Week 8ish: Home
"Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start."
-- Coldplay
If I can say one thing, it's that life never turns out how you want it to or how you expect it to. Last week, after saying my last goodbyes to my comp and the other two elders in my district, I rode in a car with the APs to San Juan and in the morning, I boarded an airplane and was on my way to Salt Lake City. I am currently writing this email from the safety of my home, still attempting to process everything that has occurred in the past few months.
All my life, I have struggled with anxiety. it has taken many forms and those of you that know me well can understand. However, up until this point, I've had many ways to cope. I had the ability and the freedom to play piano (or ukulele for that matter), go for a run or a bike ride, or simply just relax and listen to music. However, when I became a missionary much of that was taken away. Not only that, but I was thrown curve balls left and right that slowly added onto my load. The first two weeks at the MTC were completely overwhelming; anyone who has been on a mission will know. Even though I had been living a "missionary schedule" (sleep schedule and studies) for two months before I left, I had to make many major lifestyle changes. It was hard for everyone, and to be honest, I thought the hopelessness and fear I felt were normal. From those I've talked to, I understand a little is normal, but now I realize I was feeling them at a whole other level. I couldn't focus during studies, I was starting to lose my appetite and I was concerned that I was starting to lose my mind. I should have asked for help earlier.
I started getting better though. I made fantastic friends in my district. I felt confident in my position as District Leader. The digestive problems were starting to subside. My apartment and classroom became safe places for me, and I was beginning to think that I could make it. I got my hope back and I was able to start pushing through. I still had some really rough days but the anxiety was manageable again. I was starting to sleep and I wasn't sleepwalking as much -- and as a result I was better able to stay awake during the day (but not all the time still...). It did, however, begin to escalate as soon as we approached the 6-week mark when we would be sent out into the field. Just as it had been in high school before a race (sometimes even several days in advance) the knot in my stomach was starting to become unbearable.
And then the field hit. Every new coping method I had in the MTC -- every method I had taken so much effort to discover -- was swept away in one fell swoop. No more ukulele. No more songwriting. No more talking with the roommates after 9. No more volleyball with the district. No more easy days to look forward to. I still had a couple of minutes to write in my journal and my precious hour of personal study. But even then I still couldn't escape from my head -- a cloud of impending doom composed of social anxiety, learning a language, being away from home and thousands of little tiny worries overwhelmed my mortal, imperfect brain. It didn't matter how much logic I applied to the situation, my gut always had a different idea. Hours turned into days and days felt like years.
And then the panic attacks started hitting. I can't explain how devastating they are, but no amount of strength or willpower can banish the thought that you are dying. It doesn't matter that it doesn't make sense, my lungs were still shutting down and it felt like my heart was about to beat right out of my chest. I would take any amount of physical pain you could inflict upon me over the mental and emotional anguish I felt -- at least I'd have the perspective that I could get through. Anyway, the relaxation exercises the counselor gave me (ones that I had already been applying for the last year) weren't working well enough and action needed to be taken.
I met with President Smart to discuss possibilities for the future. I broke down when I spoke to my parents. Everyone, including myself, realized how much I was in need of help. After several terribly long hours we had made a decision, a hard one, but there really wasn't any good options. I was going to stay in Puerto Rico and the psychologist was going to work on finding a doctor to prescribe me some badly needed medication. I understood it wasn't going to be a magic fix, but I hoped that it would be what I needed and maybe I could just buckle down and pray that I would adjust. However God had a different plan for me.
Only two hours after we had made our decision, Elder Kelly and I received a call from president on our cell phone. I was to pack and say goodbye. They weren't going to be able to get me the medication that I so badly needed. I would have to go home and regain stability there.
And so now I'm home. It's strange and I'm still dealing with the imbalanced chemicals in my brain. I've finally on medication, but it will take a while for it to take effect. I am so grateful for all of you who have already reached out to me. Thank you! I am not certain of what is next. I'm waiting until I'm healthy enough to make a decision. If you see me around I'd love to stop and talk with you! Unsurprisingly, I'm still the same person (I'd like to think I'm a little bit better though); I've always had anxiety, so it's not like a medical diagnosis has somehow changed who I am... it's just helping me to recognize where I need help and also to become better. These events aren't anything that anyone would've wanted. I'm not happy that things are as they are and it's hard to keep a positive outlook, but God has a plan for me just as he has a plan for everyone else. He doesn't give us anything we can't overcome.
Sincerely,
Derek Thornton
Former Elder and Proud RM
Comments
Post a Comment