that's all.

The Final Countdown

The beginning of that last semester right before I left for my mission started off a little crazy; looking back now, I definitely overloaded myself with too many things. My brain is still somewhat scattered when I review those months leading up to my departure. Perhaps it's my brain's coping-mechanism to protect me from further emotional pain. In many ways, I am unsure of how to even begin. However, I have a feeling this might be a long tale...

Maybe I should start off with my chemistry classes; I was taking the second-half of organic chemistry AND it's lab (three hours twice a week), and that alone probably did me in. Loaded with giant textbooks, countless hours of homework, and near-impossible exams, it was any student's nightmare, no matter how smart you are.

Not everything about that semester was awful, at least not at the beginning. One of the biggest blessing I had received was being able to go through the temple and make further promises with my Heavenly Father. Although completely new and strange, it was one of the most exciting days of my life thus far.

And then, there was dating.

Yes. I said it. I, Jesse Pothoof, went on dates. In fact, that first month of the semester, I went on five dates--FIVE! It was an unheard-of record for me. When I came back to school that semester, dating was definitely the last thing I thought about doing. Of course, not all of them were so great. I could probably write an whole post about that first one. Let's just say that my date said a total of two words to me and flirted with my roommate the entire time (we were on a group date). Not exactly my idea of a date, and my poor roommate was clueless about the situation.

ANYWAY, I'm over it now.

And then, to add more shock, I got asked on a second date by someone. Let's call him Dan. Dan was a sweet guy, a few years older than me. He had grown up in Idaho but was going to school here. In fact, he had been in a couple of my classes, which is how we met. This second date didn't quite go the way I had expected. My roommate had just gotten her mission call and was going to open it that night. I really wanted to be with her when she read it, so Dan came over to the little party she were having, and then we would go out afterwards.

Then, during the evening, my roommate announces to everyone that I had also received a mission call.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me. I didn't even look at Dan.

You see, at this point, very few people knew I had a mission call. No one bothered to announce it at church, and I didn't have any sort of gathering for it. I kind of felt like no one really cared about it...I know my friend was just being nice and letting me have a little bit of attention. However, I didn't want guys to shun me because I would be gone for 18 months. I barely got dates as it was. And...there was something else nagging at me that I couldn't quite place. I just didn't feel like I should leave for a mission. I had been praying for confirmation about it, to feel peace, but I didn't feel anything.

Well, I read my call. Afterwards, a group of us, including Dan and me, went dancing. I had no idea if it was a date or not. It wasn't until a few days later that we began to talk about things. We decided to date and see how things would go. After all, we may shortly decide that we weren't meant to be, and we wouldn't have to worry about saying goodbye for 18 months.

But the more we dated, the more confused I got about what I should do. The longer the semester went on, the closer my report date loomed. The more things that were added to my shoulders, the responsibilities and homework, the more depressed I got.

I just couldn't make heads or tails of the situation I was it. I really liked Dan, and I couldn't figure out why he would be in my life at such a crucial time as this. Heavenly Father knew I was already doubting my abilities as a missionary and doubting if I should go, so why would he put someone in my path to make me more confused? I started getting panicky. Should I stay and date or leave and risk losing him?

One night in March when I was particularly stressed, I talked to my bishop about it. He suggested that, for me to stay, it would have to be a really good reason. If Dan was serious about marriage, I had to know and factor that in.

I rushed to Dan's apartment that night, heart pounding. When I started talking to him about what my bishop said, Dan led me out to his car so we could talk in private.

That's when I learned about his past.

That's when I knew I couldn't stay for him.

In no way do I condemn Dan for his struggles. We all have them, and I have no right to judge them because they are different than mine. However, this was a serious and unexpected blow that sent my head spinning the rest of the night. He and I decided not to see each other much the coming week so that I could think things over.

Well, it wasn't so much thinking as it was crying. On top of that, I had a o-chem exam the next day. Little sleep, worries, and a deadly exam are a terrible combination. And I practically failed that exam. Seriously. I had never seen my score so low. I was horrified! After studying so hard, I got that! I rushed to my go-to bathroom (in the basement of a building that no one really uses) and cried for who knows how long. I called my mom, but I could barely even talk to her. I think I pretty much cried the rest of the day and didn't do much that night.

But just when I thought I was starting to feel better by the end of the week, another blow hits me.

