Heather, I remember after my first road race, thinking, “this is it? I just did all that running and no one even noticed!?” Someone just stuffed a chunk of bread and a water bottle in my hand, and called it good.

“There is nothing, I realize, nothing I can do to shorten the course. I just have to finish..”

Excellent!

Here goes:

My friend tells me that when she gets tired during a race, she pretends her hands are pulling up her legs as she runs. I try the move, and wonder if I look as silly as I feel. I stop the imagery, feeling less like a runner and more like a spastic marionette. But my legs still feel like lead as I push them farther than they had ever gone. I put my head down, to pretend that I am a bull, charging, and again realize I must look ridiculous. Plus, it gets hard to run with my head down, so I pick it up, stare up in the sky, and for my efforts get only a headache and a reminder I should have worn sunglasses. There is nothing, I realize, nothing I can do to shorten the course. I just have to finish.

I did. And when I crossed the finish line, I was most surprised that there were no fireworks, no band playing, no falling down in a cheering husband’s arms. He’d finished a half an hour ago.

Nope, none of that. Just a box of water bottles and some bananas.

I guess we don’t run races for the food.

“What I really meant in chosing to be happy is that I substitute that for enduring to the end as I believe that will lead to ultimate happiness even if our present circumstances are difficult. This means living the commandments and being obedient. Yes, God can even bless us in the present. But in those dark hours when you do not feel blessed, you can hold onto the promise that God’s way is the right way.”

Thank you for sharing part of your story.

Quick, on to school, studying with kids who could be my children (well, almost). Don’t they know how lucky they are to have the time to dedicate to education and not have to cram it into a night already exhausted by a day? Don’t they know how much harder it will be if they put it off until all they have is 17 hour days, and a mind stuffed to the point of confusion? Don’t they know how important it is to endure, now, and how tough it will be to endure later, if they haven’t learned this skill?

Life is about endurance. Always has been. Always will be.

What I meant by chosing happiness is not that a person can always feel happy. There are periods of profound sadness. And when I said I had a nervous breakdown. I am not sure if that is true as I went to school that semester and received all A’s in my nine credit hours if memory serves and also made a friend who I socialized outside of school with who was in two of my classes. That was rare as far as my College experience as it was without dorms. But I was in despair and also it was when my disorder manifest itself in a way to impair my ability to discern things and I saw everything as a risk. I still see so many things as a risk, but I am able to rehearse a lot of things that people tell me such as saying things are in my head. It really has been the kindness of others and the strength from God that has helped me. I would feel unworthy to go anywhere were people not so kind. All the same, I prefer to never go anywhere again. Yet, there is one other alternative that is romantic in nature, but so far in three years has not materialized in that direction so I have to live my life as it is unless the man I like decides that he not only likes me, but loves me enough to put up with me. And I seem to hope that I would overcome my disorder or at least have the tools to cope better.

What I really meant in chosing to be happy is that I substitute that for enduring to the end as I believe that will lead to ultimate happiness even if our present circumstances are difficult. This means living the commandments and being obedient. Yes, God can even bless us in the present. But in those dark hours when you do not feel blessed, you can hold onto the promise that God’s way is the right way. It is just easier for me to say “chosing to be happy” now than enduring to the end. Happiness was beyond me in my early days with my condition manifest as it is and I dont’ think I was capable of such a choice. Yet, I was obedient as best I was able although I was not doing it for blessings. I was pretty sure I was hellbound and that nothing I did mattered at that point. That is why I am glad that I have hope now and Priesthood leaders have helped restored that hope. Were I not met with kind Bishops and members of the Stake Presidency, I do not know what might have become to me for I could not filter out the madness on my own. Plus, I had some therapy and took medication for a time.
Sorry if this all seems too dramatic. Most days my life is very ordinary as my problems are at a threshold that are probably less stressful than a lot of people’s days. Staying home is the best option though. Well, thanks for commenting, Justine. It is hard to be so open and to be ignored as I have been at times online. And I hope I don’t seem like a person to be pitied. I am generally not too dramatic in my day to day life. I am sorry this comes across with so much drama. You have to become a little closed off to go on and all. I cried so much in the early days of my disorder that I may have closed that part of myself off as I seldom cry now. Or maybe it is the absence of depression that I had then. At any rate, my life is generally good. I feel bad writing so much as I do not want to assume that people are so interested. Yet, I opened the door and did not want to leave the wrong impression. Also, I thought Darlene was very clever too! I am impressed. If we do this activity in the future, I will try not to be so dramatic even if it is a trigger word for me such as “endurance.”

And Barb, that was really lovely, thank you for sharing. Your gratitude shines through the writing, and I feel grateful for your honesty. Choosing to be happy is something I think we all have to figure out, because happiness definitely does not just come like in fairy tales. Thank you.

Dalene! YOU are so sneaky!

