Medication Upgrade

I'm getting a long-overdue upgrade on my medications. The future right now is so foggy. Not that I'm scared of the unknown, but I am afraid of bad side effects.

My doses have been changed in the following ways:

• 200mg 3x daily Gabapentin - 300mg 3x daily Gabapentin 
• 75mg (starter dose) Bupropion - 150mg (starter dose) Bupropion XL

This means I'll be taking 300mg more Gabapentin each day. I'm slightly worried because it's made my eyesight worse. Noticeably worse. It was scary at first, but worth the anxiety relief. That was when I was starting at 100mg 3x daily. I worry my eyesight will get even worse. I just hope it's not irreversible. Then I'm worried I'll be too sedated. It's really affected my memory. It's still worth the relief, but I'm worried I won't be able to do school at all. It's hard to recall basic words, let alone remember a paragraph or question I just read. Also, I was beginning to experience transient fatigue. On top of my regular fatigue.

Now, I remember being so easily fatigued before. Probably due to depression or the constant fight-or-flight mode being on. But I think it's gotten worse? I was getting tired and my back hurt yesterday just from washing the dishes. Seriously. It was really embarrassing. 

Then the bupropion. That's twice what I usually take in an extended-release dose. I had to start low because I'd been on it before and it caused heart palpitations. My psychiatrist knew what my GP didn't: that happens in people with anxiety if you start them too high. So, I started taking the bupropion. My appetite is not as big as it used to be. I actually eat as much as a normal person now and I don't crave fast food. I got headaches pretty frequently, but it was worth the seemingly-improved mood. For the first few weeks, if I remember right, I didn't notice anything. Then, for a week or so, I'd gotten a lot better. I think so, at least. I was not miserable all the time and the bottom-line of my depression came up. I can't get as sad anymore, which I thought was good. 

So...I'm just hoping this helps a lot more. I want to be more energetic, happy, and motivated. I want to be able to make plans with friends without worrying about it. I want to hold a steady job and graduate college finally. 

That would be great. 

Hurtful

I've been doing inexplicably better lately. Only this past week, I guess. I even made a new friend. We're planning to hang out again soon. I look forward to it but last time, as much fun as it was, some things were revealed that re-opened some barely healing wounds.

I don't know what happened but, ever since Stephen and I got engaged, there was animosity toward us. From his family. Maybe mine too. I mean, they liked Stephen and welcomed him, but none of them were excited about us getting married. It was mentioned that him not having a cell phone or car was a BIG issue. It was stupid. And I think it's even more clear how stupid that was now that Stephen a) has a phone b) the car thing has not been an issue c) he's the sole provider for this family. I'd literally be homeless without him. 

I digress, his family was far worse. His mom pretended everything was cool to my face, but apparently had something against us. She didn't go to our wedding shower, she hardly spoke at the actual wedding, she sent some...half-assed message to her family about Stephen getting married. In which, my name was not even mentioned. All of the sentences ended in periods. She emailed Stephen and told him we were being jerks for not inviting people personally? I don't get it. Everyone uses Facebook. Nobody has had a problem. She and her stupid sister even insisted there was something wrong with the Facebook invitations because they didn't see them. Well...you're the only ones, so...

Not a one of them ever offered to help. In any way. Stephen's mom gave us some emergency backpack things....gee, thanks. Very thoughtful. I'm almost certain we got those because someone had excess.

The night before the wedding (Christmas), Stephen foolishly insisted we go to his grandma's house. God knows why. I reluctantly agreed. It was like they planned to rape us up there. Seriously. We stayed downstairs for a bit. I just...really didn't have a good feeling about going upstairs. And we were making out. :) 

It's all a blur. I think Stephen's mom told him he ought to come upstairs. Later, his grandma calmly came to meet Stephen and ask why he wasn't upstairs yet. Finally, we went upstairs...they were all as dull and quiet as usual. I think his grandma somehow mentioned that she wasn't going to come to our wedding because she wasn't personally invited. 

At that point, I just didn't care anymore. DON'T come. Any of you! Given all the stress we'd gone through, the fact that I was going to have a crappy wedding the next day that I didn't want, all the crap EVERYONE was giving us, I just didn't care anymore. Stephen kind of yelled at her saying we wanted her to come and he was sorry for making a mistake. Since I've been married to him, I've realized just how absent-minded he can be. So how could anyone expect him to have done everything he should have? 

The verbal exchange ended, and they all went back to being boring and quiet. I just cried. I could've been enjoying my Christmas with people who actually cared about us. This was supposed to be a happy, exciting night for me and it was just a stupid mess.

The next day, his mom made some stupid post about us getting married and "how happy she was". Bullshit. Her whole family decided they needed to individually comment about how they didn't know but "congratulations, I guess.". His aunt went full-out calling him all sorts of things and bullying him for not inviting his stupid grandma in person. It was SO stupid. And just...cruel. His mom, much later, tried to tell me her sister didn't go because she had work, but come on. Such a lie.