Dan usually picked me up from work on Saturdays to save me the long walk. That Saturday, I called him to see if he was still willing to do so. No answer. I called again. Still no answer. That wasn't really quite like Dan to do, but, I figured, he probably got busy with homework. I walked home.

That night he came over to apologize for not responding to my calls. And then he told me why. He had spent the entire afternoon talking to his ex-girlfriend.

Um...

And then he told me that lately he had been having feelings towards her again and kept comparing me to her.

Ouch.

For any guy that is reading this, never, NEVER do that to a girl. Just don't do it. It's an awful thing to do because I could never be like her. What's wrong with just being me? If you've been following my posts, you know how I already had self-esteem problems. That crack in my armor that never healed? It just got stabbed.

I put a smile on my face, told him I understood, and let him leave. We were officially done dating. Oh, I understood alright. I understood that I wasn't what he wanted, but that was a crummy way to tell me! I thought I cried a lot that day I nearly failed my exam, but it was nothing to how I cried that night. I was praying to Heavenly Father, but I couldn't get very far before the floods started coming. I just sat on the floor and bawled. The scary thing was, I couldn't stop it. One of my roommates came home at this time, and I didn't even care that she could hear me wailing. I felt like my insides were being ripped out and crushed on the ground. I wanted to cave in, to hide away where no one could ever find me.

Honestly, I don't even remember what happened the rest of that night. I knew the next day I was a blubbering mess. I had to work, go to church, had a musical performance with my ward, and a meeting with the bishop. My eyes were red all day, and I felt like at any moment I would break.

Then, to add salt to the wound, Dan told me something else on another occasion shortly after: he told me how I wasn't as "girlie" as he wanted and that he worried about me gaining weight when I got older. Forget the fact that once he said he thought I was pretty. Forget the fact that he once said he admired me for trying to take care of my body to keep it healthy. Disregard all the things that made me unique because they weren't what he wanted.

Well, that did it. What little of me was being held together finally crumbled. I couldn't sleep. I didn't eat, partially as a result of being stressed and partly because my anorexia was triggered. If someone who I got close to thought I wasn't pretty and was too big, then I was sure that any guy on the street would surely think the same thing. I started over-exercising, over-studying, and crying very frequently. My grades slipped in school. My brain got fuzzy, oh, so fuzzy, where I would be in class taking notes and my hand would just sprawl off the page, eyes still open yet mind in a dreamlike state. It was horrible. I became irritable. I hated it. I hated myself. I didn't know what to do.

And my report date to the MTC was about a month away.

I started to dread waking up in the mornings. My stomach would be in a twisted knot when I woke up and realized I was another day closer to leaving. Any time someone mentioned missionary work, I panicked inside. When my roommates told me that I needed to start learning Spanish words, my brain shut down. I wanted to run, run until I couldn't carry myself anymore. I wanted out. I wasn't ready. I hardly had the things I needed. Mentally I was drained. Spiritually...I was blocked.

Please don't think that during this whole time that I had neglected my prayers and scripture study and that was why I was feeling this way. On the contrary, I prayed every night for help in pulling me through this. I prayed to have the confidence and peace that I needed. I just couldn't feel it. I read my scriptures everyday. I went to the temple frequently. But by being so stressed, so depressed, I had created a spiritual block. Maybe I was receiving impressions, but I couldn't feel them.

One morning I remember quite clearly: I was working out at the gym, burning off stress, when the thought flashed through my mind that maybe I should stay home and take care of this depression-thing. My bishop had suggested that perhaps I should stay to make sure I was more ready (of course, he meant more along the lines of getting the things I needed such as clothing). I felt really peaceful when I thought about staying home...but I couldn't do it. I had already extended my departure six weeks. What would my family say? My friends? They were all expecting me to go. I had to do it. If I didn't go now, would I ever actually leave? I doubted it.

At least I was blessed with wonderful roommates, home teachers, family, and a bishopric who all helped me make it finally to that day that I had to leave. Honestly, I don't know how I did it. During finals, my roommates rarely saw me. Somehow I miraculously scrapped a B- in o-chem. I had two days before reporting to the MTC to get all my shopping for clothes and such done. Somehow I made it. That alone was a miracle in and of itself.

Christmas Cheers and Mission Fears

My darkest spell perhaps came when I received my mission call. As I mentioned previously, I was already struggling with some depression, but I mostly brushed it off. It had just been a tough semester, that is all.

