I wont blame it all on teaching, but...

It took me a long while to make this post. First it took a while for me to realize I needed to write it. Then it took me a while to find the time and mental ability to write this emotional piece and then it took me a while to decide to publish it. So this is several months in the making, but here it is. This is the completely raw and unequivocal, honest and vulnerable story of me and my journey with depression.

In high school and college I was always an exceptionally happy person. I loved people, my friends, my parents and, occasionally, my siblings ;) I was extremely active in my high school academics and choir program. I remember always thinking highly of myself, not in a prideful or condescending way, but rather I would say my thoughts and feelings towards myself were mostly, if not always, positive. I considered myself to be beautiful, smart, talented and funny. I was, honestly, a very strong minded and resilient person. I loved my church and the relationship I had formed with God. I looked forward to spending Sundays with my church family and I enjoyed my daily seminary classes on the scriptures. In college it stayed pretty much the same. If anything, my trust in the Lord became stronger as I made bigger decisions in my life and had to rely on myself more than my parents. I taught weekly classes of aural skills and music history and remember being grateful for the time I got to spend with my students. More than anything, though, I enjoyed singing and performing. College was the first time in my life when I began to really understand what it meant to be a musician. I became entranced with the sensation my body felt when I would sing opera and it was the biggest thrill to me.

Then, I graduated. I began student teaching and quickly realized I had completed the wrong degree. Not only that, but I had moved to a different city for this final semester and only knew my grandparents and other extended family members, which was, a HUGE blessing. I still enjoyed my time teaching, though, but it certainly took a huge toll on my mental stamina. When I finished student teaching, I moved back to my college town for the summer while I tried to figure out my life, if I was going to teach for a while or move on straight to grad school. During this summer I remember a very strange feeling that didn’t necessarily engulf me but was something like a lingering sense of emotional pressure that seemed to follow me, though not yet touch me. I didn’t understand it, I couldn’t put a name to it, it wasn’t something I was used to feeling, so I ignored it. Then I got a job teaching middle school in Las Vegas so I moved down to to be with my bestie who was already there and I was as happy as a clam. Seriously, my journal entries from the first two or three weeks of living in Vegas are some of the most giddy writing I have ever written. I was so pleased with myself to have gotten out of Mormon-land Rexburg, have a big kid job and not be working at Walmart. But the excitement I felt of transitioning in my life didn’t last for very long. I soon realized that real teaching was nothing like student teaching, and if I didn’t care much for student teaching I definitely hated real teaching. I kept myself busy, though. I taught full time, I continued to take weekly voice lessons, I was even awarded the Encouragement Award for the Las Vegas Met district and I began to seriously think about a career in opera. When I think about this first year of teaching, I think about my wonderful roommate, Anna, who kept me sane and also all of the work I did for my choir kids. I spent the following summer in Germany at a pay-to-sing, performing Mozart and having a GRAND old time. Because I loved every second I was in Europe, I decided that this weird feeling I continued to have lurking in the background was actually just my disdain for teaching, and that the sooner I could quit, the better.

Year two as a teacher was by far my favorite. I remember several times rethinking my decision to quit… because my kids were the shit. I loved them and I loved the work we did together. Nevertheless, I applied for grad school, knowing full well that if I was accepted that would mean I was officially deciding to change careers. During this year I also started to feel the strain of this weird feeling that wouldn’t go away. It was a feeling that made me really sad. All the time… except for when I was with my friends or with my students. I decided to name this feeling “loneliness” and coped with it the only way I knew how: by shoving it deep inside me and making sure I was never alone. I would constantly be with my roommate or with my best friend or with anyone, really. Anyone who could make me forget this thing that was making me feel miserable. When I was with people I could forget about how I felt because I was preoccupying myself with other people’s thoughts and feelings. At the end of my second year of teaching I hit a bump in the road: I was not accepted into my dream grad school, USC. But, miraculously, was invited very last minute to audition for UNLV, Vegas’ main university. I was accepted and, even though not terribly excited about continuing to live in Vegas and continuing to teach and not having really any idea of what school would look like at UNLV, I was content.

During this summer I decided to go through the temple for the first time. For Mormons this is an important decision in your life as it is the final step of becoming a full member of the church. It was an event that I equally looked forward to and dreaded. It’s a really big decision and I was already starting to feel some anxiety about the Mormon church-an organization that I had once really, really loved. After going through the temple, I spent the rest of that summer trying to decide if I was actually going to stay a member of the church. I struggled with a lot of things, but most of my issues (though not all) came from cultural norms within the Mormon community. I already knew that I didn’t agree politically nor socially with most of my Mormon friends and family and it became increasingly difficult to feel welcome in the church when I didn’t agree with their strong convictions.

