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.