My mission call came while I was home from BYU during our Christmas break. Theoretically, I should have received it the week of finals, but due to the sudden of influx of missionary applications arriving at Salt Lake, it was taking more time to go through and assign missions.

Being home from school came with its own trials. I love my family to death, and I wouldn't change them for the world, they do, like all other families, come with their own issues. One of my brothers was living at home at this time, and along with him was his girlfriend and her three young children. They had been living with my parents for a while by then, and I knew that my mom was stressed by the situation, but it wasn't until being there that I really understood the magnitude of the situation. It felt like there was constant contention in the home, raised voices and harsh words. The house was unkempt with so many of us living there and not everyone pulling his or her weight, yet my brother and his girlfriend had to rely on us (well, mostly my parents) to help them with medical and financial needs. I could feel the stress and tension in the home.

Receiving my mission call should have been an exciting day, but for me, it was filled with turmoil. It arrived in the mail the weekend before Christmas. My parents and I happened to be out running errands when my brother called and said that I had received a packet in the mail. I was excited, yes. I had my parents drop me off early so that I could go open it.

When I came home, however, I heard yelling and crying. My brother was getting upset at one of the kids for doing something. He asked me a question, and I don't even remember my response. The spirit was missing in that home. All I remember was focusing on the packet and what it contained.

I went into my parents' master bathroom. It was the only place of solitude I had since my brother was using my room while he lived there. I turned on the fan to drown out the sounds of angry voices and opened my mission call.

"Dear Sister Pothoof,
"You are hereby called as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Arizona Mesa mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of 18 months. You will be prepared to preach the gospel in the Spanish language..." And I was to leave March 13th.

My heart started beating fast. March 13th? I was hoping later. I did set my availability date for sometime in January, but at the time that I submitted my papers, I was hoping to sell my apartment contract. But there had been no bites. None whatsoever. Not even anyone interested. I couldn't pay for my apartment AND a mission. And all my things were in Utah! I would have to fly back from Wisconsin, pack all my things, drive home, then come back out in March. How was I to do all that? If I had received my call before I came home, perhaps I would have been able to pack or at least make some sort of plan. I didn't know what to do, and I felt horrible inside concerning the date. Not to mention, I was to be serving in the States. Everyone had assumed I'd go to Germany like my brother or some place foreign, but no. I was stuck in the States. Arizona, no less, where my only memory of the place was getting really sick once from driving through. A Wisconsin girl, used to -20 F or more temperatures going to about the hottest place in the U.S.

I felt kind of guilty about some of these thoughts. I didn't doubt the prophet nor that this was an inspired call, but it just didn't feel right to me.

For the rest of the break, this call was on my mind. We didn't have any grand "Let's-celebrate-Jesse's-mission-call" event. In fact, my mom didn't even have energy to make a special dinner that night. I didn't mind too much, although I felt bad because she felt bad about it.

I tried to think of various scenarios that I could do to make this work. After all, the Lord will call you at the right time, so there had to be a way, right? I searched for hours trying to figure out about selling my contract and coming home to work, or staying in Provo, UT to take some term classes. Nothing seemed to fit, however. I just couldn't figure out how to make this work.

With a mission call come a website that prospective missionaries can use to access things to help them prepare. I started doing that, watching the District and such. I watched the Errand of Angels, and even read the book 18 Months, a collection of sister-missionary stories. Instead of being filled with excitement, I was filled with dread and anxiety. I couldn't explain it, but something just didn't feel right. However, when I tried to explain things, I felt like I was doubting the Lord, His timing, and His will. I really wanted to do what Heavenly Father was asking of me. I just didn't know how to do it. My brain started to get more and more fuzzy the more I tried to figure it out, and I wanted to hide from this mess.

It was actually my branch president who thought about postponing my mission to a later date. He made the phone calls and suggested April 24th. It would be the last day of finals at BYU. I could work with that. Maybe my professors will even let me take the exams early so that I could have a few days to prepare.

I felt much better after thinking about this, but I was still uneasy.

I didn't return to school on a happy note, however. Although I had a mission call in my hand, I had sorrow in my heart. My brother had gone on one of his rampages and was verbally fighting with his girlfriend. Honestly, I don't remember much of it; my mom had sent me downstairs to watch the dog. There was a lot of yelling and threats being made, and the police were even called. His girlfriend left to go to a women's shelter as she was basically homeless. My brother cooled down enough to breath and say goodbye as I left for the plane that same night. It is hard to see someone such as your tough, older brother cry so much in front of you. Although I was also feeling hurt from his actions, I couldn't help but still love him.

