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I have a vivid memory of a conversation I had with my mom regarding my sadness during the first real depressive episode I experienced. I still hadn’t opened up and told her explicitly how I was feeling, but we were having a conversation about all of my friendships that seemed to disappear within a few short months.
We were getting out of the car, probably for frozen yogurt, or a Ben and Jerry’s run. I told her that I was really sad lately, because one of my best friends stopped talking to me after she decided she didn’t want to be a Mormon, and the other one went to a different high school where her other best friend became priority.
“I’ve been sensitive lately. But I’ve also felt more spiritual. My friends deciding to go their own ways has pushed me to be more prayerful. I feel closer to Christ, and it’s making me cry a lot easier.”
My mom said something about sensitivity and spirituality, which I don’t remember, but that is one of the only times I can remember not blaming God for my sadness.
A year or two later, I asked my mom for a therapist, and she told me to talk to the ward's bishop about getting a referral from him. I told him how I was feeling, and he asked me if I was reading my scriptures. I said that lately, I hadn't been reading them every day. He asked me if I had been praying, and I said I had only been praying maybe two times a day, but that I fell asleep a lot during my prayers. He asked me about my sins. My eyes filled with tears, and I said that maintaining religious practices didn't always help, that I just needed a therapist. He continued to push that spirituality was the answer, until I demanded for a referral. As a 16-year-old. He took a deep breath, seemed annoyed at my request, and said "Okay."
I got better about my scripture study and my prayers, yet I saw my grades continue to worsen. The answer isn't always to just be more spiritual. Spiritual problems require spiritual answers; health problems require a medical provider; mental health problems require their necessary tools.
I’m sorry to say that I’m usually in an argument with God. Think of it like an angsty teen fighting with her dad. Yeah, I’m not proud of it, and it’s probably a little sacrilegious. But it’s the truth, and I’m sure I’m not alone in that.
Recently, I was at church and a woman spoke about positivity. I don’t remember a ton of the talk, but at one point, she described a negative person. She said “We all have that friend, who we know if we are going to text them ‘How are you?’ we have to put aside 20 minutes of our time, because that person is going to go on a long vent about how awful their day was.” She continued, “Nobody wants to be around that person, so don’t be around that person so that you don’t feel down!” Then, the congregation laughed.
My heart sank. Really? If everybody dedicated 20 minutes of their time every day to a friend in need, I actually think it would teach charity, compassion, and it would lift up the other person.
While religious institutions, specifically the LDS one due to it being my primary experience, have become more understanding of mental health issues, there is still some obvious ignorance – as presented here.
Recently, however, the LDS apostles have given several talks concerning the topic of mental illness. I’ll link a few below, and I have to say that these talks can be positively life-changing. I don’t believe the doctrine of most religions are what’s ignorant. It’s the culture, of some religious institutions, combined with ignorance to doctrinal aspects, that cause the rift between mental health and God.
Maintaining my spirituality while fighting against pure self-loathing is important to me not because it gives me purpose, but because I truly believe in the power of the Atonement and in God. It’s happened so purely right before my eyes that I refuse to let it make me bitter.
I made a post on Facebook quickly going over my experience with the Atonement following my sexual assault. So, if you read that, forgive me for giving a more detailed account, here.
The summer of 2015 was honestly one of my favorite summers. The freedom I felt was intoxicating. I was full of bright confidence, and people loved to be around me. Everywhere I went, I connected with a new female who wanted to be my friend, or a guy who wanted to pay me a compliment. Ask my mom about it – every time we spoke on the phone, somebody approached me. Something in me was thriving on pure joy, so much so that even strangers could see it.
The day after my date rape, I did the walk of shame home, my phone dead, and fell asleep for a few more hours after plugging my phone into its charger. When I woke up, I had a text from my Bishop.
“Hi, Emilie. I have a feeling we should meet some time soon. Are you available this Sunday?”
That wasn’t a coincidence.
