Category: Mental Health

Mental Health, Religion

Things I Wish Utah Understood

Sara Elizabeth
  • Not everyone was born in the church.

This might come as as shock to a group of religious people who emphasize missionary work, but not everyone (even in Utah) was raised in the church. Crazy, right? I mean, I’m a convert. And a recent convert at that! If you observed people’s interactions with me upon hearing this, you’d think I had three legs, was low-key famous, or living in a 50 billion dollar mansion. See, I was baptized back in 2011. I was raised Christian, and my mom (and a few others) did have experiences with the church, but none were practicing Mormons.  I was married at the time I was baptized, but upon getting a divorce, I moved to Utah in May of 2014. Back at my tiny ward in an isolated desert town in California, people were always there to make sure I understood things being taught in Sunday School and Relief Society. There’s still a thousand terms, stories, histories, and such that I do not understand or even know about. While I understand most people in Utah were born in the church, it’s this assumption that has left me feeling inadequate to even participate in discussions. In fact, I avoid anything beyond sacrament, because of both this issue and my current state of anxiety.

See, my heart stops when a teacher starts off with, “We all know the story of X and Y doing Z in the scriptures. So let’s discuss how it applies to us. Go ahead and discuss this with the people next to you.” I have no idea what they are even talking about, and the assumption that I do leaves me feeling, well to be honest, a bit dumb. I feel like I shouldn’t even be there, because I don’t know what they’re talking about. But it’s too late to run out now – and I’m left panicking, wondering why I even decided to attend anyway? I knew this was going to happen. At this point, while I’m drowning in fear, the person next to me introduces themselves, thinking I’m new to the ward, because I avoid these situations like the plague. No one knows who I am, and if they do, I’m the random inactive girl that hides in the halls.

Of course they ask what my thoughts are. I grow red and confess that I do not know the story that well, because I am a convert. You’d think this would open up a discussion for me to learn said story. Not always. It usually leads to fascination that I am a convert: “How did you discover the church? Do you have any family at all in the church? How long since you were baptized? Do you like it?” – Well, Susan, I’d like it a lot better if I could start learning more of what it is I am supposed to believe in and understand and know. Okay, so that’s a bit harsh, but it’s how I feel. Instead, I just answer their questions and stay silent when the Sunday School teacher asks our thoughts.

  • Nor do I have a huge nuclear family

Sorry, but I don’t have 10 siblings and 50,000 cousins that I Skype with over the weekends, though I do call my mom almost daily. And whenever you asked how my family is doing or how my parents are doing, I kindly answer that they’re fine, but then you pry – and I have to state that my mother is fine, and I don’t speak to my sister all too much. “Oh, where’s your Dad?” “Don’t you have any other siblings?” “Are you going home for Christmas?” No. No. No. Just stop asking uncomfortable questions. Not everyone has the life you do. This leads me to my next point.

  • Financial stability isn’t a given

I know this is something people in Utah realize, but the particular area I live in struggles with this idea. I swear, if one more person asks me why I can’t just up and leave to go visit my mom for the week, I think I might lose it. Let me break this down for you:

1) I don’t have the money to just go wherever whenever I want.

2) I have a job that I can’t just leave for a week, because it’s a job I am intending to keep for a few years. Not just a job that I work for a semester. I struggle a lot, because I have to support myself and my medical needs, which are frighteningly increasing. So no, I can’t just up and leave for the holidays. I have to work. Maybe in the future I’ll be stable enough to do so, but it’s OK that I can’t now. There’s no need to look at me like an alien for the life I have to lead.

3) Despite all of that, I’ll be just fine. Promise!

  • No, I don’t go to BYU. Actually, I’m barely in school right now.

Thought I’m still technically a student at UVU – I have been taking a very, very long break because of reason #3. I simply cannot afford it, and my health comes first. So, until I can pay off my student debt and go back to school and still afford my medications and such, it’s not happening. That doesn’t make me stupid. Or less. I understand the importance of an education and I actually miss school, but the fact remains, I can’t go right now. I don’t have other people paying for my education, so please, understand that it’s not by choice that I don’t have my degree yet. Also, another fun fact, this doesn’t make me a poor marital choice. The looks I get on dates when I say I am taking a break from school, you’d think I had said I decided to drop out and experience life with just me, 20 cats, and a guitar in a van while I traveled the world. Which, after dating in Provo, actually sounds appealing.

 

  • I’m not a standard Mormon. And that’s OK.

First, everyone talks about this, but no one really seems to get it. Well, I mean a few people do. Seriously, everyone complains about how Utah County is, yet almost everyone acts just like the people they complain about. They pretend to be perfect and assume everyone else is. Guess what? None of us are. Some are on a different level than others, but we all have our struggles. We all have our differences.

