The rest of my mission can be summed up through reading my posts sent via email. The purpose of this post is to sum up some of my final feelings and bring some closure in my mind to the events that led to me finishing my mission early.
Earlier today I read a blog post by another missionary who served in the same mission that I did. She went through a similar experience. She was so open and honest, and through her display of courage, I figured that I could do the same. (Her post can be found HERE)
To provide a short disclaimer, the things expressed in this post are entirely my own thoughts based on my own knowledge and experiences. They may not always be accurate because I don't know everything, and I would encourage anyone and everyone to investigate and form their own conclusions.
In August of 2013, 5 months after I left on my mission, an ugly beast that had plagued me most of my life, decided to manifest itself in the most forward and unavoidable way. For most of my life, I have been described as "shy". In some situations, I thrived as a social butterfly, and in others, I was so completely incompetent that I wanted to run away and cry. I have always been uncomfortable with unknown people. I can't really explain why or how, all I understand is how I feel. When I see people I don't know, I feel a sense of horror. The feeling of anxiety isn't much different than how I feel after I have a run in with a large spider. (because of social expectation, I don't scream and run away. If I wasn't so consumed with what people think of me, I totally would.) If you're reading this, and we've never met, it's nothing personal, but you absolutely terrify me. I may never show it, and in truth, I'll never openly admit it.
Some examples of what that means:
Sometimes I feel like a jerk because I won't give money to homeless people, but they scare me; purely because I don't know them, and to give them money would mean having to interact. Job interviewers, I'm sure they're nice people, but if they weren't a gatekeeper to gainful employment, I wouldn't go out of my way to meet them. New friends, as much as I would love to have them, the fact that I have to meet them usually takes away any interest in actually seeking them out.
Most of the people I've met are from forced social interaction. People that I've been in school with, worked with, studied with, etc. If I haven't had a specific reason to interact with you, chances are I haven't gone out of my way to meet you. But once I meet you and am convinced that you aren't secretly a vampire (not the Twilight kind) or a member of a secret underground society bent on destroying me, I tend to come to love and trust people easily.
Well, the mechanisms that I had established through experience were now gone. Whereas previously I would just avoid uncomfortable situations, and follow up necessary ones with periods of seclusion and "quiet time", these options were no longer available. I was a missionary. I was now one of the public faces representing my religion and bearing the name and responsibility of serving my Savior, Jesus Christ. I took my calling very seriously (probably too seriously) and refused to do anything that might diminish that calling. At that time, my companion and I were working diligently to find people, because we didn't really have many people to teach. The teaching pool that had existed dried up quickly, and we were left with our only option being to find new people to teach. This meant that most of our day from 11 AM to 9 PM would include finding new people interested in learning about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Given my increasingly apparent social anxiety, this meant spending hours on a crowded train platform feeling horribly alone, and too terrified to talk to people. My companion was never too far away, but I always felt alone. Because of the amount of time that I had in my own head to talk to myself, my thoughts quickly turned to negative thoughts about how weak I was, how stupid I was and how ridiculous I was for purporting to be a missionary willing to boldly proclaim the gospel when I couldn't even open my mouth and say 'hello'. I came to have feelings of self loathing, disgust and overall dissatisfaction with my life.
These negative feelings were horribly detrimental to the work that my companion and I were trying to do, and I would constantly blame myself for holding him back. I always felt that if he could just have a better companion, things would be amazing; that if I was removed from the picture, all of the problems we were facing would go away. I would force myself into uncomfortable situations to -- what it seemed in my own mind -- allow my companion to 'be a good missionary', and I started to lose faith that I could ever get beyond it. The highlight of my day was going back to the flat (apartment) to cook dinner, because I felt that feeding my companion was the only thing in my day that actually provided value, and wasn't a detriment to the mission.
Because I knew that all of the tools were there for me to be successful, and I had a companion that was an amazing missionary, I placed all of the blame completely on myself. It didn't make any sense in my mind that the problem could be anything but my own inadequacies. I suffered through all of this, thinking it was completely normal and that this was what I would have to endure for the rest of my mission without cause for alarm. This lasted for a few weeks until one day, I had an experience that changed my mind.
