“Just because you take breaks doesn’t mean you’re broken.” ― Curtis Tyrone Jones

 "The blond young woman sat in her chair, grateful that no one was home to witness what she was doing. It had been the same cycle for months and it was the only thing she looked forward to everyday. She pulled her blanket over her, rested the computer onto her lap, and pulled the bags of food closer to her.  If anyone could see the amount of food she was about to consume she knew she would be ashamed. But they weren't here and this binge was the only thing distracting her from the thoughts and emotions she didn't know how to get rid of. It didn't matter that she would feel worse after. In fact, she wouldn't even let that fact be entertained. All she wanted was the distraction from the food her cravings screamed for and to escape into the world of a movie that would let her live anywhere but in the present moment. She pulled up the movie on the computer, reached for the first container of food, and began."

Yes, I struggle with addictions. There are several that constantly pop up at various times in my life but the most prominent is food. I am not alone in this. I can easily measure my life by whether I was in a binge cycle or a restrict cycle. Both are physically and mentally damaging. And one of them is financially damaging as well. One of them helps me feel in control and gets me positive attention. Well, positive until a certain point and then it becomes painful for those around me and infuriating that voice inside my head telling me not to eat. The other one is much more distracting and somehow comforting, though maybe not in the most effective way. It brings me the kind of attention that I don't want. That attention will often feed the cycle. Both lead to isolation, shame, guilt, sadness, and anxiety. I would say that's a pretty ineffective coping strategy. 

I'm thinking this week that I'd like to practice some addiction skills and use the P.L.E.A.S.E skills to help me do so since my physical health is so affected by the addiction I would like to face. I'm sincerely hoping to experience an array of emotions because I have spent so much of my life ignoring my emotions with the use of my addictions. As I'm typing this out I already feel exhausted and I haven't even started yet. It's humorous to me that I almost want to give up before I've even started because it all just feels like so much work. I remember feeling this way when I first started DBT. I had done therapy so many times before and it had never worked. I walked into that therapist office not feeling much hope but knowing I needed to try. When I met my new therapist, she outlined exactly what this therapy would look like. She handed me a binder and stack of papers and told me it would be a lot of work and so worth all of that work. It had worked for her and that gave me the small amount of hope I needed to try it. But I still doubted it would work.  

I love to learn and when I first started DBT I had just recently graduated with my degree in Music. I realized that, unlike my high school years and previous attempts at college, the person I'd become in my late twenties had this need to master what she was learning in class, studying like crazy. I didn't want to fail at this like I had so many other things and every time I aced a test, including answering all the extra credit questions flawlessly, it gave me a thrill that I wanted to experience again and again. I even remember sitting in a hotel room in upstate New York taking an online test after a day of auditioning and site seeing, knowing I was about to pass with flying colors. Yes, I was even studying and taking tests on trips. When I graduated from the University of Utah, it was the ultimate thrill to know that I had accomplished something that took years of work. And I did it all while being tossed about emotionally and physically from the mental illness that it took 30 years to diagnose. 

DBT was going to be like college. It was a two hour group class every week complete with homework plus a one hour individual therapy session also complete with homework. And when I say homework I don't mean just going home every week with a list of feel good things to try that are suggested by my therapist. I mean, actual worksheets with lists of evidence based activities that I have to try and report back on each week. I mean a paper with a list of emotions and behaviors and skills that I have to check mark and rate each week and show my therapist, group therapist leaders, and my fellow classmates that I've completed. If you don't complete the homework, the therapists will work through with you in front of the class what got in your way of doing the homework and how to never let it happen again. Hear me when I say there is no excuse that you can give that will be able to save you from this process. Haha. This set up works for me. It's why I was able to complete school. I love having that homework completed and being able to show the teacher that I did my stuff, I know my stuff, and am ready to learn new stuff. It's that thrill. 

