My Story *UPDATED

Growing up, I was always a stressed, perfectionist student. I wanted to do everything right and I didn't want anyone to disapprove of me. I graduated from high school as valedictorian and continued to get straight A’s in college. I couldn't imagine getting less than an A. My self-worth was measured by how well I accomplished the responsibilities and assignments I was given. I was always trying to use my time effectively to get more done. If I didn't get finish enough items on my to do list each day, I felt terrible about myself. I didn't like how this made me feel, but I figured it was just part of my perfectionist personality.

With the prompting of Heavenly Father, I decided to serve as a full-time missionary. I knew it was going to be hard, but I had no idea what was in store. I don’t know if I would have served if I really knew what was coming my way. Yes there is the physical strain that comes from a demanding missionary schedule, but there is also an emotional strain that can only be understood by going through the experience of being a missionary. Not only was I thousands of miles away from my family, learning to live with people I had never met before, trying to understand and speak a foreign language, and being rejected on a daily basis, I was also “working” for the Lord in a more real way than ever before. Having a perfect “Boss” and trying so hard to please Him made feeling inadequate very easy. Day after day, no matter how hard I tried, I felt like I was never good enough, nor would I ever be. Recognizing how much I was messing up, and feeling like every weakness I possess was being put on display, I felt worse and worse about myself, and I felt an increasing need to punish myself in order to catch up or make up for the moments that I did things wrong or didn't work as hard as I should have. This was really self-destructive, but I didn't know what to do about it.

I felt like I had been given a task that was too big for me to handle. With all of the sadness, doubt, and discouragement I felt, I often thought that if I just had more faith, if I was just more diligent, I would not be struggling so much. So I was struggling, and then beating myself up for struggling, which just made my struggles worse. I had not really told my mission president about all of these feelings, but in an interview I had with him, he told me exactly what I needed. Definitely inspired, he told me that it was not because I was doing something wrong that I was feeling as I was. He told me it was just imbalances in my body that were causing it. This was a huge answer to prayers, and a huge turning point. It took a lot of repeating this to myself for me to really believe it, but when I accepted that it was not my fault, I felt doors of hope open.

Yet even when I had only three or four months left before I would come home, I would wake up each morning wondering if I could possibly make it that much longer. I had a lot of rough days, but my sweet companions loved me anyway and helped me to endure to the end. In my last interview with my mission president, he encouraged me to go to as many doctors as it took when I got home so that I could get this figured out.

After arriving home, with the stress of missionary work being removed, I was doing better and decided maybe I didn't need to see a doctor after all. But several weeks later, I broke down and knew that I needed to follow the counsel of my mission president. Going to the doctor was a nerve-wracking experience. I was so afraid that I was going to tell him what was wrong, and he was going to respond by saying, “What do you think I can do about that? Go talk to a counselor!” I loved the counselor I talked to on my mission, but I didn't want to have to do counseling again. I was praying that the doctor could just give me a little pill and it would make everything better. Fortunately my worst case scenarios never come true, and the doctor was so kind. As soon as I started explaining how I was feeling, he knew exactly what the problem was and he prescribed me some medication for my Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

That next month was the best! The medication worked so well, and for the first time in 21 years, I knew what everyone else who does not suffer from anxiety feels like. It was such a liberating feeling. I did not care if I had to take medicine for the rest of my life, I was finally free! But unfortunately, the next three months were terrible. I was so exhausted all the time, my appetite significantly decreased, I unintentionally lost 8 pounds, and I started experiencing lasting depression. The doctor changed my medication and I had a couple rough weeks as my body adjusted. I am still experiencing a lot of fatigue, appetite problems, and depression, but I go back to the doctor next week. Only Heavenly Father knows the next chapter in my story.

UPDATE: When I went back to the doctor's, I found out that I had lost another 3-4 lbs over the last month. The doctor told me to force myself to eat, and increased the dosage of my medication. I moved back to school and had a sweet friend who convinced me to see another doctor for a second opinion. This doctor lowered my prescription back down and added a sedative medication. It is still a struggle and my medication sometimes makes me more tired or out of it than I would like to be, but I have started to have more good days. It was as if a fog was lifted, that I could finally see clearly through the anxiety to a more hopeful future. I laugh a lot more with my roommates and am starting to enjoy life again. I am starting to get my capacity to feel back. I also started seeing a counselor, which is slowly but surely helping. He helped me see that in conjunction to the depression and anxiety, I have something called Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. This is not the same as the excessive hand-washing and clean freak OCD that we normally think of. OCPD has to do with tendencies toward perfectionism, orderliness, and desire for control. This realization has helped me to step back from my actions and define myself by them less.