It was a normal day of contacting at the train station in the city. I was leaning up against a railing, absorbed in my own negative self talk, and escalating and spiraling into a toxic mix of self loathing and feelings of inadequacy. In the process of my thoughts I heard the announcement of a train approaching and heard the horn as the train approached the station. Given my placement near the end of the platform, near where the train would approach the most rapidly, without warning because it was a subway and the train wouldn't be able to see it coming, and would have less than a second to respond, a loudly conscious thought came into my mind that "all of this would end if you just jump."
Despite my horrible emotional state, I immediately recognized that it was a suicidal thought and that something was wrong. Given that I had previously worked with a company that sold a therapy for depression, I knew that when things escalated to suicide that it required immediate action, and I needed to speak up and get help. Had I not had that experience and training, that may have been my first attempt at suicide. Realizing now the severity of the situation, I walked over to my companion and asked to use the phone. He handed it to me and I called my mission president and asked if I could set an appointment with him. Not trying to cause too much alarm, I didn't give much information up front, but I believe he could hear the uneasiness and trepidation in my voice and agreed to meet me that day. We called our Zone Leaders and asked if we could borrow their car to make the 30 minute drive to the Mission Office. My companion drove and I met with my mission president and told him everything. I tried to be objective in my description, knowing that exposing too much of the emotion of the situation is hard to hear. I didn't want to cause any unnecessary pain. Despite my best efforts, as I described the suicidal thought, I broke down and cried. The first time I had truly cried at the pain I had been trying to reason away as my own weakness.
In that interview, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could feel the peace that comes through the the Atonement of Jesus Christ. In speaking honestly and openly about what I had experienced, I had a moment of clarity when I could recognize and feel the protection I had been afforded, and was willing to accept the peace that comes through the companionship of the Holy Ghost. A feeling that would be only temporary, but at that time, I knew that whatever happened, I would be okay. At later times, when all hope seemed to be lost, I would have to trust and remember that feeling that I felt in that office that day.
As I left the office, we collected mail for the missionaries that were in the area we were headed back to, and some of the mail was the monthly Ensign magazine that each companionship received. As I went through it, there were a couple of articles that seemed to be placed there only for me, to comfort me at that time. I spent the whole trip home crying to myself as I read those articles. Later that day, after we were home, I would share in more detail, but without emotion, the experience that I had that day. I felt that my companion deserved to have some understanding of the severity of the situation, as he would be greatly affected by what that meant. I would now be speaking with a counselor frequently, and I would need him to be more understanding and willing to work with me.
As I spoke with the counselor, he helped me with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to be able to better identify the negative thoughts I was having. I learned how to ground my thoughts more in reality and show more charity toward myself and others. Things didn't really get easier, and I consistently thought that I should just "go home" since suicide had been ruled out as an option. But I was ever willing to keep trying.
Two weeks after the first incident, I would experience something for which I was wholly unprepared. I had had an unusually difficult day, and I convinced my companion to head home early. He decided to work with the area book and make phone calls, and I resigned myself to making dinner. I normally found it relaxing and fulfilling to cook. I was going to cook some meat and mashed potatoes with a green salad. We had found a really great deal on beef that was reduced for quick sale, and I really wanted to eat a nice meal. I had prepped the kitchen and was at the sink peeling the potatoes. We didn't have a vegetable peeler so I was using a paring knife. I had already peeled two potatoes, and as I started the third, the negative self talk started again, thoughts such as, 'What's wrong with you, why can't you just get over it?' and, 'you're such a worthless person, you can't even do what you came out here to do.' Half way through peeling the potato a feeling that was so immediately strong came over me, and without thought, I could feel my body wanting to die. My whole physical being wanted to separate from this difficult reality I was experiencing. No thoughts of friends, or family. No thoughts of the love and support that I was receiving from my parents, my friends, the other missionaries. My only feeling was, 'Death would be easier than this!' In that instant, without my conscious permission or desire, but a feeling that felt completely inside of me, as if my whole body wanted it so completely, I felt my hand that was holding the knife move ever so slightly toward my wrist and a feeling of calm sweet release come over me. I felt as if my body was going to get what it wanted, regardless of reason or thought, regardless of my wishes, and slip into a sweet abyss without feeling.