Year three of teaching started and I was both a teacher and a student. This. was. Hellacious. I never had a spare moment for anything, but I was excited because I thought that performing again and working on my voice would lift this emotion that was steadily crushing me. At the beginning of the year, things were okay. I was busy, but I was coping. A few months into the school year, however, I was drowning. I no longer cared for anything I did at work with my students, they were 100% on the back burner. Because of this I had many, many classroom management problems that made teaching that year the worst thing I have ever done in my life. I also started to lose relationships with people around me. I lost almost all of my church friends, I rarely saw them and I didn’t speak to my roommates. And then something weird happened, I stopped being able to talk to people. It was like I couldn’t form sentences to people I didn’t know extremely well. I completely lost the interest to meet new people. This was odd and concerning to me because meeting new people and spending time with people has been something I have always loved. I moved into a new congregation in my church and spoke to no one. I would show up and keep my head down. I wouldn’t comment on things in sunday school, I didn’t say hello to people or invite anyone to sit with me. And yet, I didn’t realize that it was me that was changing. I thought that this congregation must really suck. In grad school I had a little bit more luck. I met some people in my classes who were nice and I became good friends with one person in particular, of whom I feel like I was extremely inspired to meet, because she has been supportive and a constant friend since day one.

Entering the second semester of year three was rough. I started to notice that I was extremely cynical. My usual bubbly and lighthearted humor seemed to always have some dark side to it. I know my best friend noticed it, though I’m not sure anyone else did (probably because I had stopped talking to all of my old friends). It was also very strange because I realized I just couldn’t do simple tasks… like sign up for a credit card. I knew I needed one because I had no credit history and I wanted to rent a car, but I could not do it. I wanted to practice. I knew I was supposed to be practicing every day as a grad student, but I would sit down at the piano and just stare at my music, not able to bring myself to push any piano keys or open my mouth. Friends and coworkers would ask me to do simple things and I couldn’t complete them. I knew I needed to see a doctor (since I hadn’t been to one since high school) but I would sit down at a computer to find a doctor within my insurance and I would become confused. I could complete the first step but then not know how to go on to the second. I mean really easy tasks. It was like my mind wouldn’t let me work. I liken it to those dreams where you’re in trouble and need to scream for help and run away but nothing comes out of your mouth and you have no power over your limbs to make them move. That was honestly how I felt a lot of the time. I also started noticing the thoughts I began to have about myself. They were always critical and I never gave myself encouraging thoughts. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing pretty. And I mean, I literally saw something different in the mirror than what I had three years ago. My face looked different, my body looked bigger, my eyes weren’t sparkly, my hair was ugly, everything was ugly. When I would look in the mirror I would think things like “no wonder no one wants to date you, you are so ugly.” “No one will ever hire you as a performer because no one wants to look at you.” I remember thinking that these were strange new thoughts I had about myself and I sincerely wondered why I didn’t think I was beautiful anymore. I attributed it to maybe growing up. A considerably very dark moment happened sometime towards the end of the semester in a voice lesson. I realized that I hated the sound of my own singing voice. At this time I contemplated quitting singing because I received absolutely no joy from it anymore, and not because it was hard or too intense, but because I no longer felt anything when I sang. There was nothing. It was a dull chore that didn’t even sound good. Obviously, no one would hire a voice like mine, so it was probably not worth it. Though I was still quitting my teaching job because I hated that even more than the sound of my own voice.

Sometime back in December I had stopped going to church. This was not because I had lost faith in God or because I thought he wasn’t there for me or didn’t exist, but it was because I was so extremely exhausted. I couldn’t cope with teaching full time, going to grad school full time and having to deal with the relentless negative thoughts I had about myself every time I had to be around people. There was really only two people in my life at this point who I felt I could talk to, they were my best friend’s Alissa and Jake. Alissa kept me happy. Literally the only time I ever felt happy was when I was with Alissa. And literally the only reason I didn’t go off the deep end was Jake. I can’t express how incredibly important these two people were to my well being, and I didn’t even really know it at the time. I had many discussions with Jake on where I stood with the church. I didn’t want to go back. I hated going to church and learning about things that I didn’t agree with, with people who I felt were uppity and ignorant. He constantly encouraged me to keep believing and have faith. By the end of the semester I was finally able to put into words why I actually hated church. It was because I had a memory of how happy I had once been in the gospel, but I could no longer find that happiness. And it was not for a lack of trying. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer and I always had this distinct feeling that God was listening, but wasn’t answering. I somehow knew he wanted to speak to me, but it was being blocked for some reason. And so for nine months, God was silent to me. Which was hard because I feel like I have always had a good relationship with him. I knew he was still there but I was so confused as to why he wasn’t answering me.