So the DAY of my wedding came. Woohoo. I spent that morning fighting with his stupid aunt, when I should've been getting my dress cleaned. When I should've maybe been getting ready? I was getting comments about Stephen not helping set up and all this... like....shut up! This is supposed to be the happiest day of our lives. What a joke!

I'd like to say that, up until the very second we got married, people were being jerks, but it lasted much longer than that. My dad insisted we stand in front of everyone and have them say stuff about us. My family did. Maybe Stephen's grandpa did. But that was it. What Steve's mom had to say was about raising the twins and how "they were a joy to raise". What about Stephen? Do you know him?

It was just...the worst. I hated being in front of everyone. I only wanted to eat my first meal with Stephen. I couldn't. As soon as "the show" (the LAST thing I wanted my wedding to be) was over, everyone just started packing up. Who...? Why? My food was thrown away. I didn't eat. I didn't enjoy one second of my wedding. Except signing the stupid papers with the bishop.

They just...if you can't help, at least don't make everything worse. Oh, and his grandma gave us a shoe box full of staples, pencils, and a sharpener. I liked it at first, it was useful, but I can't help but think (with this new information) that it was passive-aggressive. Like..."here, I just threw these things we don't need in a box."

And, as nice as Stephen's dad was the day of and every day since, the days leading up to our wedding, he'd talk to Stephen and ask him if this is what he really wanted. He'd urge him to live with me first. They'd spend like...an hour on the phone with Stephen saying he knew what he was doing and his dad saying we should wait. 10 months is really long enough. It really, really is. 

My wedding was such a circus. It was THE WORST day of my life - at least that I can remember.

At first Rachel saw so much more support than I ever did. She was accepted by my mother-in-law so much that she shared really private things from MY life with her. Before she was even officially married. This was maybe even the first time they met? Apparently, Stephen's grandma was going to SEW her a wedding dress! Stephen's mom was planning to throw them a real wedding afterward. Her message to her family was night and day compared to mine. She was OVERLY excited. Like...as if....trying to show us that she or Levi was better than me or Stephen somehow. I really don't know STILL what her problem was. 

So...why me? None of them know me. Even so, they still knew me more than they knew her, and here she is getting far better treatment than I ever did. Is it because she's marrying Levi and he's better than Stephen? He went on a mission and they want to show Stephen that Levi is better? Did I do anything? If so, WHAT? All I want to know is WHAT. I. did. 

It hurts. Especially now that I know how similar Rachel and I are. It can't be my personality...so what? What did I do? I don't know if I can ever forgive Stephen's mom at this point. I'd cut things off before, and THEN (only then) she started reaching out to me. She even admitted she didn't know anything about me other than the fact that I love purple. I'd been married to her son for fucking 2.5 years by then and I'd dated him for nearly a year before that! 3.5 years and she only knows that my favorite color is purple?! Are you kidding?!

Then Levi's wedding came around. At first I said I wasn't going. Somehow she'd heard about it right away and texted me saying I shouldn't punish him for her behavior. I was infuriated. They both just kept things from me. They both just mistreated and hated me. Why would I want to be part of that?

For some reason though, not that he'd shown me any glimpse of friendship before, I wanted to be friends with Levi. He told me ungraciously that, if I didn't go to his wedding, I didn't care about him. Which is wrong, but whatever. I told him I'd go then. I even made up with his mom. As temporary as that was. It stopped as soon as I found out she'd been talking about Stephen's EX with Rachel. 

WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?! Seriously? I just want to know why that even came up. Or how. Why was she still talking about that homewrecker at all? Let alone...I just...I'm so angry. What kind of two faced nonsense is this? SERIOUSLY? 

And it's not like I can tell anyone she's like this. She's nice to everyone else. She really is. I've seen it. She's much nicer to everyone else. I just don't get what Stephen did wrong. I certainly don't get what I did wrong. I mean, since the train wreck of a wedding happened, I've been mean. I have sworn at her over the phone. I'd get it now, but I never dreamed of doing that before we got married. I didn't even know we had a problem. 

I'm just...so beyond frustrated with all of them. Especially now that I know how much better they treated Rachel. I guess things have fallen apart since then. At least a little. She has seen a fraction of the maltreatment I've received. I guess we have to stick together now. I'm just learning to be indifferent at this point. I've exhausted every other avenue.

New Friend

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I made a new friend. She's not quite new in my life though. It's been about 1 year since I first met her. It's my husband's sister-in-law. We're not technically related, I don't think. Maybe. But you know...she's married to my husband's twin brother. 

So there you go. 

Anyway, at first I really didn't think we had anything in common. She's incredibly good at drawing and very crafty. I'm not. She's outgoing and has a number of friends. I don't. I love everything forensic science, thanatology, and pathology. She definitely doesn't. She went on a mission. I didn't, even though I once wanted and even prepared to. I guess we both like the ocean a lot, but I think she likes it more than me. Oh, and we have mental illnesses. 

I don't think I believed her at first. She mentioned it a lot, so I figured it was another outcast-y person who felt down because she was abnormal therefore getting a prescription from a general practitioner, trying to get attention. Also, pulling the mental illness card for convenience or attention is a pet peeve of mine. I guess I was just so annoyed that I didn't consider the fact that depression is quite common and it's possible that people other than me had it. It took me a long time before I realized that and decided to believe her until I had evidence to the contrary. We mental people judge each other the worst.