I’m divorced, which is a surprisingly common theme in Utah – just most don’t talk about it. In fact, I’ve noticed a lot of my divorced friends are a bit inactive, so maybe that’s why no one at church discusses it. Or maybe its because when we do, we’re looked at like ‘oh,  poor thing!’

I don’t need your pity – I assure you, I am much better off. Then there’s the fact that I color my hair pink, blue, red, green, purple – you name it! I also watch scary movies and I listen to heavy rock and rap music sometimes. I swear. I can be mean sometimes, and I can turn into a massive mess with my mental health. I’m not saying these things are “good” – but they are me, and they don’t make me a bad person. Maybe some of these interests will change as I grow more in the gospel. Maybe they won’t. I’m not a bad person, though. In fact, I can promise you there are so many non-Mormons (and even Mormons) in this world with tattoos and piercings, that drink coffee and alcohol, have differing interests, beliefs, and sexual orientations – that are AMAZING people.  I shouldn’t have to be Mormon enough for you to be my friend, or at the very least, to not judge me.

 

What I want people to understand is that all these things, and more, push me away. It pushes others away, too. I’m not saying you have to condone, say, my use of the curse words, but understand that I am trying. I have come so far from the person I was. I know my Heavenly Father sees this and loves me just the same as he did back then and will continue to love me as I grow and develop in the gospel. But it’s so hard for me to remember that church is for learning and growing closer to God, when Utah focuses on the social aspect so much, especially being in a YSA ward. This culture and my mental health do not coincide very well. In fact, this culture is quite toxic for me.

 

Most of all, I wish that “Utah Mormons” understood that not everyone has the life they do. Not even close. And that’s OK. I am OK, and so is everyone else, despite their life experiences and current state. Though I may not be Mormon enough for some, I know that God doesn’t have this Mormon Meter attached to me, waiting for me to reach 80% or higher to be loved. He loves me as is.  I am so grateful for that. I am grateful for the people in my life who love me regardless of how “good” I am, and who stick around even when I falter and stumble, because they are the people that I see my Heavenly Father’s love through. These people change from time to time, but they are always there. Just like our Heavenly Father, who loves each and everyone of us, and though we always say this – I think we ought to start truly believing it in a way that shows in our behaviors. Even me. Even I need to be careful not to judge those who judge me, who make assumptions, and unknowingly cause discomfort … because I know that ultimately, they mean well.

Utah just doesn’t understand people like me.

Mental Health, Religion

Personal Entry: The Fear of Letting Go

Sara Elizabeth

I’ve decided to start writing about the things that I can’t even talk about – at least not without cracking some lame joke and making it seem like yeah, it’s a thing, but I don’t care too much – because there’s no way I am going to let go, grow, or figure out how to deal with these things.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been terrified of death. As a young child – well before my father passed away, I wanted to know when I was going to die. I was stressed about it. As a teenager, when my anxiety decided to torture my mind, I’d lie in bed crying over the possibility of death. I used to console myself with the thought that maybe I won’t have to die. I had just finished the Left Behind series and started studying with the Jehovah’s Witnesses – while looking into other religions. Maybe, I would tell myself, Jesus would come back before I get too old and die. Somehow, that thought brought me comfort. When that thought didn’t completely alleviate my fears, I told myself that my death wouldn’t matter too much once I had children.  Though the fear has lingered in the back of mind, I haven’t freaked out too much over it. That is, until the last few weeks. I just realized how old I am – how much closer to death, and I’m still here. Not to mention how fast the last 15 years have gone by. Jesus didn’t come to hang out and stop this whole death thing. I don’t have kids, and I may never have children. How can I let go of this fear? I used to feel safe, almost immortal, around those I was in love with – but they’re gone, too. I’m left to myself and my own thoughts … and I’m forced to face this – either develop a faith strong enough or be okay with the unknown.

But I am not okay with the unknown. Very much like Gus in TFiOS, I fear oblivion. I’m pretty sure this is a universal fear – it just manifests itself in different ways. My psychology professor once said most people aren’t so much scared of death, but they’re scared of the way they’ll die. I am scared of death under any circumstances, because what if that’s it? I know I sound like I have absolutely no faith, and granted my faith is lacking, but what if? What if I cease to exist and all that I’ve known, my memories and experiences, everything I care about – it has no meaning. I start to take a C.S. Lewis-like approach to this thought – asking myself why does this bother me so much? Because I am me. I cannot cease to exist. I am more than this body. Maybe the reason I feel this way, the reason why the mere idea of ceasing to exist troubles me so, it’s something that is so contrary to what my soul knows to be true. Perhaps my soul knows things that my mind cannot understand. That’s why I say, “I want to go home” when I am already home. A part of me I am unaware of knows the truths my mind won’t recognize.