I graduated from DBT in July of 2020. I continued on with individual therapy for a few more months when my therapist felt that I was ready to face the world on my own. I was completely done with therapy in October of 2021, three years after I first started. I knew I was still having problems with my emotions since the beginning of the pandemic and my therapist could see it too. It wasn't the world that either of us wanted me to graduate into and I think we both just finally got to a point where we went, "The pandemic isn't going away. I guess it's time for me to just go out there and do the best I can like everyone else." There is still a part of me that wishes I would've said, "Can I start another round of the group classes? I think I need the structure and the homework and the weekly checking of my homework." I know it's always an option, but I also know that I can't do therapy forever. At some point I want and need to be able to be the person who is checking my own homework. I want and need to be the person who can motivate herself to do these things because it will help her feel love and peace, not because it'll earn her a gold star sticker from teacher.

With that being said, I'm going to use this blog as a way to help me keep track of what I'm trying to accomplish on my own. In addition to the P.L.E.A.S.E skills, I'm focusing on the addiction skills that were only touched on briefly in therapy. I have ordered the DBT skills workbook and I'm diving in with all that homework on my own. I have started by deleting food delivery apps and throwing out gift cards. I've made the goal to limit my TV time to one movie on the weekend. Watching TV and movies often triggers a binge and is simply another ineffective coping strategy for me. I'd classify it as another addiction. 

So, this week I try again to get my feet pointed toward experiencing a life worth living instead of hiding behind addictions to disconnect from reality. 

PL - Treat physical illness

E - Balance your eating

A - Avoid mind altering substances

S - Get enough sleep

E - Get regular exercise

 

I'll update as I go. I just think that the way I find my way back to myself is to do my own weekly therapy. And this online journal can help me to remember just how amazing doing this work can be for my life.

“But feelings can't be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem.” ― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

How do I even begin to fully let myself process the last three years. I had just found the most profound peace and direction in February of 2020. I had been doing therapy for two and half years working endlessly on practicing the skills necessary to overcome the BPD behaviors and emotions that had brought so much pain to my life. March 1, 2020 came in with the most amazing miracles and I felt that nothing would be able to stop me from experiencing the most splendid life worth living complete with the ups and downs. Two weeks later I was separated from my support systems and being able to attend my therapy sessions in person. I was still working at my "muggle job" at a call center captioning calls for the hard of hearing. I ended up working massive amounts of overtime and figuring out how to teach all of my students online. A performance that I was so excited to start rehearsing was cancelled. I didn't have church, therapy, activities, rehearsals, or random get together's with friends. I was separated from the man I'd been dating and it became clear that all the miracles that had helped me overcome some of my biggest life hurtles and help me find my way back to this human that I loved were slowly unraveling as the skills I had arduously practiced for two and half years couldn't stop the division that was happening worldwide or in my personal life. 

The longest relationship I've ever had ended for the second time two months into the pandemic. I kept working, picking up extra hours nearly every day, teaching voice lessons, going on walks, attending therapy online, attending everything online really, and trying to practice skills to help me cope with the onslaught of emotions. Sometime around July I decided that I needed to find a muggle job that had benefits as it became clear that this pandemic was not going to end anytime soon and I became increasingly worried about what would happen if I contracted covid and was unable to fight it off without any permanent affects. I'd managed without any health insurance for several years, but now that I'd lost all my performing opportunities and a giant chunk of my income with it, I felt a change was needed. I had also started trying to focus on going back to school in hopes of getting a degree in social work and decided that working at the Huntsman Cancer Institute would be very helpful in moving me toward all of those goals. I started in August of 2020. 

The job was really great and it was a wonderful institution to be working for. I started to enjoy seeing all the patients coming in for their appointments and treatments. I also felt the overwhelming sadness when I no longer saw them coming back for their appointments and learned of their passing. I got to celebrate with them when they had days where the news indicated progress and was even asked to sing for a patient after she'd received her hoped for news. The people I worked with were strong and amazing at what they did to care for these patients. It also came with better pay and benefits, which was a new adventure for me. 