I am not sure why I was asked to meet with a mental health professional while I was at the MTC. I guess the record of my mental problems prior to being LDS when I had doen a suicide gesture may have prompted the meeting. I thought I was doing fine at the MTC although it was a challenge to always try to follow my companion around as I felt like it annoyed her. My companion and room mates thought I was so serious. And I was in a super serious mode at that time. I did have a sense of humor, but I was obsessed with the rules. I guess that is a comment characteric of survivors. And what I survived was not anything in comaprison to a LifeTime movie. And I had early years of that were so Norman Rockwell. But times were really bad immediately before my mission. I think that was one of the periods of a lot of breaking of things. There was the insane rages. Not any physical violence to speak of at the time unless you count shoving. But it was worse than the minor physical abuse that I experienced at times. Far more scary. This was immediately before entering the MTC. And yet, I had felt so blessed while still living at home and felt myself being prepared by God to serve a mission. I felt Heaven so close at times. That is not to say that I was not sore afraid at times during rages. And then there was the opposition of nonmember parents not wanting me to go on a mission. And yet, it was not a rage from that parent as I feared as he always would break to what I wanted. Just a small request in a quiet way not to go. And some comments here and there about my being brainwashed, but not too bad. Maybe he knew that I was going his support or not. And they both came around in ways so amazing that I will not relate here.

There I sat in meeting with the Mental Health Professional wanting me to know that there were services if I needed them. Services. I told him that I would not be needing any services after surviving what I had in my home environment. I told him I did not need anybody. I did need to be friends with my companions. I just need my Heavenly Father. He gave me an article to read. “Is that on the reading list at the MTC?” I think he was distressed that I would ask and I believe he said, “Would I give you something that you were not aloud to read?” I don’t remember if I read it or what it was about.

I did great about my first nine months as a missionary. And there were no external experiences to justify the turmoil experienced starting around my nineth month. I don’t know if it is the “wall” that my Mission President Spoke of or if it was worse. I just know that I used the discipline I gained in high school when I studied constantly to get good greads while I was constantly contemplating suicide. I also went about my sports practices and worked hard there too.

And after I had been home about six months, I had a nervous breakdown.

And I have had a lot of good times since. I am still very limited and avoid going a lot of places. I wish that I never had to leave home. I wish that I was one of the people shot at the Mall in my city recently or that I never had to leave home. Both are viable options to me provided my not having to leave home would also allow me to have my own space while living where I feel safe so that I would not contaminate others. And I love life in so much details and so many ways. I am not depressed. I just worry every day of my life that something that I do could harm another so death would be such a relief. But you would be surprised how I am able to do as well as I am with my limited sphere and if it is below a certain threshold can be happy. It used to hurt so much more. I have learned a lot. But I don’t think I will ever be well. But if God will have mercy on me, in the end, that is what matters. And I hope that I am on the right path though it is hard to feel as such when I am not able to go to Church due to my condition. But I am so thankful for what I can do. And I know this is rather dramatic. Well, it is honest. I used to not know if I could hope to hope. And I have had hope. And I prefer to concentrate on choosing to be happy rather than enduring to the end as that is much easier for me to say after the doom and gloom that I have experience. I always say that if I were to ever write something to publication that I would not write about my condition or about my families’ situations. But this is for leisure.

“In a few minutes. I just have to brush my teeth and turn off the computer.”

That’s at 11:00, maybe closer to midnight. Sometimes earlier, say, 10:00-ish. It doesn’t matter. Whatever hour it starts it usually ends up an aching head and burning eyes roving for just one more good idea. One more distraction, really. One more piece of busywork to keep me from sleep. To keep me, rather, from being still and thinking.

Is there a bogeyman in my room? Sometimes.

But to be fair, there’s also a very nice man in my bed, waiting. Well, not waiting, exactly. Two minutes after his head touches down, his consciousness launches, destination: dreams. But even from orbit he knows, he knows what hour I come crawling into bed, never mind that our mattress is built for movement absorption. Never mind that I ease without breathing between the covers so slowly and carefully, only moving during his exhales, that even the bedroom air is undisturbed. Maybe he turns heavily, on instinct, to hold me, or maybe he continues to travel at light speed through the deep space of rest, but his control tower lets him know that It’s 2:13 now, it’s 1:37, it’s 3:01, it’s half past 12:00, and she’s just coming to bed. Roger that.

The next morning he asks me, “What time did you come to bed?” or “How late did you stay up last night?” But he already knows. Why does he ask?

As I lie there beside him in the dark, making my attempt at releasing consciousness, he snores. I wear plugs in my ears, bright orange foamy ones, with the highest dB rating available. They are all that stands between us and separate beds. That I will not endure.

Snore. Snoooore. Snore, snore, snore.

“Rob. Roll over.”

“Would you please turn on your side, sweetie?”

“I know you’re more comfortable on your back, but could you just try it?”

“Augh! Please, please, stop snoring! I have to sleep!”

How is it that I find my way to rest? When does it happen? Do I finally stop hearing? Does he ever grow quiet? Do I?

In the mornings, I can’t hear the alarm. Not enough dB. Even if he sets the clock right next to my head its sounding never penetrates my defenses. But him? Always. Is he so loud? No, he’s nobody’s grandpa, and he’s not even overweight. He’s not a growling terror. It’s me. I am just tuned into the sound of him. I always know. Why is that?

So he wakes me kindly, every morning, when it’s time to launch. My headache is still there, but it fades as I begin the day. I don’t look so great when I’m tired. I’m not at my best. Over and over again, here I am, but he is patient. He endures.

(And just because I’m not above laughing at my own expense I’ll admit that I had to rewrite one of the sentences because I misspelled endurance the first time.)