I think I also cried that night as we were driving to catch my flight back to Provo. I was certainly hurt, and in many ways. I was drained and tired from the few weeks I had been home and living in that tense atmosphere, but I also felt lonely, like nobody cared that I had just received a mission call. I knew they did, but I couldn't feel it. In fact, I couldn't feel many things at that moment. Just sadness, confusion, and exhaustion.

Mission Prep: the Pains of Paperwork

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me, for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them

Ether 12:27

I think I can trace my latest and biggest meltdown to the time that I received my mission call and prepared for my mission. It's sad to say that something so wonderful could be the source of so much grief and pain. However, anyone who has served a mission or is preparing to serve knows that the adversary is working his hardest during this time. Satan will do anything to prevent servants of the Lord from sharing the gospel, and he knows our weaknesses. Looking back, I can see now how this challenge from the adversary has in fact been a blessing, for now my weakness is becoming strong. Before I get to that part, let me back up a little about some of the things that happened as I was preparing for a mission.

Growing up, I'd often thought about going on a mission, but I always wavered on the idea. One of my brothers served a mission in Germany, and since then, I've felt a small amount of pressure from my family to go. However, when it came down to it, I knew that it was my choice to go if I felt so impressed.

Then came the historical declaration from the prophet Thomas S. Monson, lowering the age for missionaries. The change was especially dramatic for sisters because now they could serve at age 19 rather than 21.

And I was 20.

I could go. Practically right then. Should I? Would I?

I especially remember that day watching General Conference in my apartment and hearing that announcement. All the girls around me were giddy and screaming with excitement. Me? My heart was pounding. Yes, I felt the excitement, but I also knew all of my fears, the fears that I had been battling since middle school. On top of all that, I was (and still am) shy. The idea of sharing the gospel with complete strangers, teaching them lessons and such, scared me. But everyone was excited to go. All my friends who were the same age as me immediately started making plans to serve, and everyone kept asking me if I would do the same.

I actually worked at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) at the time, and in between conference sessions I was working in the dishroom. The announcement was buzzing in my head that whole shift. On my way home, however, is when I received a very special answer from Heavenly Father about why I should serve a mission: that it would help me to teach my future children.

Whoa.

Most people, when they say they want to go on a mission, it's because they want to share the gospel that has so touched and changed their lives. They wanted to share the good news about Christ and his Atonement, about the Restored Gospel and Joseph Smith. Don't get me wrong, those were also reasons for me to go, but the one that gave me the courage to call my bishop to start the process was because of my future family.

Filling out all the online work came with it's own unique challenges. Since I wasn't at home, my mom ended up having to email or mail certain paperwork for doctors and dentists. At one point we had to fax some paper work over to the campus student health center, and somehow the paperwork got lost along the way. After making several treks to the health center (I say 'trek' because it's a bit of a distance for someone who doesn't have a car), they finally received the information and allowed me to continue with the process. I was emotionally drained at that point because of trying to jump through so many hoops just to fill out a bit of paperwork.

There are two moments in particular that I remember wondering if I was really ready for a mission. The first was filling out my health history. There was a question or two concerning depression and eating disorders, and having them in the past. Well, I knew that I definitely had many depressive moments, but, after all, everyone has their down days, right? Mine just occurred more frequently. I knew I also had a problem with food, but I had never been officially diagnosed with a disorder. Besides, I was over it. I wasn't starving myself anymore. I still sometimes had the mindset, probably more often than I would care to admit, but they didn't need to know about that. It was behind me, in the past. So I didn't say anything about it.

Then came the physical with doctor. She also asked me about being depressed. I told her that every now and then I got that way, but it was never debilitating or prevented me from doing the things I needed to do. I would still be able to function as a missionary.

So, without much more questioning, I finished up my paperwork and interviews finally (after a couple of months), pressed the 'submit' button, and waited.

The wait was awful, as it is with anyone waiting to receive their call, but I was also incredibly busy with preparing for finals. One would think that I would be too preoccupied with the anticipation of my mission call, but for some reason I wasn't. I had to focus on what was going on now, which was finals. I had also noticed myself mentally slipping into depression as the semester went on due to the high demands of my classes, and I didn't want to think about how maybe I perhaps wasn't ready for a mission.