When 2021 came rolling in, I felt that more changes were coming and in January was asked to move out of my current residence. I'd lived there for several years and knew a change was needed, but was hoping for a few more months before the move. I'd been longing for a place of my own for a while and since my timeline was moved up, I didn't spend much time investigating my options before I found a place that was within my budget and had an opening for me to move in at the beginning of February. The move went quickly and before long I was in my one bedroom apartment. Shortly after the move I realized why the apartment was in my budget as I constantly lost sleep from the skunky smell of marijuana and the neighbors who didn't care about the noise ordinances. (No judgements to the lovely people out there who partake in marijuana. But also, you are making the air stink. Much love.) After trying expensive air purifiers and smelly candles (which I also find equally offensive to my nose because they give me headaches) I decided it was time to move so that I could just get some sleep.

And since the changes just never seemed to stop, I was also promoted shortly before moving into my new house. I took a job with more hours and a pay increase where I would be working directly with the Melanoma Oncology team and I was terrified. It was an unexpected change and my debilitating doubt in myself made me doing all the deep breathing exercises during this transition. I found a beautiful house on the east side of Salt Lake that I would be sharing with three other girls. Since the housing prices dramatically increased, I decided that living with other people would be ok for a little while until I could recover some of the lost money from all the moving costs. The lease was only going to be for a year as it was a family who was renting out their home while they were waiting out the pandemic in Australia. It seemed like a dream and the women all appeared to be lovely individuals. Appeared being the operative word here. 

My job continued to be a new challenge everyday as I figured out my own way of managing the demands of my team with the demands of the front desk. And while I've listed a great many changes that happened within the first year of the pandemic, I feel that it's worth pointing out that I wasn't actually dealing with any of the emotions as they came. I know why I wasn't and I found excuses at every turn as to why I couldn't deal with them at that very moment. Needless to say, one day I found myself sad. The kind of sad that doesn't feel like it will ever go away. The kind of sad that I thought I had vanquished. The kind of sad that needed to be faced and instead I just kept ignoring it most of the time and sharing with others that I felt stuck in the sadness at other times. Turns out that sharing with people that you just moved in with as you're trying to connect to each other also gives them an opportunity to use your weaknesses to manipulate you and bully you when you don't do everything they want you to do. (It was one specific person.) And I must say that I never thought that I would find myself in my 30's being bullied by a roommate. 

Much drama later and the scary roommate moved out. Our house was left with the peacemakers again and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I decided that I wanted to do something for myself that I'd only ever dreamed about and had corrective surgery on my eyes! I felt like giving myself the gift of contact/glasses-free sight was the perfect way to celebrate making it through a few months of terror. I thought I could finally find some time to deal with the ever-growing stack of emotions that I just kept shoving into that closet that no one ever looks in. And then........ the owners of the house contacted me and informed me that they decided to come back to the States sooner than expected and wondered if we would be willing to break our lease and move out within two months. Which is not the news I was hoping to hear just when I was starting to feel better. I was running again and doing pie nights and cooking and enjoying my roommates and going on vacations and spending time with family. For two beautiful months I got to feel like things were about to turn a corner and now I was facing another move with moving expenses. 

Thankfully, I found a little place all my own. ShaRee's shack, if you will. It isn't perfect and there was an adjustment period, but it's become my home. Once I got settled, that sadness that I was only starting to deal with hit me like a ton of bricks. I started to notice that, while I generally enjoyed my job, I didn't feel that it was challenging me creatively. I missed performing. I missed the joy of sharing my talents and the excitement of finding the exact way I wanted to approach a character or the mastery of a difficult musical passage. My job had many wonderful aspects, but it also had many frustrating things about it that I kept finding it harder and harder to cope with and I think my body couldn't handle all of the emotions that I wasn't dealing with. 2022 began my year of physical decline.