At that moment, I froze. As if time stopped in that moment, I tensed my entire body so tightly that I couldn't move voluntarily or otherwise, I even for a time stopped breathing. Logic had stepped in, and panic and shock immediately took over, overcoming that calm feeling of release. I stood there in almost complete tension, forcing myself to a slow and low breath, afraid to allow myself to move. In what seemed to be a moment of great ecstasy, fear saved my life. Not a fear of death, but a fear of making a grave mistake.
After about 3 minutes, I managed to get to breathing normally again and placed the knife and the potato down. I swiftly left the kitchen and went to my bed and cried silently to myself. After I was able to compose myself, I said a prayer and returned to the kitchen and finished cooking dinner. I proceeded as normal and acted like nothing happened. Silently to myself, I planned to end my mission then and come home. I would prepare everything so that I could leave easily and without attachment. We had a temple trip scheduled, and I was going to confirm my feelings as I worshiped in the temple. The answer that I received was very specific in word, 'It is your choice. It's up to you.' Given that I had already decided, I once again called my mission president and asked him to meet with me. I was already at the mission office and he drove over from his home and I told him, 'I've already decided it's time to go home, but I trust your judgement. What do you think I should do?' His answer was that I could go home if that's what was best, but he felt like there was still a lot that I could contribute. I agreed to stay for one more transfer (a period of 6 weeks) then I would decide to come home.
That next transfer wasn't easy, but I got better. I was moved to a less densely populated area, and for several reasons, I didn't have to push through my social anxiety as much. I started to feel somewhat normal and feeling like I could get through it. I made some friends, and started to feel happy again. So at the end of the transfer, I just didn't say anything. I was going to continue with my mission. At the last minute, I got a new companion and I was really looking forward to a great transfer.
My new companion was great! He worked hard, he liked to have fun and laugh a lot, and he made friends with everyone. He was aware of my situation, and was very willing to work with me on it. The first week, things were pretty ok. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I started to feel completely detached. Not happy, not sad, just nothing. Like I didn't even exist. At first I thought it was amusing, like maybe I was having some sort of weird high, but it soon turned into a complete loss of interest in everything. I didn't want to wake up, or get out of bed, or eat, or read my scriptures or pray. I continued to do all of those things, but I was completely unmotivated. I stopped feeling inspiration and felt like I had lost any connection with God unless he very directly wanted me to know something. Then I started to think I had done something wrong. Like I was being punished, I started to be afraid of making mistakes for fear that I would experience God's wrath (it didn't help that I happened to be studying the old testament at that time). I felt that if I failed at all that God would preclude me from going to heaven. Luckily I had an appointment with the counselor to check up on me, and he told me that I was experiencing something new called, 'Depression'. For the next several weeks I would go through several phases: Melancholy, irritability, despair, overly sympathetic, completely apathetic.
When things weren't improving, and CBT wasn't helping either, he suggested that I try medication. My immediate response was 'No. I am not going to become a drug addict.' His response was very logical and moderate, but I still didn't want to. I then had a conversation with my mission president who suggested that maybe I ought to give it a try. The choice was always mine, but I figured that it could maybe help, so I would try medication.
I then scheduled an appointment to get a prescription. The first medication I tried was not effective. When I took it in the morning, I would sleep all night and all day, just constant fatigue, and difficulty staying awake. Then I tried taking it at night and still had constant fatigue, but couldn't sleep. I would stay up all night and only really be able to sleep from 6 am to 11 am (which is not when I was supposed to be sleeping). The medication also made me very irritable, impatient, and generally an unpleasant person. After giving it an appropriate amount of time for the side effects to possibly settle, they didn't, so I was taken off that medication and put on another one.
The second medication had a much fewer side effects, but it also took away any feelings. I didn't feel happy, or sad, and feeling nothing to me is worse than feeling bad. So I was taken of that medication as well. At this point I was tired of trying meds. I had been on an emotional roller coaster that ranged from bad to terrible to even worse than terrible and back to bad again.
After a lot of consideration and stubbornness from me (I had been fighting it long enough that I was just ready to tough it out and make it work regardless) my mission president decided that I would have a much better chance of recovering from my illness at home. It was horribly difficult accepting that, even though previously I had wanted nothing more.