What I was feeling then, however, was only a shadow of what I would feel after I had received my mission call.

The Battle Continues

As I mentioned, I snapped out of this destructive eating mentality. For a while. It hit a dormant stage, exposing itself during times of high stress: tough class and big exams, roommate drama, boyfriend breakup, preparing for a mission. It was a crack in my armor that I thought was fixed but wasn't.

I ended up gaining back about half of the weight I had lost, and for a while, it seemed like I everything was fine, that I had overcome this little battle. No therapy, no medicines. It was a secret thing between me, my family, and my Heavenly Father. I had overcome this hurdle, or so I thought. I don't know why exactly, but my freshman year at college wasn't much of a problem for me. It was certainly a hard and stressful time. I remember that first semester being a lonely one, but the second semester I made some good friends. Perhaps this is why I was fine: I finally found a group to fit in, and I loved them. They helped me and my self-esteem. They were truly blessings from God.

Going home that summer was tough; my parents had just moved to a new town, a tiny speck in Wisconsin, and I knew no one. Living there now, I still don't know where the nearest active LDS young single adult lives (I think they are all hanging out at the university in Madison). I was far away from the friends that I had just made. Some were on missions, some went home, and some stayed at school. It was a lonely first month back. Mentally I slipped, but kind of in the opposite direction. I didn't overeat, and I wasn't bulimic. I just didn't do the greatest in my eating. And it began to show quickly. I started gaining weight. As the scale went up, my self-esteem went down. How would people view me when I came back to school? Not to mention, I was trying to find a job, and I felt like a useless bum hanging around the house all day. My anxiety to move, get going and get out, started to become overwhelming. I doubted who I was. I hated who I was, how I looked. I felt awful in my very skin. I was downright depressed. Again.

I went to a doctor to get my thyroid checked (I have the Hoshimoto's disease, basically an autoimmune form of hypothyroidism). Often it can be the cause of depression and weight gain. The doctor basically told me that it would be easy to lose weight. It's basic math: don't eat this amount of calories, burn this many, and you'll lose the weight. If only it were that easy! If that were truly the case, if there were really no other factors involved, then I should be a stick by now! (As I soon learned in my nutrition class later that year, weight gain/loss is extremely complicated, not just the basic math that teachers and doctors have been telling us for years.)

After about a month or so, I did end up getting a job at Walmart. Not the the most amazing job in the world, but it helped me in more ways than one: I was able to start saving money for college, I was busy doing something productive, and it was physical, demanding work. I also stayed busy at church being a nursery leader. When it came time to come back to school, I was feeling much better than before but completely ready to get back into things and be with friends.

However, there was still that little chink in my armor, a weakness ready to be exposed with just the right amount of pressure. That pressure was felt during my following semesters at school, shattering my defenses and leaving me an emotional mess.

The Atonement

I'm going to take a little side-step from my reminiscing to talk about something very dear to me. In light of the latest General Conference (for those of you who are not LDS, General Conferecnce, broadcasted by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is a bi-yearly event where members of our church are able to listen and receive guidance from our beloved prophet and apostles), Elder David A Bednare had a talk that basically hit home with me: the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

I've always loved any talk given on the Atonement, but especially lately, as I've been healing spiritually and emotionally, I've been thinking about just how powerful it really is.

Among other things, the Atonement has two parts that I want to touch on: the redemptive aspect, and the healing aspect. I guess, mingled with those two, it would be appropriate to also mention the enabling power of it. 

Growing up, I've always heard so much about how Christ came to earth to suffer for our sins. Anything that is wrong in our lives, we can be forgiven if we have faith in Christ and repent.

8 And now, behold, I will testify unto you of myself that these things are true. Behold, I say unto you, that I do know that Christ shall come among the children of men, to take upon him the transgressions of his people, and that he shall atone for the sins of the world; for the Lord God hath spoken it.

9 For it is expedient that an atonement should be made; for according to the great plan of the Eternal God there must be an atonement made, or else all mankind must unavoidably perish; yea, all are hardened; yea, all are fallen and are lost, and must perish except it be through the atonement which it is expedient should be made.

10 For it is expedient that there should be a great and last sacrifice; yea, not a sacrifice of man, neither of beast, neither of any manner of fowl; for it shall not be a human sacrifice; but it must be an infinite and eternal sacrifice. (Alma 34:8-10)

We all make mistakes in this life. That's just a basic fact of mortality. However, it is through Christ, who takes our sins upon himself so that we can be saved. He sacrificed himself so that we can one day have exaltation and eternal life. The key is to have faith in Him, to trust that He died for us that we might live.

