Today's topic is going to touch on religion. Just warning you. But, I'm going to approach it in a secular, analytical manner rather than delve into the theological aspects of the situation. In "The Enlightenment" section, I will have an entire chapter dedicated to religion and its application to relationships. However, I want this chapter to focus on what I was thinking and feeling AT THE TIME and not have it be a representation of what I feel nowadays, nor do I want to introduce theological solutions to these situations at this time.
Again, giving context for The Enlightenment.
Please don't stone me.
Let's get on track, here. You may have noticed from the section header that I served a mission. For those of you who are Mormon, you go, "OK, mission, check." For those of you who aren't Mormon, you're probably thinking, "you had a mission to do . . . what, again?" Yes, I was a Mormon Missionary who spent two years badgering you at your door, wondering if you wanted to read a book and come to church. That was me; I hope we can still be friends.
I get that I want this book to reach a general audience, and I want the experiences I talk about to apply on a broad scale to people and their lives. Hey, not many of you served a mission. Not the point. I'm including this section to talk about the culmination of everything I had been going through -- all the masochism, and self-aggrandizement, and people-pleasing, and fear, and . . . all that other garbage. It is the point in my life where everything descended into hell, and that's something I feel we can all relate to.
Because picture this: take a man who is hopelessly trying to please others, who fears that the people he trusts will desert and/or betray him, has a history of being ridiculed by those considered his peers, and desperately wants to see others happy, and you lock him up with a complete stranger 24/7, subject him to scorn and mockery by those with whom he interacts, and surround him with other insecure teenagers who are looking for an outlet to vent their pent up immaturity. You see how such a delicate situation just got bastardized?
If you can't, I certainly could. It consumed every fiber of my being more than any other point in my life. The anxiety that brewed inside me drove me to madness; the fear I was thwarting dragged me down to the cold pit of depression. I couldn't move; I couldn't speak; I was reduced to nothing; all while trying to do what was "right."
I want to step back out of the narrative to point out a distinction between anxiety and depression. These are two words often used interchangeably and aren't discussed often enough in popular society. This is where I come in as your friendly navigator through the minds of those "blessed" souls who have to lull through such murky conditions.
Anxiety is the fear of what others think of you. Times by a gagillion. Let me put this in another context that you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and is funny and smart and pretty, and Billy really likes that about Sally. But Billy is afraid of asking Sally out because Sally is WAY out of his league. I mean, what if Sally says no? What if Sally thinks Billy is fat and ugly and bad at speaking? What if Sally tells all her girlfriends and now everyone thinks Billy is fat and ugly and really, I mean really bad at speaking? Billy would have to change schools. He'd have to move to Mexico and grow out a mustache and learn Spanish and become a migrant farmer for the rest of his life. But wait?! Billy's not good at speaking. He can't move to Mexico and learn Spanish?! Everyone in Mexico will make fun of the way he says hola because he'll actually pronounce the "h" like hello instead of leaving it silent and he'll never fit in and it's ALL BECAUSE HE ASKED SALLY OUT! So, it's better for Billy to keep his little mouth shut instead of asking Sally out.
For those first few sentences you were totally with me, and by the end, you were like, "what just happened?!" But let me tell you, all those who have anxiety just read that paragraph and said, "you just described my entire life!" Normal people stop a few sentences in and realize just how absurd their train of thought is, and ask Sally out. Those with anxiety don't only do what I just describe above, but they do it for every situation they encounter, just to ensure that they never get hurt.
Depression is the fear of what you think of yourself. Times by a gagillion. Again, in a context you might understand: Billy likes Sally. Sally's cute and yada yada yada. Billy asks Sally out. Sally says, "thanks, but I'm not interested." Stab! Right to the heart. Billy's dejected. What could Billy have done better to have changed the outcome? Is it the clothes he's wearing? Is it what he said? What if Billy was just a little more confident, would she have said yes? But Sally said no. She rejected him and he is a failure. But failure doesn't stop at asking girls out. Failure is what's going to keep him from getting into college. I mean, how could he ever be successful enough to get into college if he isn't good enough to just get a girl to go out with him? And if he can't get into college, he'll never make enough money to live on his own, and he'll be stuck in his parent's basement for the rest of his life and he'll never amount to anything, and it's ALL BECAUSE SALLY SAID NO! So, it's better for Billy to never ask anyone out ever again and just keep to himself.