To be continued...
Earlier today I read a blog post by another missionary who served in the same mission that I did. She went through a similar experience. She was so open and honest, and through her display of courage, I figured that I could do the same. (Her post can be found HERE)
To provide a short disclaimer, the things expressed in this post are entirely my own thoughts based on my own knowledge and experiences. They may not always be accurate because I don't know everything, and I would encourage anyone and everyone to investigate and form their own conclusions.
In August of 2013, 5 months after I left on my mission, an ugly beast that had plagued me most of my life, decided to manifest itself in the most forward and unavoidable way. For most of my life, I have been described as "shy". In some situations, I thrived as a social butterfly, and in others, I was so completely incompetent that I wanted to run away and cry. I have always been uncomfortable with unknown people. I can't really explain why or how, all I understand is how I feel. When I see people I don't know, I feel a sense of horror. The feeling of anxiety isn't much different than how I feel after I have a run in with a large spider. (because of social expectation, I don't scream and run away. If I wasn't so consumed with what people think of me, I totally would.) If you're reading this, and we've never met, it's nothing personal, but you absolutely terrify me. I may never show it, and in truth, I'll never openly admit it.
Some examples of what that means:
Sometimes I feel like a jerk because I won't give money to homeless people, but they scare me; purely because I don't know them, and to give them money would mean having to interact. Job interviewers, I'm sure they're nice people, but if they weren't a gatekeeper to gainful employment, I wouldn't go out of my way to meet them. New friends, as much as I would love to have them, the fact that I have to meet them usually takes away any interest in actually seeking them out.
Most of the people I've met are from forced social interaction. People that I've been in school with, worked with, studied with, etc. If I haven't had a specific reason to interact with you, chances are I haven't gone out of my way to meet you. But once I meet you and am convinced that you aren't secretly a vampire (not the Twilight kind) or a member of a secret underground society bent on destroying me, I tend to come to love and trust people easily.
Well, the mechanisms that I had established through experience were now gone. Whereas previously I would just avoid uncomfortable situations, and follow up necessary ones with periods of seclusion and "quiet time", these options were no longer available. I was a missionary. I was now one of the public faces representing my religion and bearing the name and responsibility of serving my Savior, Jesus Christ. I took my calling very seriously (probably too seriously) and refused to do anything that might diminish that calling. At that time, my companion and I were working diligently to find people, because we didn't really have many people to teach. The teaching pool that had existed dried up quickly, and we were left with our only option being to find new people to teach. This meant that most of our day from 11 AM to 9 PM would include finding new people interested in learning about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Given my increasingly apparent social anxiety, this meant spending hours on a crowded train platform feeling horribly alone, and too terrified to talk to people. My companion was never too far away, but I always felt alone. Because of the amount of time that I had in my own head to talk to myself, my thoughts quickly turned to negative thoughts about how weak I was, how stupid I was and how ridiculous I was for purporting to be a missionary willing to boldly proclaim the gospel when I couldn't even open my mouth and say 'hello'. I came to have feelings of self loathing, disgust and overall dissatisfaction with my life.
These negative feelings were horribly detrimental to the work that my companion and I were trying to do, and I would constantly blame myself for holding him back. I always felt that if he could just have a better companion, things would be amazing; that if I was removed from the picture, all of the problems we were facing would go away. I would force myself into uncomfortable situations to -- what it seemed in my own mind -- allow my companion to 'be a good missionary', and I started to lose faith that I could ever get beyond it. The highlight of my day was going back to the flat (apartment) to cook dinner, because I felt that feeding my companion was the only thing in my day that actually provided value, and wasn't a detriment to the mission.
Because I knew that all of the tools were there for me to be successful, and I had a companion that was an amazing missionary, I placed all of the blame completely on myself. It didn't make any sense in my mind that the problem could be anything but my own inadequacies. I suffered through all of this, thinking it was completely normal and that this was what I would have to endure for the rest of my mission without cause for alarm. This lasted for a few weeks until one day, I had an experience that changed my mind.