However, Christ did more than just bleed for our sins while in the Garden of Gethsemane: he suffered for all of our pains, afflictions, weaknesses, every single thing that we go through, all so that he may know how to comfort us when we struggle:

11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. (Alma 7:11-12)

So, if this is true, does that mean that Christ knows how I'm feeling today? How I feel when I'm sad for no real reason? When I get anxiety or depression that makes it so hard to focus on school work, on learning Spanish for my mission? Does he know that I had to fight mentally every single day of my mission not to cry, not to give up? When my brain was so completely fuzzed, did he know I tried my very best to keep moving forward but felt too weak to go on?

Yes.

He knows ALL of this. Not just my sins (and yes, I've had plenty of them), but he knows my emotional pain when no one else seems to understand. But He does.

Since being home, I've seen the effects of the Atonement help me heal. It was slow and dramatic at first. Healing takes time, after all. He knew what I needed most to help me heal, even if I didn't understand it. He sent me home so that, once and for all, I can finally overcome this depression, this anxiety with food. He sent me wonderful friends and a family, all of whom support me. With these, medication, and the help of a loving therapist, I have progressed so much. I went from a breakdown once a day to maybe once a month. I have more self-confidence, more hope, more faith. The fog in my brain has finally lifted, and I can see things clearly now. I can think straight. I have a desire to do things.

I am so much stronger.

I still have a long way to go for healing. I still have chips in my armor that need mending, but it is through faith in Christ, my Savior, that I can heal from these emotional wounds. I can now look back at the past year since entering the MTC, not with regret and remorse, but as a period of growth and healing.

And I would not have exchanged my challenges, nor the wonderful experiences I had,
for anything else in the world.

The Battle of the Mind

You know, I once had a doctor tell me I was fat. Well, not directly, but close enough. I knew what she meant. I had gone in for a physical, and she asked me lots of questions about how much exercise I got and such. Even though I wasn't that coordinated or that good at sports, I was still fairly active. At the time I was babysitting a little boy during the summers, and I would always bike to his home. In fact, most days I would get out and ride my bike around for hours. I knew those neighborhoods literally like the back of my hands. I could tell you how to get to every single park nearby, and I often walked to those, too. I loved being outside. Still do, in fact. Anyway, before I left that doctor's visit, the doctor gave me a pedometer and told me I should walk something like 4000 steps a day, around two miles or so.

That's easy, I thought. It will be just like a game!

I would wear this thing everywhere, just to see how many steps I could get. I would walk around the house, around school, during babysitting. It did become somewhat of a game to see how many steps I would take. During those long hours of babysitting when the boy I watched went to play with the neighbor kid, I would jump around and such during commercials on TV.

Hm...maybe this is why I can't sit still for very long now. I get anxiety after an hour. Long car rides and TV/movie marathons are now almost out of the question. I need to move. I think I fear that if I sit too long, I will get fat. Silly, I know, but definitely with a hint of truth in it.

Now I've somewhat adapted to this anxiety, allowing myself some time to get up and stretch, especially during long car rides or meetings. However, I know I also tend to compensate with food--that is, not eating much of it. At the time, it became a battle in the mind. "If I eat _______ (fill in the blank)," I would think, "Then I will get fat. I have to move so much in order to burn it off." I would think like that all the time. I became obsessed with comparing how many calories I ate with how I many I burned at the gym. It was all I could think about. I remember in high school wiggling my feet in class to burn off random small amounts of calories. I had read somewhere about wiggling during that day could burn around 300 calories, and I figured, if I wanted to lose weight, then I had to do it. Consuming food and burning calories. Consuming and burning. If I consumed less and burned more, I will loose weight. This was my thinking. It was all I really thought about, and I thought about it all the time. Consuming and burning. It overcame my thoughts, making it hard some days to focus on other things. All I could think about was that I was fat and that I had to eat less and exercise more.