… And though that thought brings comfort, here I am wishing that I could have some sort of miracle. Some sort of sign – angels appearing in my room, telling me that everything is going to be okay … But let’s be real, even if that did happen, I’d probably go to the ER and have myself admitted into a psych unit. Instead I fell asleep last night with the light on, praying that I could escape these thoughts and know. The rational part of my mind says none of us will know anything until it happens.

Yet, I managed to stop worrying. I managed to calm down, and actually get sleep – which I haven’t been able to do in weeks.

… And maybe that is sign enough – because even with all my doubt, I somehow found comfort in the very thing I am struggling to have faith in.

Mental Health

Personal Entry: So I Thought

Sara Elizabeth

“So long I was so in love with you, so I thought … A year goes by and I can’t talk about it…” – FLYLEAF

 

I haven’t been feeling very present in my life these days – whether it’s strictly mental or some of it is medical (neurological symptoms), I don’t know. I think a good chunk of it is due to my mental health, so I’ve been forcing myself to journal more often. I used to journal nearly every day. But then I stopped … when he stopped talking to me. I mean, I was a mess before that happened, but I haven’t been myself since. I don’t recognize me. I don’t recognize my soul.

I’ve always been fairly open about my life and my struggles. So, of course, I talked about him. For a while, it was in a really distant way. “Yeah, he’s not talking to me anymore. But it’s whatever.” Sometimes I would cry. There was only one person who saw me truly break – but we stopped talking afterwards, too, so I guess that moment of honesty somehow lost its meaning.

I didn’t realize how painful this has been for me. Not even during two weeks into his silence when I broke down crying at work, or when I let my manic energy take control – calling him non-stop, sending him texts, emails … What did I do wrong? Why did you stop talking to me without an explanation? I hate you. I hate me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I need a friend. Why did you do the one thing I told you hurts me the most? Are you such a coward you can’t even tell me goodbye? Or face me? Why? I didn’t even realize two weeks ago, when my new therapist didn’t just nod and make an excuse for his silence. She told me that I need to grieve him – which I’ve known, of course, but hearing someone else say it … Well, I just cried for the rest of the session, and told her I can’t. It hurts too much. I can’t think about it.

I decided to read earlier entries in my journal. I rolled my eyes as I read my goals to not rely on him so much. I read about my attempts to develop spiritually – and how I was improving so much, and I wished I could somehow magically know now what I did then. That’s when I got to this:

 

July 9th 2017

I’ve been slipping …

July 10th 2017

I’m going to lose him soon, and I can feel it, and the thought weighs down on my heart.

 

Those were before we stopped talking. My entries with scripture reflections, mental health ramblings, etc. continued until July 30th. My next entry was August 24th 2017:

 

I am changing

I can feel it

As my soul shapes itself

Into tight knots of barbed-wire

Around what is now

Your absence

 

 

I can’t even write about you.

 

 

… I don’t know what it was about this, but it really hit me. Sure, I may acknowledge that this super painful for me, and it’s most certainly not helping me cope with the plethora of trials I’m dealing with, but God – those first few weeks I couldn’t even begin to say more than a few sentences about it, and somehow I kept myself together. Somehow I am still together … when I was dealing with something I couldn’t even write about. It wasn’t until September that I could even begin to address the pain I was going through.

 

The saddest part: He will never know. And if he did, I’m not quite sure he’d even care.

 

But I care. I realize I need to be a bit more gentle with myself, because I’ve been facing my biggest fears these last few months, and I’m still here.

 

 

 

Mental Health, Poems & Literature

Poem: This is What Depression Looks Like

Sara Elizabeth

This is what depression looks like –

It’s not the glamorous – someone’s gonna save you

And take that razor out of your hands and hold you

Until you feel loved again – scene in those dramatic TV shows

It’s the I’m-not-going-to-tell-anyone secret gnawing

At your soul, because YOU know what happened

The last time

You reached out.

It’s sending a hey what’s up? text in the bathroom

While your shaking hands hold a razor

That you wish some lover, some close friend

Would rip away from you … but instead you wait

One minute. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Your heart is pounding, because you need someone to talk to

But you can’t say a word.

45 minutes now. Maybe your phone isn’t working …

Surely someone could have said something by now

You almost feel desperate enough to text someone

The truth.

But you did that last time – and it hurt so much more

Than sitting on the bathroom floor for an hour

Dragging the razor across your skin.

Their cold indifference … too real.

It’s too real.

If you don’t reach out

It’s easier to pretend they’d care if they knew.

 

Knew that your soul was breaking, writhing in pain

That you cannot explain because you don’t even understand it yourself

All you know is that every breath and every moment is heavy

It’s too much.

2 hours now. You’ve washed away the blood and you look at yourself

In the mirror. “It will be okay,” you whisper. Wipe your own tears away

Because there ain’t no happy ending here, there isn’t any savior stepping in

This is all you, and if nobody else is going to love you the way you deserve …

You have to. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you pray that

You will have the strength to love you. God knows no one else does.

 

This is what depression looks like –

Laughing so loud until it hurts. Making jokes so good

You could start up your own comedy show on YouTube.

You’re funny and entertaining – they all say, admiring how

Despite all your many challenges, you have a smile on your face.

It’s keeping that smile on your face even when you’re alone

Listening to music so loud and thinking about your bright future

Until you fall asleep and you see his face

And you wake up crying. Empty.

 

But you shake it off and smile anyway because you can’t

Let yourself start crying

Because if you do … you know you’ll never stop

So you drown it out with anything you can – laughter, jokes, alcohol, shopping, food – ANYTHING to stop your thoughts

From the darkness that tears away at you

From the reality that no one is ever close to you.

You’re only close to them.

When you build walls, it’s not because you don’t want to let anyone in

It’s because you can’t let yourself out

You can’t afford to love the people who never love you back.

 

This is what depression looks like –

And as much as everyone preaches about the warning signs

No one wants to see it.

So you shut your mouth, like a good girl.

You know the happy kind that doesn’t have walls

Or a darkness infecting her soul.

 

Mental Health

Personal Entry: Limitless

Sara Elizabeth

Back in the early 2000’s, Joe Nichols came out with a song titled, “If Nobody Believed in You”. I adored this song when I was younger, and the music video would often send chills down my spine. It’s about giving up when everyone seems to have stopped believing in you. I’ve been thinking a lot about that song again lately – because this is such a terrible aspect of mental health. Depending upon one’s diagnosis and a person’s knowledge of mental health, allowing others to know your “label” can lead to such awful misconceptions about a person’s abilities to not only perform simple daily activities but to reach difficult goals. If you let other’s beliefs of your capabilities influence your own perception of self, you’re at risk of falling into a terrible self-fulfilling prophecy.

Before I moved to Utah, I had been attending community college in  Southern California. Starting school there was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I was in a verbally abusive relationship. My husband at the time would often critique my capabilities on absolutely everything. I didn’t wash dishes right or sweep the floor right. I didn’t say the right things or submit to him as I should. I questioned things. I always have until I learned not to. I didn’t spend enough time with him. I spent too much time with him. I  was called stupid, ugly, and fat. I was told I wasn’t “good at sex”, and that only the girls at the massage parlor could “get him off”. Nothing I ever did was good enough, and I wasn’t allowed to be hurt when he would flirt with other girls, watch pornography, and neglect even speaking more than a few words to me for weeks. Oh sure, sometimes he’d tell me I was smart and that I could do anything I wanted …  But when I did, I was showered with negative feedback such as, “Are you sure you can handle this?”, or “Why are you going to school? You don’t have to. You can just stay home and take care of the house.” The house that he said I couldn’t keep up well enough.

Knowing I was never quite good enough, I honestly expected to fail my first semester. I went anyway. It  was one of the only ways I could defy him and prove something to myself. As much as I doubted myself and feared I would fail, I had hope. And in the words of The Hunger Game’s, President Snow, hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Despite scoring “high” on the placement test, I went in to speak with the counselor about registering for “lower” classes, since the system had blocked me when I was trying to register for a lower English class. The counselor was confused, but he finally removed the block. As time went on, I’d proudly announce when I’d do well or what my assignments were, only to be received with negativity.

One semester in particular was absolutely terrible. It was so exhausting being the only one believing in myself. I’m not saying I didn’t have others in my life who rooted for me, but the most important person at that time, he didn’t. I couldn’t seem to see me – my potential, my intelligence, my worth, or even my own depth – if he didn’t see me. It’s a poor way to view myself, and one day I finally realized I wasn’t the one in this relationship that was lacking; it was him. I had dreams too big for that terrible town and a heart too fragile to be broken over and over again. I was too strong to let myself be limited. So, I kept reaching for my goals. I even started working my first job, despite him reminding me that I didn’t have to do that. He’d remind me how he could support me. “Besides,” he would say, “are you sure you can handle that? Are you sure that you can even learn how to do that job?”

He told me they would probably fire me on the first day. I personally think it showed my strength that I didn’t quit.

One day I was able to leave him and I moved out here to Utah. At first, it was empowering. I had escaped something that was on the verge of becoming physically violent, and I was in control of myself, finally … I could breathe. I could go to church without terrible comments. I could make a mistake, accidentally break a glass, without the world falling apart around me. I could forget to do the dishes at night, and I wouldn’t be ignored for days. I could believe in myself without anyone telling me not to. I was strong, but at the same time, I always expected people to be just like him. Almost every other word out of my mouth was “sorry”. I kept running towards what I wanted, but at the same time, I kept thinking “what if I am wrong? What if I can’t really do this? What if he’s right?”

I started working in a few days, and all those words he said came rushing back into my mind. What if I can’t? What if I’m essentially “too stupid” to do this? But I did. I excelled. Eventually, I left the world of retail and started working sales at a call center, terrified yet again that I would fail. I didn’t. I never do. I worked there and went to school full-time and later part-time. But when I lost my best friend, the man I loved, my reality started cracking as it so often does when I lose the people I care about. Or when they change. Or when I see the truth of who they are. I lost the one person who believed in me, and suddenly I couldn’t quite believe in myself.

I broke in a very scary way to some. I relapsed, and starting cutting again. I ended up hospitalized on several occasions. Every time I started to get better, every time I started to believe in myself again, I was faced with yet another challenge. I was faced with people belittling me because of my suicidal ideations, self-harm, neediness, and lack of stability. I can’t blame most of them. They came into my life when I was broken. They don’t know what I can do. What I have done. They only know my label – a label that a lot of therapists have avoided giving me. Even my current therapist is hesitant to label me as such. This may be why, because once people know a label, they think they know you. Once people see you broken, they can’t see you as anything else. Oh, they may say really nice things, such as “I believe in you” or “You’ll get through this.” But the only people who have truly meant such kind words are those who have experienced such lack of faith themselves. These people know that even the impossible is achievable.

Within the last two years, I have been told that I am mentally handicapped, that I should be in an assisted living “home”, I shouldn’t go back to school, I shouldn’t study a certain subject or pursue it as a career, I shouldn’t get a certain job, or that I am being impulsive if I am leaving one that has no medical benefits and can’t cover my life expenses. I have been told that I shouldn’t date or get into a relationship. I have even been told that I am incapable of having a meaningful relationship, because I am ‘mentally handicapped’.

I have been limited. I have been treated as if I am incapable of living on my own. I have been treated as if I lack intelligence. None of this is acceptable, but being broken and a victim of abuse, of course I accepted it. I have been conditioned to believe that everything is my fault, I can’t do anything right, and that I deserve terrible things. I’ve literally been a walking textbook example of someone who has been abused, even by willingly entering (or staying) in abusive situations, because that is what is familiar.

Worst of all, is when I started to believe in those who do not believe in me. I seemed to lose all strength to believe in myself. Despite doing well in school and work, I felt I was too stupid. It didn’t matter if my professors, co-workers, and bosses said otherwise. When I stopped trying, it didn’t matter when my professors said that they know I can do better. They know I am better than the mediocre crap I was submitting. I ended up at a really crappy job, because I thought “this is all I can do. This is all I will ever do.” And it was encouraged.

 

Ultimately, I became what they believed I was. I started talking “dumb”, acting like I didn’t know things, and letting go of the one thing I loved the most: knowledge. I let go of hope that I was anything more than my mental illness or the terrible habits I’ve developed over the last 3 years. The most cruel words I have ever been told, “You’re just you. That’s okay.” I’d start repeating that in my head, along with other hurtful, false claims.

 

I gave up.

 

While most of these people meant well, there is a fine line between caring for someone and discouraging them, and people need to understand that. I don’t care what anyone’s label is – medically or mentally. No one should ever be limited, and it breaks my heart to know that there are so many others dealing with this very situation. I don’t know how exactly or even why, but after much prayer and thinking about who I know myself to be outside of anyone else, I realized today that I don’t have to be this way. It’s been an idea that I’ve been slowing starting to verbalize and express, but so many things happened today that I realized these opinions and these thoughts are still shaping me and how I respond to others.

I will reach my goals. I will stop talking and acting like I am stupid. I will stop holding up my diagnosis as the defining factor of who I am. None of that defines me; not temporally and certainly not eternally. I am so much stronger than I’ve let myself be in such a long time. I have no limits. I will not live up to the DSM definition of my mental health diagnosis. I especially will not live up to the definition others are applying to me. As far as I am concerned, the only definition of myself that matters is Heavenly Father’s and my own.

I only wish I had realized this sooner.