It was a normal day of contacting at the train station in the city. I was leaning up against a railing, absorbed in my own negative self talk, and escalating and spiraling into a toxic mix of self loathing and feelings of inadequacy. In the process of my thoughts I heard the announcement of a train approaching and heard the horn as the train approached the station. Given my placement near the end of the platform, near where the train would approach the most rapidly, without warning because it was a subway and the train wouldn't be able to see it coming, and would have less than a second to respond, a loudly conscious thought came into my mind that "all of this would end if you just jump."
Despite my horrible emotional state, I immediately recognized that it was a suicidal thought and that something was wrong. Given that I had previously worked with a company that sold a therapy for depression, I knew that when things escalated to suicide that it required immediate action, and I needed to speak up and get help. Had I not had that experience and training, that may have been my first attempt at suicide. Realizing now the severity of the situation, I walked over to my companion and asked to use the phone. He handed it to me and I called my mission president and asked if I could set an appointment with him. Not trying to cause too much alarm, I didn't give much information up front, but I believe he could hear the uneasiness and trepidation in my voice and agreed to meet me that day. We called our Zone Leaders and asked if we could borrow their car to make the 30 minute drive to the Mission Office. My companion drove and I met with my mission president and told him everything. I tried to be objective in my description, knowing that exposing too much of the emotion of the situation is hard to hear. I didn't want to cause any unnecessary pain. Despite my best efforts, as I described the suicidal thought, I broke down and cried. The first time I had truly cried at the pain I had been trying to reason away as my own weakness.
In that interview, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could feel the peace that comes through the the Atonement of Jesus Christ. In speaking honestly and openly about what I had experienced, I had a moment of clarity when I could recognize and feel the protection I had been afforded, and was willing to accept the peace that comes through the companionship of the Holy Ghost. A feeling that would be only temporary, but at that time, I knew that whatever happened, I would be okay. At later times, when all hope seemed to be lost, I would have to trust and remember that feeling that I felt in that office that day.
As I left the office, we collected mail for the missionaries that were in the area we were headed back to, and some of the mail was the monthly Ensign magazine that each companionship received. As I went through it, there were a couple of articles that seemed to be placed there only for me, to comfort me at that time. I spent the whole trip home crying to myself as I read those articles. Later that day, after we were home, I would share in more detail, but without emotion, the experience that I had that day. I felt that my companion deserved to have some understanding of the severity of the situation, as he would be greatly affected by what that meant. I would now be speaking with a counselor frequently, and I would need him to be more understanding and willing to work with me.
As I spoke with the counselor, he helped me with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to be able to better identify the negative thoughts I was having. I learned how to ground my thoughts more in reality and show more charity toward myself and others. Things didn't really get easier, and I consistently thought that I should just "go home" since suicide had been ruled out as an option. But I was ever willing to keep trying.
Two weeks after the first incident, I would experience something for which I was wholly unprepared. I had had an unusually difficult day, and I convinced my companion to head home early. He decided to work with the area book and make phone calls, and I resigned myself to making dinner. I normally found it relaxing and fulfilling to cook. I was going to cook some meat and mashed potatoes with a green salad. We had found a really great deal on beef that was reduced for quick sale, and I really wanted to eat a nice meal. I had prepped the kitchen and was at the sink peeling the potatoes. We didn't have a vegetable peeler so I was using a paring knife. I had already peeled two potatoes, and as I started the third, the negative self talk started again, thoughts such as, 'What's wrong with you, why can't you just get over it?' and, 'you're such a worthless person, you can't even do what you came out here to do.' Half way through peeling the potato a feeling that was so immediately strong came over me, and without thought, I could feel my body wanting to die. My whole physical being wanted to separate from this difficult reality I was experiencing. No thoughts of friends, or family. No thoughts of the love and support that I was receiving from my parents, my friends, the other missionaries. My only feeling was, 'Death would be easier than this!' In that instant, without my conscious permission or desire, but a feeling that felt completely inside of me, as if my whole body wanted it so completely, I felt my hand that was holding the knife move ever so slightly toward my wrist and a feeling of calm sweet release come over me. I felt as if my body was going to get what it wanted, regardless of reason or thought, regardless of my wishes, and slip into a sweet abyss without feeling.
