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.