That Sunday, I told my Bishop that I had chosen to not serve a mission, and that I was actually feeling very rocky with my beliefs in the LDS church. He could see the strength of my doubts. All he said was, “Read some of the Book of Mormon and a General Conference talk every day and pray twice a day. You can even text me when you do, if you’d like me to help you do it. I just have a feeling you should at least do this right now, before deciding confusion and leaving the LDS church is what you want.”
So – between the partying every other day, pretty much – I did what he asked. I even left a drunk voice message to a friend once where I said “OH! I need to read my scriptures tonight!” and call after my roommate to help me find my Book of Mormon.
Throughout that summer, despite the rumors being spread about me, and my attacker cornering me at parties to ask me how much I’d remembered from “that” night, my close friends watched me and commented on how okay I seemed. Yes, I had a few really dark nights, but overall, I was okay. I maintained a bright perspective and was genuinely happy. This happiness confused me, since I had been taught that a few of the things I was doing were grave sins.
I firmly believe I wasn’t feeling any of that pain, because someone else was feeling it for me. Yeah, I may have been living in “sin,” but I was also doing my very best to hold on to as much spirituality as I could. Christ carried me that summer. I vividly remember the moment He decided I was ready for Him to put me back down.
I was with a friend at the U, laughing and chatting, when pure anxiety struck out of nowhere. I excused myself to the bathroom, and experienced the worst anxiety attack I ever had. I couldn’t breathe, the walls felt as though they were spinning, and I sat down on a gross toilet and sobbed as I tried to catch my breath. I had the lyrics to a song I had rarely listened to before stuck in my head and began playing it. The song was “Broken” by Lifehouse.
The chorus hit me hard as the realization of my rape sunk in.
“I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing With a broken heart that’s still beating In the pain there is healing In your name I find meaning So I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on I’m barely holdin’ on to you.”
And I was, just barely, holding on to my Savior, as I sat there in that stall and stared at the scars of self-harm on my wrist, the internal damage present through mind-numbing pain.
When I’m starting to feel myself drifting away again, I remember that moment, or I listen to that song. It takes me back to the security of warmth my Savior enveloped me in when He told me it would be okay. And, it was. I had a solid group of people around me, I had a means to therapy, and I had parents who I believe God was preparing to comfort when I opened up to them a year later.
It wasn’t scriptures, or a prayer that put me on a path to healing. I think these actions provided a foundation of trust and faith. But, Christ is merciful. I used that foundation of trust and faith and placed it in Him, and it continues to heal me.
The message I hope I get across here is that while I believe any sort of spirituality is going to help create a foundation of trust and comfort, it is not the only answer to mental illness. Not even close.
As I mentioned earlier; I still fight with God. On a day-to-day basis. I’m angry! I still sit under a dark cloud of pity and wonder why God made me so useless. Yes – “useless”! This is how depressed people feel! And, no matter how much they may love and trust God, a depressed mind will regularly feel this way. I wonder why He made me so unlovable. #FirstWorldProblems is correct.
If you struggle with mental illness and are using a spiritual outlet – keep going! I believe that, while not always, but at some points; you will be deeply thankful for that faith you are keeping.
If you feel abandoned by God, I’m not going to sit here and preach to you that you haven’t been abandoned, and that He loves you, that you’re perfect the way you are and to just get out of bed and read your gosh darn scriptures! If you don't believe in God, (firstly: congrats on getting through this entire piece, I am impressed) I'm not telling you that God is the only way you can feel happy again. I am going to reiterate that I find joy in maintaining my spirituality.
The sought-after joy and clarity are not immediate. This makes the perseverance of faith near impossible. However; the short moments of strength and bliss, felt as a result of my faith, are completely worth the – often strenuous – small and simple steps I choose to take to come closer to God.
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/like-a-broken-vessel?lang=eng
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2016/10/the-master-healer?lang=eng
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2017/10/bearers-of-heavenly-light?lang=eng
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