If the events of the last month had happened 3 years ago I probably would have returned to the LDS Church. I would have thought it was caused by me leaving the church because it was so ingrained in me. Now I just accept it as it really is...I have a mental health illness (actually more than 1) and it has nothing to do with my faith journey. I have spent more than 20 years living with depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and PTSD. A therapist told me recently that my fight or flight has been turned so high to fight that it is a wonder I went 20 years between hospitalizations. I'm not completely certain as to what has brought it up to this level, but I have a few ideas.
Since last year when Sam Young started to ask questions about inappropriate questions in Bishop Interviews I have been reliving some very negative events in my life. Not just bishop interview type stuff, but sexual and physical abuse that occurred in my life. Even more than that there was this quiet constant thought process in my mind that I was worthless and unwanted. That it is all of my brokenness and imperfections that make it so no one gives a damn about me. This didn't come from any one place. In fact it came from many places.
These thoughts were emphasized back at the end of February/first of March after a huge fight with a sibling. I called out my sibling for behaviors that I had finally become fed up with. I told this sibling that I love them (and I still do) but I didn't like them at the moment. I also let them know I was taking a break from them on social media. The hatred that spewed out afterwards from this sibling still brings me to tears. Even now, just thinking about it, has tears in my eyes. It ended with a blanket statement that I am a f*cking nutcase and everyone in the family thinks that about me. And I deserve to have my children all hate me. It was within days of this happening that my oldest quit speaking to me.
Here I sit, about 6 months later, my 2 oldest children still don't speak to me. I was excluded from a wedding the past weekend. My siblings don't speak to me except for the occasional text. And then came the post I wrote about the church announcing the issue with the name in the midst of Sam's 23 day fast. I received a message calling me out. I don't have the message anymore. It's since been deleted. But it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was done with this life. The pain was too much to bear. I couldn't do it any more.
My dear husband had just received 3 months worth of his medication from the doctor. I knew taking all of it would kill me. I even researched it to be certain. I knew my medications for lupus and fibromyalgia would make me sick if I overdosed, but not kill me. His would do the job perfectly. Then I looked at my calendar for some reason. I realized that it would be one of my kids coming home who would find me. That wasn't acceptable. So I sent a message to 741741, the text crisis line. And I messaged my mom and my best friend. I told them what was going on in my head. The insane thoughts that wouldn't leave and I realized I needed to be in a hospital.
20 years of cognitive therapy strategies was failing me. I could tell you what I was thinking, why it was wrong, how to re-frame it, but it didn't help. It was like a broken record. So I sent a text to my husband while he was at work letting him know that I needed to self admit to the hospital for help or I was going to hurt myself. When he came home I did just that. I spent 8 days in the hospital. I am glad that I made that choice. I'm glad that I was refusing to let my kids come home to find me dead. Something in me was still fighting to protect them.
People tell me I'm a survivor. I've even called myself a survivor. I don't anymore. I'm a fighter. I will fight for what I believe in. I believe that kids should never have to come home and find their parent dead. So I refused to let it happen when every other part of me was begging to just die. Even thought I was the parent who inflicted physical abuse upon my kids, I changed and am fighting for further change. I stand tall after my own sexual and physical abuse and fight for change. I spent years being shamed by bishops for having been raped and sexually abused and now I fight back.
I can't say I'm perfect because I most certainly am not. I can't say I won't mess up again, because it could happen. What I can say is that in this new beginning in my life at the age of 44 I am trying to be a better me. I am going to fight for those who struggle to fight for themselves. I will be a voice for the voiceless. I'm going to make noise. I won't be quiet. I am coming back fighting. Fighting for love, acceptance, and change. Roaring like my beloved tigers. Roaring for each and every person who has been hurt by worthiness interviews. Roaring for every abuser who begged for help from a bishop and was given a blessing in place of actually receiving help. Roaring now that Sam Young has been excommunicated. Roaring loud and long. The fight has begun.
