From the time I was 8 years old I knew something was not quite right in my mind. Horrible thoughts would plague me constantly and I became obsessive in trying to counteract them mentally. I had no idea that I was struggling with Primarily Obsessional OCD. All I knew was that the thoughts were frightening and bad, and if I was having bad thoughts then I must be bad, therefore I needed to do everything possible to be a better person so I could get rid of them. Certainly this idea that if I was more righteous I could be healed of whatever darkness was in me stemmed from my religious beliefs, after all I had grown up hearing stories of righteousness and faith that resulted in miracles. So at the young age of 12 I decided to become the most righteous person I could be. I studied the scriptures constantly and took notes, I pleaded morning and night with my Heavenly Father and offered up silent prayers throughout every day. I kept every commandment, and did acts of service for others. My parents will testify to you that I was a very easy teenager to raise. Yet over the years I continued to struggle with intrusive thoughts and the agony and despair that came with them. How I loathed myself. I cannot convey the depth of my self hatred and how often I thought that death must be better than living with my tortured mind. What more could I do? Surely I had shown faith, so there must be something I was missing! After all, scripture told me that ..."despair cometh because of iniquity" (Mor. 10:22) right?
Then in 2005, after 12 years of constant devotion to God in pursuit of peace something did happen. I've gone into some detail in previous posts on this blog but to summarize, a medication interaction gave me instant panic disorder. It took months to stabilize my body and mind so I could function normally again. During that time my two young children and I were flown to Utah so my mother could take care of us while my husband continued the demands of grad student life. My feelings at the time can be well conveyed by echoing the Savior's words, "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46)
Until that time I did not believe things could feel any darker. Everything I had learned to associate with feeling the Holy Spirit was lost to me. There was little but terror and its effect on my body was profound. I lost 15 pounds in a few short days because of the adrenaline surging constantly through me. Sleep, which had always been a refuge from my unnamed affliction, eluded me. I felt utterly abandoned by God and no longer sure that He even existed. How could he let such a thing happen to me if He were there? I began seeing a therapist but was still too afraid of what could happen to me if I explained everything. Would they commit me? Would they take away my kids?
However, something changed after being in a near constant state of terror for weeks. The terror gave way to anger. I was so angry that I was being controlled by the whims of a body that panicked without reason. At that point I hadn't driven a car for a month because it induced panic attacks. So, I decided it was time to take a drive. My goal was simple; make it around the block without stopping until I was back in the driveway. Before I even got in the car, I could feel my body reacting. As I backed out of the driveway my legs were shaking badly and hot flashes shot from my head down through my arms. But I started that slow crawl around the block and every time the panic inside yelled at me to pull over, I yelled back, "No!" Pulling back into that driveway without having stopped once is still one of the most victorious moments of my life. I hadn't stopped until I'd decided too. My own body had been fighting against me but my will had kept me going. And while I realized that my will alone might never change those feelings of darkness and fear, it could help me function in spite of them. The anger gave way to resolve. I could, I would fight! Though my body still panicked I knew it would pass. Though bad thoughts still plagued me, I could live with them. And shortly many of the inhibitions I'd had for so many years about appearing strong and sane melted away. This allowed me to be honest with the therapist and what relief I felt when I was told that there was a name for what I had described and that others dealt with it too! I can't begin to describe how my burden was made lighter just by knowing I wasn't alone.
It's been 13 years since that time and I still battle the demons of anxiety, depression and OCD. I've accepted that I always will. God hasn't removed this thorn in my side but I know now that it wasn't necessarily because I lacked faith, though I didn't fully understand what having faith meant at the time. I know now that the object of faith is not to change the will of God but is "...accepting His will and timing in our lives - even if the outcome is not what we hoped for or wanted."
He has not removed mental illness from me. He did not reward my faith in the one way I most desperately wanted, and yet I can say that I have been healed. After 12 long years of prayer I got an answer to what was happening in my head. I learned through a very unique experience to recognize the Spirit in a way wholly detached from the warm, peaceful feelings I had always associated it with. I realized that while despair can come from sin it can also come from mental illness in perfectly good people. I realized that the most righteous man on earth was not exempt from horrible pain and suffering and that living a righteous life does not result in freedom from trials but increased capacity to weather and grow from trials. I let go of any facade of having it "all together" and learned to talk openly about struggling which has in turn helped others who struggle.