Again, you're like, "I totally get that and . . . you just lost me." But people with depression do that! Depression is looking inwards and saying, "I'm not good enough for [insert something small here]; therefore, I must not be good enough for [insert something insurmountably bigger here]." Or, "I failed once at [insert something you've only ever tried once here]; I am bound to fail again at [insert same thing] and I just cannot take the gravity of failure again. It's just too much for me."
On my Mormon mission, I had both. What do those people I talk to think of me? What if I say the wrong word? What if they don't like me? What if I'm not good enough? What if they go to hell and it's all my fault?! It must, therefore, be better not to even open my mouth than to open it and be scorned. It is better that I hide myself in a shell of who I really am than to expose myself and fail and writhe in my abhorrence.
Yeah, I was bad at talking to others. Remember, I was that nerdy kid with no social skills. I had a lot of doors slammed in my face, and was brutally made fun of by other missionaries who were supposed to be my friends. Where else did I have to go but to mentally and emotionally and socially disappear?
And yet, I'd get these just wonderful people who would tell me to "get over it; it's all in your head," or that I "just need more faith and prayers and everything will get better."
Seriously.
I mean, seriously. Thanks doc, I'll just go take a shot of "kiss it all better" and that'll solve everything! I can't believe I didn't realize that sooner; you're just the best! It just isn't that simple. Nothing, really, gets more convoluted than trying to help someone who has lost faith in every single person on planet Earth -- oneself included. We're talking years of betrayal and desolation and you think a simple "hey, suck it up" is going to make it better?! The gravity of the psychological damage that needs restitution far exceeds the symptoms that are being expressed.
But there is an important first step: recognition. The whole reason I wrote those massively exaggerated descriptions is to help recognize that situations like that happen all the time. I truly believed it was better for me not to open my mouth at a door than to be rejected. I literally stood at a door -- multiple doors, in fact -- and watched as my mission companion knocked on a door, waited for me to speak, and I stood in silence. Not a peep came out of my mouth. That is anxiety at its worse. And then, I'd go home, and berate myself for not being able to talk to others, and would curl up into a ball in the corner and loathe over my inability to speak. That is depression at its worse. No one told me about those emotions. No one sat me down and helped me understand that regular people go through what I went through on a regular basis.
The more I've lived, the more I realize that everyone is scared of the unknown. No one knows, truly, what anyone else is thinking, so there is always a lingering hint of anxiety with every interaction with which we engage. And everyone hates failure. That fear of failure keeps us holed up in our comfort zone, and there's something inside us that will come out and tap us on the head and say, "I can't believe you failed; you're worthless." That's human nature. It's OK. But it's surmountable, and recognition is that critical first step.
The second step: time. Change takes time. I underwent 19 years of emotional destruction; 20 minutes isn't going to be enough to come out conquer. But it is enough time for the little battles, the strength to say one line at a door, or to text a friend to see what they're doing, or to finally get the courage to roll out of bed and take a shower when all you want to do is toss your sheets over your head and hide from the world. Those are little victories. Those are the little battles that turn the tide of the war from hopelessness to a little glimmer of hope, to a congregate of rebels, to a legion of warriors, to overthrowing the government and finally getting rid of that authoritarian regime of anxiety and depression that ruled every thought and feeling and action of every moment of every day.
That is when the war is won.
Now, there are lots more steps, but they're better kept for a different section. Oh, and there're lots of other stories I could share. But suffice it to say that I hit rock bottom out on the sunny shores of Los Angeles, California. So much of my Mormon mission was dictated by the psychological trauma I collected over the years. But things got better. I got better.
There was a little glimmer of hope after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment