On Saturday night, I went to bed with every intention to go to church in the morning just like I normally would. However Sunday morning came, and I couldn't get myself to get out of bed much less to take a shower. My thoughts were rampant. Getting ready for the day felt like an impossible feat. Then thinking about what would happen if I could even get myself to church just added to the torment. How was I supposed to put on a facade and face the multiple people I would encounter in sacrament meeting, Sunday School, and Relief Society? I couldn't possibly handle the social setting I would be in. I would simply want to shrink and disappear. And if I couldn't even get ready for church, what's the point in going and trying to face it anyway?
Back to sleep I went. Or at least I tried. But I couldn't. I just kept thinking how it wasn't too late to go to church. I could make it in time for Sunday School or Relief Society or even my activities committee meeting. But the thought of getting ready -- showering, getting dressed, doing my hair, eating -- all sounded daunting. Plus, I didn't want to show up late. How embarrassing that would be, especially when I have church at 11am. I couldn't tell people that I was late because I couldn't get out of bed or I couldn't shower. Normal people do those things without thought. It doesn't require any effort. They just get up, shower, and get ready for the day.
I was ashamed of myself, my depression, and my anxiety. And instead of doing just one small thing that I knew would help me feel just the tiniest bit better (getting up, showering, eating, getting dressed, etc.), I continued to lay in bed. I hoped someone would ask why I wasn't at church. But at the same time, I didn't because I didn't want to respond to anyone at all. I wanted someone to show up at my door, but I didn't. Because that would require me to look presentable or okay, and I wasn't either of those. Somebody did text me after sacrament meeting, and I was grateful. But I didn't want to respond, so I didn't. I didn't want to tell them where I was or what I was doing or more like what I wasn't doing.
2 o'clock came and went. 3 o'clock. 4 o'clock. 5 o'clock. I just sank deeper and deeper in despair. I couldn't get out of bed. I felt anger, frustration, guilt, shame, depression, anxiety, and loneliness. I was mad that nobody cared. At least it felt that way to me. I was mad for being mad that nobody cared. (Because I knew that wasn't really true.) I was worried about the next day. How was I going to go to work the next day? I couldn't afford to miss work. But yet, I can afford to miss church? Nothing was making sense. My feelings and emotions were so conflicted. I wanted what I didn't want. And I couldn't seem to muster the strength to do what I needed to do.
At one point, I wanted a blessing. But that would require me to get ready and contact someone and tell them I was struggling. I didn't really want that. A blessing wasn't worth that. I didn't have it in me to even get a blessing.
So what do you do on days like Sunday? When you feel stuck and incapable of living? When your thoughts and feelings paralyze you? When you can't find the strength to meet the basic challenges of your day?
You accept it, move on, and try again. And you hope for the strength to make it through another day.
How do you support someone who is fighting a battle, like this, of mental illness? You listen, you support, you validate, you love, you comfort, you strengthen them. That's what they so desperately need.