At that moment, I froze. As if time stopped in that moment, I tensed my entire body so tightly that I couldn't move voluntarily or otherwise, I even for a time stopped breathing. Logic had stepped in, and panic and shock immediately took over, overcoming that calm feeling of release. I stood there in almost complete tension, forcing myself to a slow and low breath, afraid to allow myself to move. In what seemed to be a moment of great ecstasy, fear saved my life. Not a fear of death, but a fear of making a grave mistake.
After about 3 minutes, I managed to get to breathing normally again and placed the knife and the potato down. I swiftly left the kitchen and went to my bed and cried silently to myself. After I was able to compose myself, I said a prayer and returned to the kitchen and finished cooking dinner. I proceeded as normal and acted like nothing happened. Silently to myself, I planned to end my mission then and come home. I would prepare everything so that I could leave easily and without attachment. We had a temple trip scheduled, and I was going to confirm my feelings as I worshiped in the temple. The answer that I received was very specific in word, 'It is your choice. It's up to you.' Given that I had already decided, I once again called my mission president and asked him to meet with me. I was already at the mission office and he drove over from his home and I told him, 'I've already decided it's time to go home, but I trust your judgement. What do you think I should do?' His answer was that I could go home if that's what was best, but he felt like there was still a lot that I could contribute. I agreed to stay for one more transfer (a period of 6 weeks) then I would decide to come home.
That next transfer wasn't easy, but I got better. I was moved to a less densely populated area, and for several reasons, I didn't have to push through my social anxiety as much. I started to feel somewhat normal and feeling like I could get through it. I made some friends, and started to feel happy again. So at the end of the transfer, I just didn't say anything. I was going to continue with my mission. At the last minute, I got a new companion and I was really looking forward to a great transfer.
My new companion was great! He worked hard, he liked to have fun and laugh a lot, and he made friends with everyone. He was aware of my situation, and was very willing to work with me on it. The first week, things were pretty ok. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I started to feel completely detached. Not happy, not sad, just nothing. Like I didn't even exist. At first I thought it was amusing, like maybe I was having some sort of weird high, but it soon turned into a complete loss of interest in everything. I didn't want to wake up, or get out of bed, or eat, or read my scriptures or pray. I continued to do all of those things, but I was completely unmotivated. I stopped feeling inspiration and felt like I had lost any connection with God unless he very directly wanted me to know something. Then I started to think I had done something wrong. Like I was being punished, I started to be afraid of making mistakes for fear that I would experience God's wrath (it didn't help that I happened to be studying the old testament at that time). I felt that if I failed at all that God would preclude me from going to heaven. Luckily I had an appointment with the counselor to check up on me, and he told me that I was experiencing something new called, 'Depression'. For the next several weeks I would go through several phases: Melancholy, irritability, despair, overly sympathetic, completely apathetic.
When things weren't improving, and CBT wasn't helping either, he suggested that I try medication. My immediate response was 'No. I am not going to become a drug addict.' His response was very logical and moderate, but I still didn't want to. I then had a conversation with my mission president who suggested that maybe I ought to give it a try. The choice was always mine, but I figured that it could maybe help, so I would try medication.
I then scheduled an appointment to get a prescription. The first medication I tried was not effective. When I took it in the morning, I would sleep all night and all day, just constant fatigue, and difficulty staying awake. Then I tried taking it at night and still had constant fatigue, but couldn't sleep. I would stay up all night and only really be able to sleep from 6 am to 11 am (which is not when I was supposed to be sleeping). The medication also made me very irritable, impatient, and generally an unpleasant person. After giving it an appropriate amount of time for the side effects to possibly settle, they didn't, so I was taken off that medication and put on another one.
The second medication had a much fewer side effects, but it also took away any feelings. I didn't feel happy, or sad, and feeling nothing to me is worse than feeling bad. So I was taken of that medication as well. At this point I was tired of trying meds. I had been on an emotional roller coaster that ranged from bad to terrible to even worse than terrible and back to bad again.
After a lot of consideration and stubbornness from me (I had been fighting it long enough that I was just ready to tough it out and make it work regardless) my mission president decided that I would have a much better chance of recovering from my illness at home. It was horribly difficult accepting that, even though previously I had wanted nothing more.
To be continued...