I digress, I was annoyed with the fact that her existence was a secret. I was annoyed with the fact that she and my brother-in-law had cheap rings on their ring fingers before they were even considered engaged. I was annoyed with her anxious personality (the one we show in public due to anxiety, obviously). I really didn't give her a chance. And my brother-in-law was being kind of a jerk to me about it. 

Anyway, after plenty of miscommunication and complete lack of communication, hurt feelings, all that, it all blew up one day after a dinner at Dennys. Believe it. 

It was her first time meeting my father-in-law. Her new father-in-law. They were bunking with us for a few days. I was already anxious. She was, understandably, also anxious. My kidneys hurt and I was in the sun. My brother-in-law disliked and distrusted me. We didn't go to their wedding. So...I guess a blind man could've seen it coming. 

Apparently I wasn't doing anything right. I wasn't standing close enough, talking enough, looking at the right people for long enough, all of it. No one said anything. Probably wouldn't have. That is, until I later texted my brother-in-law to tell her that going to Dennys was a great idea - her idea. He replied. "I will. And she still thinks you guys hate her btw."

The gloves came off. At first I was firm, but honest about how I felt. Which was not that I hated her. Ever. I reserve that feeling for two people in this world. But it eventually grew into me swearing at him. Perhaps understandably, but still infuriatingly, I began trying to call him because I couldn't text fast enough and he kept calling me names and saying I was judgmental and discriminatory and prejudice. It was...hurtful. More than anything, it was hurtful, because it was wrong, but I was also further pissed. 

Since he wouldn't answer my calls, I called my husband. I burst into tears saying that yet another one of his family members thinks they know who I am and just called me a liar. When you pride yourself on honesty and it means everything to who you are and someone says it's not there, then...it just broke me. I hated it. Especially because he'd been saying racist things since he got home. I was being called prejudiced by the racist! I should mention he doesn't say those things anymore.

Anyway, my husband comforted me. He assured me he'd talk to his entire family later. I told him not to. We'd tried that before. It never works. Nothing works with them. I didn't want to bother beating my head against a wall again. I'll just handle it now by myself. I'm a big girl. 

I was still on the phone with him when my brother-in-law answered the door. He had a stern face on. A front. I hung up the phone and pushed the door open, barging in. I can't even remember everything I said. I was borderline hysterical. Well...more like distraught. I was distraught. I remember saying: "How DARE you [blah blah blah]! I wasn't looking at her enough?! Are you serious?! I have the same thing! You use it as an excuse for her for everything and you can't ever cut me a break?! I said I'm willing to meet her!" 

When I took half a second to re-assess my surroundings, I realized he was kind of stunned. The front had softened, but it seemed like he was still trying to keep it up. His wife soon emerged from another room. Before anything else could happen, I just hugged her and apologized. I did know where she was coming from. I've been treated like absolute detritus by this family. She had no idea how bad they could be, but I was the problem this time. Just me. Which is better than it being anyone else because I'm at least honest and upfront, but still. I should've been more trusting and forgiving. 

Anyway, she was calm and had me sit down and got me some water. She was very nice. Anyway, to make a long story short, we talked a bit. A bit. And I wasn't really having any of it. She was telling me her sad stories about her wedding but, because mine were worse, I was just being kind of belligerent. I eventually softened up a bit and we made up. She told me to come by to see her anytime. 

That was a few months ago. Last week, I finally decided to take her up on the offer. You know I don't want to visit with my own friends, let alone PEOPLE. But, after therapy (not that she was even brought up), I was feeling...outgoing. I really can't explain it. Like...I actually wanted to hang out with someone. A girl though. For some reason, she was the first person to cross my mind. She'll be so surprised, I thought. 

She wasn't home though. I texted her and we decided to hang out that Saturday. I only got worried the night before. Kind of panic-y. It's normal though. And it was all for nothing. I just took an extra gabapentin, and things were fine. It was actually truly fun. Which was weird and unexpected. I thought things might be awkward, but they never were. Not even once, as far as I'm concerned. Most of all, I learned that we have a lot in common. At least as far as what we think goes. We have similar opinions about nearly everything we talked about. I say "nearly everything" in case I'm forgetting something.

In fact, I'm up for doing it again! I KNOW. It's crazy. I feel like I'm crazy. Or that it won't last. I don't know what's going on with my brain, but you know what? I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts. 

Free Therapy

I heard a new friend with similar mental health issues that art was like free therapy for her. She's very good at it and does it frequently. Coincidentally, I later found a post I'd written in the past about how music is the best therapy. I think we're both right.

It depends on the person, I suppose, but the arts are essential to being whole. I remember watching a film about music and it's effect on the brain in an AP Music class. It really does stimulate the same areas of the brain that sex does. It makes people really feel better.

For me, it's only temporary. You can't listen to music all day, after all. But, as helpful as therapy has been and as helpful as medication has been, I feel the most relaxed listening to music. I feel the most alive. The most connected. Present.