Some would say that this event in my life happened for a reason. I don't personally believe that God picks specific trials to inflict upon his children. But I do believe that we can choose whether the trials that happen in our lives will be purposeful. Will they increase in us gratitude, wisdom and compassion or will we stunt ourselves with self-pity and bitterness?
Then in 2005, after 12 years of constant devotion to God in pursuit of peace something did happen. I've gone into some detail in previous posts on this blog but to summarize, a medication interaction gave me instant panic disorder. It took months to stabilize my body and mind so I could function normally again. During that time my two young children and I were flown to Utah so my mother could take care of us while my husband continued the demands of grad student life. My feelings at the time can be well conveyed by echoing the Savior's words, "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46)
Until that time I did not believe things could feel any darker. Everything I had learned to associate with feeling the Holy Spirit was lost to me. There was little but terror and its effect on my body was profound. I lost 15 pounds in a few short days because of the adrenaline surging constantly through me. Sleep, which had always been a refuge from my unnamed affliction, eluded me. I felt utterly abandoned by God and no longer sure that He even existed. How could he let such a thing happen to me if He were there? I began seeing a therapist but was still too afraid of what could happen to me if I explained everything. Would they commit me? Would they take away my kids?
However, something changed after being in a near constant state of terror for weeks. The terror gave way to anger. I was so angry that I was being controlled by the whims of a body that panicked without reason. At that point I hadn't driven a car for a month because it induced panic attacks. So, I decided it was time to take a drive. My goal was simple; make it around the block without stopping until I was back in the driveway. Before I even got in the car, I could feel my body reacting. As I backed out of the driveway my legs were shaking badly and hot flashes shot from my head down through my arms. But I started that slow crawl around the block and every time the panic inside yelled at me to pull over, I yelled back, "No!" Pulling back into that driveway without having stopped once is still one of the most victorious moments of my life. I hadn't stopped until I'd decided too. My own body had been fighting against me but my will had kept me going. And while I realized that my will alone might never change those feelings of darkness and fear, it could help me function in spite of them. The anger gave way to resolve. I could, I would fight! Though my body still panicked I knew it would pass. Though bad thoughts still plagued me, I could live with them. And shortly many of the inhibitions I'd had for so many years about appearing strong and sane melted away. This allowed me to be honest with the therapist and what relief I felt when I was told that there was a name for what I had described and that others dealt with it too! I can't begin to describe how my burden was made lighter just by knowing I wasn't alone.
It's been 13 years since that time and I still battle the demons of anxiety, depression and OCD. I've accepted that I always will. God hasn't removed this thorn in my side but I know now that it wasn't necessarily because I lacked faith, though I didn't fully understand what having faith meant at the time. I know now that the object of faith is not to change the will of God but is "...accepting His will and timing in our lives - even if the outcome is not what we hoped for or wanted."
He has not removed mental illness from me. He did not reward my faith in the one way I most desperately wanted, and yet I can say that I have been healed. After 12 long years of prayer I got an answer to what was happening in my head. I learned through a very unique experience to recognize the Spirit in a way wholly detached from the warm, peaceful feelings I had always associated it with. I realized that while despair can come from sin it can also come from mental illness in perfectly good people. I realized that the most righteous man on earth was not exempt from horrible pain and suffering and that living a righteous life does not result in freedom from trials but increased capacity to weather and grow from trials. I let go of any facade of having it "all together" and learned to talk openly about struggling which has in turn helped others who struggle.
Some would say that this event in my life happened for a reason. I don't personally believe that God picks specific trials to inflict upon his children. But I do believe that we can choose whether the trials that happen in our lives will be purposeful. Will they increase in us gratitude, wisdom and compassion or will we stunt ourselves with self-pity and bitterness?