I admit, being a nutritional science major, there is some truth behind all of this. That was Satan's tool: take a bit of truth and exaggerate it to use it against you. Yes, if I eat less and exercise more, scientifically, I should lose weight (ignoring the many other factors involved in metabolism), but the way I was going about it was what damaged me. I disregarded the fact that I was a growing girl, that the body does need a certain amount of calories to function properly. Whenever I tried to tell myself that eating this one thing would not turn me into the size of a killer whale, my mind would fight itself. One side tells me it's ok, the other side telling me lies. This escalated
into anxiety, and sometimes I just couldn't decide what to eat, or if I should, so I just didn't.

I lost 40 pounds within a relatively short amount of time. By looking at me, you couldn't tell I was anorexic or had an eating disorder. I wasn't underweight yet because I was still a bit pudgy. However, looking at the pattern I was going in, my mom and even my doctor started to get worried. Instead of her telling me that I needed to lose weight, she was asking me how I was doing it. I didn't tell her that I wasn't eating much. In my eyes, I was still eating normal-sized helpings, just more fruits and vegetables (less calories, remember?).

What kind of snapped me out of it, at least for a little while, was my mom once talking to me, telling me that, if things got worse, people would investigate the situation. I would be monitored, and my parents would be questioned as well. I didn't really fear for myself, but I didn't want my parents to get into trouble. I loved them, and I could feel their love through all of this. I think it was them that helped me not go extreme with things. They knew I was a daughter of God and precious, no matter what size.

Unfortunately it is a lesson I'm still learning.

As I said, this moment kind of snapped me out of things, but not completely...

Remembering

I've really neglected writing anything on here. Not that anyone is following.

Yet.

Everyone has bad moments in life that are hard to live through. Remembering them can be just as painful, if not more so. This is especially true when you are still going through the healing process. Looking back years down the road when everything is said and done, that's when you can look back and see how far you've come. On the other hand, if you're still in the midst of everything, it just hurts.

This happened to me around New Year's. Well, and now, but now is not as bad. You see, New Year's is the time to reflect, think about the past year, and make plans for the following. I was reflecting. Big time. The past year had been an emotional roller coaster, and looking back on it was just as bad.

The problem with depression, at least for me, is that my brain is really good at rewinding and replaying. I consider it "thinking to much", but my mom likes to say that we're rewinding tapes, which, in a way, we are. The brain likes to hook onto negative memories and emotions. For me, once that starts happening, it's hard to stop it. That's how Christmas time and New Year's was like for me. My brain played through the traumatic day of getting my mission call, returning to school, dating and breaking up (and the drama with that), struggling with hard classes, preparing and leaving for a mission, the darkness I felt thus far, being treated for depression, leaving for Mesa and the many challenges there, and finally the decision to go home and what had happened since. I would look at my friends and how they seemed to be doing so well in their lives: my best friend and former roommate was having so much success serving in her mission; several other of my friends were getting married or doing exciting things in their lives. Where was I? I had come home from a mission early because emotionally I couldn't handle it. I was at home, living with my parents, and working at Walmart.

This wasn't exactly my idea of an exciting life.

I felt like a total and complete failure. I wasn't in school. I wasn't on a mission. I wasn't hanging out with anyone or really going anywhere with my life. I felt stuck, helpless, and hopeless.

My first mistake was to compare myself against others. That never goes over well. We are all in different stages in our lives. We all have our own personal challenges.We can't really compare ourselves with others because we are all so completely different--different strengths and weaknesses, talents and abilities. We just can't do it. And it makes us feel terrible when we do it because we can never measure up to someone else's standard or ability. When we isolate our imperfections and magnify their perfections, of course we're going to feel terrible about ourselves. It's a awful trap that so many of us find ourselves in.

My second mistake was not having faith in my Heavenly Father. He knows the sorrow and pain I felt (and still feel). He knew this would happen, and he new I could learn from it. It is all part of His plan for me, even though I can't see the entire picture yet.

However, as I said, our brains tend to hang on to the negative memories and emotions. It was hard for me to see that I really was progressing, even if it wasn't quite in the way I wanted. My mom would often (and still does) point out the changes she could see in me, how I was more confident, more cheery, more relaxed. I went from breakdowns everyday to one every month or less often. These are the things I need to remember. Although I'm not exactly where I want to be, I'm doing so much better than I was, and that's what matters.

Next month will mark my one-year mark of entering the MTC. My brain is already being flooded with memories and sadness, and I wonder if it will get worse as the day approaches. The good news is that I'm more prepared; I have the tools to help combat this, and I have the friends and family to support me. I am healing. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real and powerful. He has helped me this far, and I know that he will continue to help me and strengthen me.