That's why schools need music and the other arts. We need to utilize books, art, dance, spirituality, music, cinema, whatever it takes to feel better. Because we have the power to make ourselves feel better - even if it's temporary.

5 years

If I could take back the last 5 years of my life, I would.

We all make occasional mistakes in life. I was no different. But it seems the last 5 years had the most,  the biggest, and the weightiest mistakes. It started when I left Snow to go to Weber State's Criminal Justice w/forensic science emphasis program. I wanted to go to Weber, and I was planning on doing that program, but I should have stayed at Snow and finished my associates. I loved Snow! I was doing well, but I got antsy and flagellated myself for failing 4 credit hours. I still had As and Bs in my non-failed classes, I had a good GPA, but I started getting nervous.

So I went to Weber State. It was awesome, but my grades started tanking. My roommates were constantly smoking weed and drinking and they always had friends over. I would not have minded the weed and drinking at all, but I was a criminal justice student. I didn't want to put that in jeopardy by associating with people who broke the law. I was also worried about their health and futures, but that was not my call. When I heard they were planning on trying MDMA (ecstacy), I turned them in. I told my landlord when their next party was and I told him how they threw their trash away to hide the evidence. Not that they were clever or any good at it.

As soon as I turned them in, I knew I had to move. The house I lived in was split in two, so I was allowed to simply move to the other side of the house with different roommates. They weren't great either, but just because they were always home. Keep in mind, this whole time I was struggling with my mental health, I was on clonazepam, sertraline, I was getting UTIs, and my grades were tanking. I realized I would be out of money soon, so I began my first job as a waitress.

Bad idea.

That lasted a month. From October to November. I was always there on time, I learned quickly, and I did my best. The reason I quit was purely panic attacks. I had two while there. The second taking place on my last day - the day I broke down in hysterics in the kitchen and left to avoid making a scene.

I ran out of money by February 2012. It was not long after I contacted my husband Stephen for the first time in a few years. I'd Google'd myself over Christmas vacation. Turns out, I was in a dream of his, and therefore, in his online journals. I immediately thought we should catch up! He was my friend for a long time.

That was another mistake. At least the timing was. You know the story by now but, in case you don't, we can make a long story short by saying his most recent ex-girlfriend was one who, unbeknownst to me, held some kind of grudge against me. And they weren't done "seeing" each other yet.

I knew about their secret "relationship" either before our first date or shortly thereafter, but I didn't think it would be a problem after we started dating officially. At least back then, I was stupid, and I was wrong. Our first date was February 14th of that year. I'd maybe just moved back in with my parents after quietly packing up and dropping out of Weber State. Stephen doesn't know, and neither do I, how many times he cheated on me between our first date and our "first time", but it was at least twice. And those two times that I'm sure of took place 2 weeks prior.

There were plenty of mistakes made by me during that time. First of all, I started dating someone when I was in a very fragile place. I'd just started self-mutilating, I'd just lost my job, and I'd just (in my eyes) derailed my entire future by dropping out of Weber State. Stephen was a dream come true. I was happy with him. I stopped cutting, and I stopped all my medication. Another mistake.

Our second time, Stephen made his own mistake and I ended up taking a Plan B. This is where my IBS-C came from. Ever since I took that pill, my whole life has been altered and it wasn't letting up. I began wasting a lot of time and money seeing doctors who'd brush me off and tell me I wasn't drinking enough water or taking enough fiber. I didn't even have room to be embarrassed because I just wanted answers. No one believed me. Especially after I came home with a negative colonoscopy.

I eventually began rapidly losing weight. This prompted a real diagnosis of some freak genetic disease I'd never heard of. Neither problems have been helped. One of them can't be helped. During all of this, Stephen was supportive and loving. I had no idea what had been going on or that he was hiding secrets from me. I learned them eventually though. Right after we ordered our engagement rings. I couldn't even process what was going on. I was so in love and I was excited to get married, I just didn't think about it. It was hard when I did. It only got harder. I said we should get married right away. In October, because I love October. Stephen said it was too soon, so we decided on May of 2013. Another mistake.

I didn't mention that, meanwhile - through all of this, my family was not accepting of my relationship. They were nice to Stephen, don't misunderstand, they just didn't like that I was seeing him. He was going nowhere. He had "no job" (even though he did), he didn't have a phone, and he didn't have a car. Yeah, it was stupid. And terribly frustrating. Whenever I was home (which was rare), I was yelled at or lectured. My dad kept pressuring us to go to school. Basically, I'd be kicked out come 2013, so I should find my way into school. I bought into it, thinking I didn't have another option. This was another mistake.

While looking for apartments at Snow College, Stephen and I decided it would be cheaper to live together. "So", I thought, "we may as well live together." And living together, to me, meant we had to be married. Another mistake.

So, we were going to secretly marry on December 12th. 12/12/12. It was cute, and a once in a lifetime opportunity. Well, my mom quickly found out when I asked my sister to borrow $30 (for a Costco cake). My mom would not allow it, and insisted on a church wedding. I relented, because I didn't need even more guff from anyone. Another mistake.