In January I came down with a flu-like virus that knocked me off my feet for two weeks. I tested for everything under the sun, including six tests for covid and everything came back negative. With a prescription for dizziness and instructions to rest and let it run its course I was sent home to isolate for two weeks. And yes, it did take the full two weeks to recover. I thought I was starting to feel well enough to start trying to heal, but as soon as I started gradually increasing my walks to running I soon found that part way through my work day I would be completely drained of all energy and could barely muster enough will power to get my body to move enough to get me home. I thought it was just a one time fluke, but throughout the spring and summer I would experience this phenomena quite frequently. One unfortunate weekend in July I felt all my energy drained and then my mouth and tongue went numb. I went to the nearest urgent care where I was told that everything looked fine and to just rest. I went home and proceeded to sleep for 18 hours. I couldn't wake up. Once I did finally wake up it was almost time for bed so I spent a few hours awake trying to get some food and water in me and then proceeded to sleep another  nine hours through the night. A doctor later told me that he thought that I was experiencing some form of long-haulers from whatever virus I had in January. 

I continued to try and be as active as my body would allow, but that sadness that I kept ignoring kept creeping back in. With the energy zaps making unable to exercise as much as I was used to thus losing a coping skill that works wonders for managing my emotions and the stress from my job I decided it was time to get a little bit of help to pick me up enough until I was ready to start dealing with everything. I did the one thing that I swore I would never do because of the pain this choice brought me several years prior to the pandemic - I went on medication. It helped a little bit and I was thankfully not experiencing any massive side effects with this new medication. Well, except for weight gain. Actually, I can only partially blame the pills. You see, I had also returned to a previous ineffective behavior that contributed to the weight gain. Which is another sign that I was just trying to avoid my emotions. 

I was able to start performing again, but with my mental health in the toilet I must say that I wasn't as dedicated or as happy to be doing what I loved. Even with the medication, I wasn't really experiencing joy, but I wasn't crying as much. So.....progress? I also tried dating off and on with little success. You see, relationships are, let's say, a challenge for me. They scare the living daylights out of me on my best days. After having been dumped for a second time at the beginning of the pandemic by the man I was dating, all those old beliefs about myself came creeping back into my mind. I had a hard time not replaying all the mistakes I had made in the relationship over and over in my head and thinking that maybe what everyone believes about people with BPD is true and applies to me - that I'm a monster to be avoided. That I will ruin the lives of anyone I enter into a relationship with. Oh, and remember that roommate that was bullying me? Yeah, she took it upon herself to confirm that for me frequently. I remember one day getting on a dating app and coming across my ex. His profile listed attributes in a woman that he would like to avoid and I couldn't help interpreting that those negative attributes were because that's what he thought he'd experienced with me. I started to be afraid of myself and who I was in relation to other people. I was overwhelmed with my inadequacies of not being good enough, unlovable, a monster, a burden. In short, someone that the internet would tell the rest of the world to avoid at all costs. 

Those few times that I tried to date didn't really go anywhere. Dating sucks. It truly does. I think I went on more dates in the last few years than I did in the three years prior to meeting my ex. And I couldn't let myself connect with anyone. I don't know why I kept trying. I guess it's that need to be accepted or feel like I belong somewhere. And, if I'm being honest, the hope that if there was anyone out there that would want to try being in a relationship with me it would somehow make all the beliefs that had been going through my brain for the last three years somehow disappear or make them untrue. Spoiler: that didn't happen. Yes, I know better. As I sit hear finally typing out all these feelings and events, I recognize that the pandemic and the events that followed triggered a lot of old thought patterns and behaviors as well as creating some new, equally ineffective thought patterns and behaviors. Fear has been influencing many of my decisions. Including the decision to stop using the skills that are most effective for my well-being. I was afraid that they wouldn't work anymore and equally afraid that they would. I know it doesn't make sense, but those are actual fears that I experience.

Listen, the last few years weren't all doom and gloom. I had many wonderful moments as well. Memories that I treasure reconnecting with my family. