Time For a Serious Post

Our serious faces. 

Depression. Anxiety. We're all familiar. To what degree varies, but most of us have had experiences with these two bitches.

My depression has been going on and off since I got home from my mission. Then the anxiety came after Dustin and I got married. I only remember having one panic attack prior, and it was way back in my junior year of high school. Now they are a semi-regular occurrence. 

I thought that I could take care of it on my own. At first I thought it was just me obsessing over fearful thoughts and that all I needed to do to stop the anxiety was just to think of positive things. Month after month it got worse. The late-night panic attacks were exhausting, both physically and mentally. A couple months ago I tried some homeopathic medicines. It helped the anxiety, but not with the depression.

Every time I was depressed I would tell myself that I needed help. But when I felt better, it didn't seem necessary. So I would push aside the thought that I should go to a doctor, and continue on as "normal." Dustin has been my biggest help from the start. When I finally just started telling him everything, no matter how ridiculous, irrational, or seemingly unimportant it seemed, the better I felt. 

The pattern continued nonetheless. Dustin would do (and still does) everything he could to help and encourage me. Sometimes it was just a really long hug as I sobbed over emotions I didn't understand. He repeatedly tells me I'm not broken. He doesn't even let me joke about it on my good days. That, of all things, has been the most helpful.

So the new year rolled around. And I looked back on 2015 and decided that 2016 wouldn't be that way-- it couldn't. I couldn't keep losing myself to fears I couldn't face or to misplaced guilt. So I found a doctor. I went in this week, knowing full well I would have to finally tell someone the scope of my problems.

I ended up being at the doctor's office for two and a half hours. I talked to three different people, all of who were incredibly understanding and helpful. The nurse practitioner (who I spoke to first) showed a level of compassion and understanding that made me feel as if I could figure out myself completely. Before I left, I spoke with a therapist for a little bit. It was rough because as I tried to sum up the decade-and-then-some scope of problems, I felt overwhelmed. If overwhelmed can even begin to describe how much I felt at a loss. That I was in a mess too complicated to fix. But as she spoke to me, she assured me that I could get to a place where I wouldn't have to be so afraid of myself. 

I left, a bottle of antidepressants in hand and a strong recommendation from all three women to go to a specific therapist. I was teary-eyed as I told Dustin the results of my doctor's visit. The funny thing is, it was exactly what I was expecting to hear. But that didn't make hearing it any easier. 

Throughout that evening, I cried on and off. Dustin hugged me. A lot. I stained his shirt with mascara as his deep breaths slowly calmed me down. I didn't sleep that night. I kept telling myself that I should've seen a doctor months ago and that I would've been better right now. The words of President Uchtdorf came to mind:

"An old proverb says, 'The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second-best time is now.'"

And now is indeed when I'm starting. 
Well, restarting.