As you know, my wedding was easily the 2nd worst day of my life. I'd say 1st, but I'm leaving room in case I've forgotten the 1st. It was the worst event in nearly every way. The days before were hellish in that everyone was trying to make this low-budget podunk wedding look like a decent one. Much worse, Stephen's family were acting like bullies and pure monsters, really. They were terrible. My advice? Don't get married. We could've easily lived together. Or even apart, and just seen each other. It would've been simple, and much less frustrating/irritating/heart-breaking/stressful/etc.

Since then, I've suffered. So many things happened that I just can't list them all. Things got much worse. I went from job to job because I'd keep losing them to mental illness. I tried pushing through it. I'd transfer from school to school thinking each time that I could make a fresh start and get good grades again. It never happened. My grades have never gotten better, and I'm very close to being expelled. I've had a few jobs, but none lasting even a year yet. I'm doing everything I can to get better - a therapist, medication, a psychiatrist, not having a job. It's kind of gotten better, but no real improvement.

I just wish I could change the past 5 years. I'd have been much more skeptical of Stephen's actions. I would've stood up for myself more. I would've taken it easy at school instead of trying to keep up with healthy people. I would've waited to find a job suitable for me instead of taking whatever I could get. I'd be happier today, I know it. I can't even imagine how drastically better my life would be.

Pressure

I my culture/religion (they're the same around here), when someone "falls away from the flock" and stops coming to church, it becomes the flock's mission to bring them back. The intent seems to be altruistic. Sometimes it's clearly to earn brownie points in heaven.

Whatever the intent, the methods are nothing short of frustrating. I know because my husband and I have been the latest targets. It started with asking if we were comfortable at church, if we'd been offended, etc. Then it was "let's make a commitment to do X,Y,Z." Then I got my first talk sent to me. It was about being grateful.

I'm often misunderstood, so I'm used to this. But this is where it started to get annoying. I'd told them why I wasn't coming. Granted, there were a lot of reasons, but I told them every single one. However, it seems like it went into one ear and out the other. Maybe this talk was trying to appeal to the depression. Many people mistakenly believe that people say they're depressed because they don't see what they have. They don't realize how good they have it in life.

It just isn't true. At least not in my case. I have a professional diagnosis. It's severe. And it certainly doesn't stem from being ungrateful. I am grateful. I realize how much I have, how lucky I am, all of that. I KNOW I have so much. It kinda makes my depression worse to know there are people who could have all I have and they'd do so much better with it. I don't deserve anything I have. I'm grateful, trust me.

So that really pissed me off. And, more so, it made me sad. My usual reaction. I knew what I was supposed to be doing. I knew if I didn't go, things would get worse. And they did. I requested that we get the sacrament at home. I never took it, but Stephen would. Maybe the second time our home teachers came over with the sacrament, they offered to have missionaries come visit us.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

"No." I said. I think I made it clear that I was pissed. I also think I explained again that the gospel wasn't the problem. The church is kind of a problem (and this stupid culture that comes right along with it). But the real, biggest, single problem I don't go to church is because I have severe social phobia and slightly more severe depression. I can barely get out of bed as it is and to get out, get dressed, and go to some stupid room stuffed with chronically-offended people is not my cup of tea.

When I read the scriptures, I feel hopeful. I feel loved and enlightened. When I go to church, it's always "us" against "them" and somehow I always seem to fit in the "them" category. I know not everyone thinks the same way in there. I'd even venture to say that no two people in there think alike. But I'm tired of the riling up. It's not how it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be refreshing and uplifting. I don't get the feelings I feel when I read the scriptures. It feels wrong. It feels... aggravating and, most of all, saddening.

You know, I can deal with that. Everyone is imperfect. Besides, I know it's where I'm supposed to be. Either through habit, brainwashing, or because this is Christ's church (no matter how well or mishandled it is). I know I should be there. I want to get sealed to Stephen.

There are also the things I've surely mentioned before. Plus, everyone in there is so hard on themselves. The're doing great, but then they always say "I can do better". You can, everyone can, but give yourself some dang credit. I just see these women joining the cocaine problem here in Utah because they just can't cut themselves a break. I digress. Honestly, I'm just depressed. I just don't want another headache. I'm uncomfortable as it is, I don't need to have this invisible war shoved down my throat. We're not nearly as persecuted as we think we are. "The gays" aren't out to get us. The law of the land is just the law of the land. We know it's not reflective of God's laws. Never has been, really. Just. Freaking. Chill, already. Everything will be sorted out by the fairest judge in existence. You just worry about yourself.

I believe I have a close relationship with God (that or I'm terribly schizophrenic). I know he wants and expects more of me, but he is patient with me. He's been so kind to Stephen and me. We've been blessed despite our transgressions. We owe him our entire existence. We owe him everything. I know we can do better. Lots better.  I know we have a lot to contribute to the church. I have a strong testimony of the truth of The Book of Mormon. I don't need missionaries. I don't need your handouts, booklets, and DVDs, I just need to get healthier.