I remember the moment when I realized that this feeling I had been dealing with for three years was depression. I had driven down to my best friends house because I was, again, feeling sad and lonely. I didn’t want to feel that way so I knew my only hope for survival was to ignore it by occupying my thoughts with Alissa. As I sat on her living room floor I realized I didn’t like being there. It then dawned on me that the last thing I enjoyed in my life was no longer enjoyable and could not comfort me. I realized I would much, much rather be all alone and by myself than with other people, even my best friend of six years. I got up and I drove home defeated. I didn’t know what to do. It was difficult for me to admit that I had depression. I had always felt like I would somehow escape that disease. I had seen other people I loved go through it, but it never occurred to me that it would happen to me.

Even though I had admitted that I had depression, it was still impossible to realize the extent of its effect on me. I tried to catch myself when I would think negative thoughts... but just because I knew what I was doing, didn’t mean I felt any differently about myself. My self-esteem continued to disintegrate and my connections with people also continued to dissolve.

When the school year finally ended, I was a wreck. I was a completely different person when I quit teaching from who I had been when I started only three years ago. I was rude, I was abrasive, I was not kind, I had no positive thoughts towards anything, ever. I dreaded going out with people. I no longer had a sense of direction in my life, whatsoever. I was, however, going to Boston for two weeks to attend a music institute where one of my favorite professors was on faculty. This should have been two of the greatest weeks of my life. I got to stay in the home of this greatly admired professor and I roomed with a woman who would quickly become one of my best friends. I was also performing new music with professional and successful musicians in the business 24/7 for the entire length of the institute. I remember thinking “I have met all of my high school goals. I am doing exactly what I thought I wanted to be doing with my life seven years ago.” And yet this was the lowest point for me. I spent an entire night crying silently on my air mattress because I hated myself so much. It was only at this point that I decided I would get over my fear of doctors and go see one-just to do something about my depression. I knew it wasn’t healthy for me and I knew I was sad. All the time. I didn’t know if anything would even help, but I had to do try.

In between when I got home from Boston and before I made an appointment with the doctor, I came to the official decision that I didn’t want to be Mormon anymore. It hurt so much to go to church and not be able to feel the Spirit that I couldn’t bring myself to go any longer. The last and only thing that kept me from completely renouncing the church was the thought of how much it would hurt my parents. They have been such exceptionally strong examples of the gospel that I couldn’t hurt them by telling them I was done.

And then I went to the doctor. And she put me on Wellbutrin… the most common antidepressant. You know how warnings on antidepressants tell you that it may get worse before it gets better? That’s real. My brother was in town at the time, a visit I had been begging my parents for and had been looking forward to for months. I spent an entire three days crying at nothing in my bedroom. He must have had the worst time in Las Vegas because I was so absolutely boring. I stopped eating during those three days. And talking. I didn’t even tell Alissa. My brother was also sick with a cold and so I was sitting in my car at a stoplight on my way to pick up some medicine for him when I just burst into tears. It was a terrifying experience. The feelings I had during those three days were horrendous. But then, it got better. I started eating again. One day I actually walked over to school and sat in a practice room and sang. For four hours. It was incredible. I didn’t know what was happening. I started going over to Alissa’s house daily and playing with her baby. I loved that baby (still do), but I realized something: I loved. I hadn’t felt that emotion in a really long time. I went back to church with my new roommates. I actually went up and introduced myself to people without being prompted to. School started and I was interested and engaged in my school work. I started voice lessons again and was actually making improvements. I practiced every day. For multiple hours a day. After about a month on this medicine, one by one, all of the important things that I had lost came back. And it was scary.

Depression had literally changed my brain to see, think and feel differently without my permission to do so. Little by little I discovered the effects depression had on me, and every time I did it was a huge success. The first thing I gained back was my love of singing. It was probably only my second voice lesson of the semester when I noticed that I sounded different. And it wasn’t because I was making great strides in my technique, it was that I could actually hear what was really coming out of my mouth. And then one day I looked in the mirror and saw someone completely different than what I had become accustomed to. I remember smiling at myself in the mirror and then crying tears of relief because I couldn’t believe that I had literally been seeing a different person in the mirror with my depression glasses on. And then finally I felt happy at church. I prayed and actually received an answer. And I realized that my depression had been stopping me from hearing the Spirit. This is the scariest thing that I have ever been through in my entire life, and none of it was clear to me until I no longer suffered from the effects of depression.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have my moments and there are still times when it’s hard but it is infinitely clearer, now that I have been using this medicine. I literally just want to tell everyone-to shout it as loud as I can, that if you suffer from depression-it isn’t you. You are not depression. It isn’t your fault. And please seek help as soon as possible. I can’t believe I didn’t get help sooner. I also want to say that I feel strongly for and am so sorry for those who are struggling with depression, know they have depression and can’t do anything about it. I know what that’s like. I also know that I am extremely lucky. I found a medication on the first try that has almost completely cleared me up. I know it isn’t that easy for everyone.

If you need help I’m here. If you have questions, I will answer them as clearly as I can. I want you to help yourself. You don’t have to be miserable, or scared or alone. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t something that anyone should have to deal with.