That was a tangent. Anyway, my home teachers would visit us later, but we didn't get the sacrament at home anymore. I didn't like it anyway. We just stopped going at all. Our home teachers (bless their hearts) would still visit us every month. I got more talks and testimonies sent to me from members of the ward. It was frustrating to be so misunderstood, but I appreciated their intent.

A few months after the "missionary" debacle, our home teachers came over and asked us about our feelings on the church and the gospel. Probably to start from square one. I don't think they were prepared for our answers. Stephen and I, of course, have different reasons. They offered me a booklet to keep. I refused, telling them politely that I am offended by these kinds of offerings.

A few weeks later (maybe a month later), we were visited by the stake president and a counselor. That was a huge joke. They came over under the pretense that they check on members often and they were just checking in on us. I knew that was bullshit, but we tried to be pleasant anyway. I knew that there was a good intent somewhere. They knew a lot about us. I wonder where they got the information from. I guess I could've asked. Anyway, it eventually came to them asking us where we stand with the gospel and the church.

They weren't ready for our answers, either. Long story short, I think we really offended them. Even though I told them every single thing, after Stephen told them he didn't go because he didn't like peoples' annoying opinions, they just amounted everything to that sole reason. A reason that I didn't share. They basically said that we shouldn't care about other opinions and go anyway. That me separating the church from the gospel (something that works for me and allows me to consider going to church at all) was a slippery slope. That was when I got disheartened. I just deflated and threw in the towel, just as they had. P.S: It's not a slippery slope to have testimony of some things and not others.

They offered us a DVD of the prophet's life and his testimonies. Stephen was being quiet the whole time. I looked to him as I did a few times already to see if he had anything to say, and he didn't. So I just answered for myself. "I wouldn't want it." I'd have explained why (I already have a testimony), but I said that before and they probably couldn't have cared less.

It was awkward to say the least. After they left, I just cried. It was so frustrating. I was a good girl most of my life. I read the scriptures by myself on my own terms. I always had a testimony of the love of my savior and God. I knew who I was, despite the mental illnesses and their total control over every aspect of my life. I was in a bad place when I met Stephen. I got in a worse place, and stayed there.

I'm working on it. I'm doing everything I can. 7 pills a day, therapy once a week, psychiatrist once a month. I just don't see how I can do more to become healthy. And that's what I really need, first and foremost. It just hurts to know that nobody really cares about my reasons, they just want me to be there. Probably for the sake of good numbers on the rosters and not having lost sheep.

I just cried. I'm tired of people telling me - or pretending to know -who I am and what I believe. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the missionary work, the handouts, the assumptions, the invitations, the pretending to care. The pressure. I'm tired of it. So...

They win.

I'll go to church, just to get them to leave me the hell alone.

Signs

When someone commits the ultimate act of suicide, the family always seems to be shocked. "We had no idea." They say. "There were no signs!".

There are always signs.

I've been treated for depression and anxiety for years, but it has recently spiraled downward into suicidal tendencies. For instance, I've been popping Ibeuprofen - a detriment to kidney function when the function is low or when used consistently to treat chronic pain. This is apparently still suicide, but called "slow suicide" casually.

I recently stopped cutting myself. I'd just use an X-acto knife, not a razor blade. Not even sure how to obtain one of those. Anyway, it still hurt and it worked for me. I'd get a strange satisfaction watching the blood run down my arms and coagulate into red stalactites. I liked hurting myself. I'd imagine just being able to cut into the arteries. I never considered trying, because it hurt enough to get superficial cuts.

One night I laid in bed just rationalizing all the finalities of suicide. Would anyone actually care? I don't care if anyone is mad or sad about it, they'll get over it. It's selfish of them to be angry at me for ending my suffering. Joanna would be sent to a different, better mother. What about the afterlife? Will I be punished? God is fair, he can't expect me to do this. But we're not supposed to kill. 

Usually, that is where I'd stop. I haven't killed myself yet because I'm much too afraid of the consequences. I'm afraid of the pain and being interrupted or "saved" and being deformed or brain damaged. But that night, I decided that I just didn't care. I decided that whatever was going to happen would happen. Not that I thought the sleeping pills I was about to take would kill me, but I hoped they would.

They were actually a blood pressure medication that had a side effect of making one sleepy. They didn't work for that, so I had plenty left in the bottle. They were tiny pills. Just a bunch of tiny orange pills, so I could swallow them all at once.

I stepped outside my room, got the pills out of the cabinet, and poured them into my mouth. I quickly filled a cup with water from the sink but, before I could drink it, I heard something. Like a whoosh. I glanced back and saw Stephen but, without a second thought, I turned and splashed the water into my pill-filled mouth. Suddenly, Stephen's arms were around my stomach, pushing on it. He held me by the throat, closing it. I spit out the water and most, if not all, of the pills.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Since then I've gotten better treatment and more therapy. I don't even cut anymore. Some days I want to, but the last time I tried I just thought: "I don't want to hurt myself. Why would I hurt myself?". Even though I tried, I couldn't get a good cut - just scratches. 

My point is, I've given plenty of signs. I'd be very pissed off if I killed myself tomorrow and anyone says: "I had no idea!". You all do. You all know. I've talked about it multiple times, but no one except my therapist seems to think it's a big deal. He was worried about me. He seems to be the only one. Not that he worries anymore. I've gotten better. 

But I could have easily been another preventable suicide. Whenever I'd talk about being so very depressed or anyone saw my cuts or heard me talk about my thoughts of taking my life, I was ignored or it was very awkward. Like I wasn't going to do it or that I wanted attention. 

It kinda just makes me want to do it to show how serious I am but, again, I'm usually too scared of the consequences. Not always. I could easily have another night like the one before. I'd use carbon monoxide poisoning this time. It would be faster and more effective. Less painful, too. 

I was so close and nobody cared. Nobody seemed to notice. Which is crazy to me. 

Suicide is harder for me now. Now that I'm healthier. I just don't even go to that place anymore. Not that I'm not apathetic and miserable a lot of the time, but...I just understand now how most people "can't even fathom why someone would commit suicide". I can see that now. But I could also see the flip side. When you're that hopeless, it's very easy to want to move on from this life. You're just trapped. You hate yourself. You really think people would be better off without you. Everything you do is wrong. 

That's why I hate people saying it's selfish. It's not at all. It's not "taking the easy way out." You don't know how hard it is until you've been there. It's hard to kill yourself, even when you're filled with self-hate, misery, guilt, and hopelessness. Healthier people don't even understand the depths of those all-consuming feelings. 

I know because I've been there and now I'm here.

I digress, there are signs. You can tell when someone needs help. People just choose to ignore them.

I am us.

We're always saying as latter day saints that "the world" is what brings us down and defecting from the church brings sadness. Well, in my experience the exact opposite is true. I feel the most hostility and sadness at church or because of something uber-members are saying. I feel as though my religion is what separates me from friends and family the most. They seem to feel like I attack it because I don't share the republican, "we're persecuted" mindset.

I know the gospel is true. I know how I feel when I read Mormon and Moroni and other parts of the Book of Mormon. I feel peace and hope. When I'm hearing things from members on the pulpit and off, I just feel...hostility and separation. An "you're either all-for or completely against us" deal. I am us. I don't know why having an open mind and looking for answers is a problem. If Joseph Smith wasn't open minded and didn't ask questions, where would we be? The church was founded on questions, open minds, and faith.

Now it's like...as so many people like to share "doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith". Which is a trivial snippet from an amazing talk which was meant to welcome others back into the fold, not used as some tool to keep people from questioning. God doesn't want mindless followers who go through the motions, God wants people with real faith and testimonies. Loyalty. Humility.

This is a big reason why I don't go to church. The biggest is the social phobia. Another is the general unease about the operations going on. As you know, Stephen's ex didn't even tell her bishop or her husband the whole truth about Stephen. In fact, the bishop didn't even know Stephen's name. She was able to get married and sealed in less than a year. She ruined my life.

When Stephen and I told our bishop about our premarital relations, we were almost instantly "forgiven". We could take the sacrament. How? I didn't even feel bad about what I'd done. And neither was I asked if I ever felt bad. It was just like...if we just go to church and read the scriptures and continue to do well, we're forgiven.

That doesn't sit well with me. As nice as it would be to be instantly forgiven for everything, I couldn't even imagine being forgiven. Not yet. I didn't even feel bad yet. I guess I did, but only because I had disappointed my mom and set a bad example for my younger relatives. But I never really felt bad for what I'd been doing multiple times a day for months. Something I'd been told incessantly my whole life that it was wrong. I never felt bad. Guilty at first. And scared, but...numb the rest of the time.

Not that I haven't paid dearly for it. However, I just feel like, to be forgiven, you must first be remorseful. And maybe that has something to do with why I began doing it in the first place. I was in a bad place. I'd just dropped out of Weber State because I'd run out of money. I'd lost my job a couple months before due to anxiety. I was depressed, cutting, and my grades were dropping from As and Bs to As and Fs. Why would God let me meet Stephen at a time like that if I wasn't meant to be?

He'd pressured me all the time to have sex. I didn't, but it's not like we weren't doing anything at all. We were doing things we shouldn't have, but I was still a virgin. Then, one night in the back of the car, we were doing what we usually did, and, like always, I was propositioned. This time was different. I remember looking up to the stars for some reason and getting this overwhelming feeling - and maybe I even heard a "voice" of sorts saying: "It will be okay."

So we did it for the first time in the early morning hours of April 18th 2012.

I didn't know it at the time, but God saved me (and others) that day, with that choice. Apparently, Stephen had been seeing his ex behind my back. In fact, 2 weeks prior, he'd had sex with her twice. I was so much in love with Stephen. I've never felt that way before or since. God was saving me from more heartbreak when I later learned what had happened. If there was anymore pain, I probably wouldn't be here.

See, when we were dating, I was in Heaven on Earth. I still can't imagine ever being so happy again. I was so indescribably happy, but it was all a lie. Stephen didn't feel the same way. At least, not at first, so a lot of hurtful things were happening behind my back.

Anyway, just before we got engaged, I was told the Earth-shattering truth. Sounds over-dramatic now, but I was truly crushed. I trusted him. I was certain he truly loved me. He'd learned to, but, because I wasn't having sex with him, he sought it elsewhere.

God saved me the day I chose to give my most intimate gift to Stephen. It was then that he stopped seeing her. Because she no longer got any from Stephen, his ex was able to move on and find a man who turned out to be her eternal companion. He was saved that day, too. She'd had sex with a lot of guys, but I know it hurts less when it has happened less. Not that he knows. He was told she stopped sleeping with him after they stopped dating.

I can't say this is a bad thing. Ignorance is bliss. I know I'd be a lot happier had the truth remained hidden, but honesty is good too.

Anyway, how can I feel bad when what I did saved me? It saved a lot of people. I can't imagine where we'd all be if I didn't make that choice. Not that it didn't have negative consequences. I'm paying for it still. My digestion will never be the same after taking a plan B for an accident we had the second time we ever had sex. I paid for it immediately and I'm still paying for it. But even then...if I didn't have severe chronic digestive issues, I wouldn't have found my PKD.

Repentance isn't repentance without remorse. It's in the definition. So, if repenting without feeling bad first or making amends is cool, what else is cool? Stephen and his ex ruined a lot of my life. I still have nightmares, I have insecurities, trust issues, etc. She wasn't sorry. She even lied about it. Here I am forgiving, but hating her and now I'm the bad guy twice!

The church isn't perfect because it's run and patronized by imperfect people. I get it. So why can't I question and criticize those imperfections without being a heretic or a bad influence? I swear, people around here and a lot of the people I know just believe everything in the church is spotless and everyone is doing things for the right reasons and blah blah blah.

They're not always. And it should be okay to say so without being an outcast or a jack mormon.

Anyway, I know God is always there for me. It was prophesied that I would suffer a lot in this life. And I have made the wrong choices, but never without purpose, it seems. God is looking out for me. I just feel like we have a close relationship. Not that it's good, it's usually me apologizing for not doing all I have the potential to in this life, and him continuing to bless me regardless.

That's another thing. I always say that we're blessed and things are going well. People don't like to hear that because "being good gives you blessings, not being bad!". But every situation is different. God is loving and very, very merciful. Very patient with us. I know he's always been there for me - when I was being good and reading the scriptures all the time, and even now that I'm not doing anything at all ever. I think he knows what I'm in for and what I've been through. We're just close. Close enough that you should probably worry about me! :)

Anyway, this went on a LOT longer than expected and hopefully you were able to find the point to it, because I can't.

Ostracized

When you're afraid of people and communication with them leads to headaches and fatigue, you tend not to hang around them. If that doesn't push people away from you, surely your awkward interactions would. It's hard being a social phobe. It's especially hard in a society based in communication. Extraverts have it good. Heck, introverts have it better than social phobes.

But, as hard as it is to make and keep friends of strangers, it can be much harder to make friends of family. When I speak of my family, I just mean Stephen, my immediate relatives, and my mom's family. They're very close and they're people I can actually call family. They treat me well enough when we're together. Very well. Most of them at least are very kind to me and show interest in things I love. In fact, they really support me and have encouraged me when I felt discouraged.

However, despite the affection I receive when I'm with them, it's a different story when I'm not. For the vast majority of them, being friends in person doesn't equate to being friends on social media. That sounds hollow and benign, but considering it's my only form of communication with the rest of the world and with them when we're not together, it becomes considerable.

Not that I can't understand. My opinions are not normal, especially my political or religious ones. It's rare that I fully agree with anyone or anything. And they're a very religious very republican family. Not that I'm hardcore democrat or an atheist, but even worthy members with strange opinions and the wrong kind of libertarian (aka: me) can seem like polar opposites from them. Maybe because of this, most of them aren't friends with me. Two handfuls of them are still friends with me (bless their hearts), but have unsubscribed from my feed. I can tell because they never comment or like anything of mine. Ever. But I see activity from them on my relatives' pages frequently. Also, I have an annoying compulsion to call people out. Especially if what they're saying is stupid. It can be irritating, I'm sure. Most often people post opinions with expectations of agreement.

Even though I understand and even though the vast majority (if not all) of my relatives are kind and loving to me in person, it still hurts to know that my feelings, life events, and other things important to me are not as important to them as not having to see my unorthodox opinions.

Facebook is so stupid, but it's my only thing...out there. It's literally my only form of communication most days. It makes being alone much less lonely. I don't like a lot of the things most people post. It's almost always provocative, mean, meaningless, or political. However, I keep things open between me and most people because I know what they're saying means something to them. I like knowing what they think even when I think what they think is stupid. And those few times their posts aren't provocative or political, they're personal. Those make me happy. I love hearing about when people are doing well and having fun, and people living. I live through them, I guess.

I digress. I just frequently feel ostracized. I don't have to fit in, but I don't want to be ignored because of my political or religious beliefs.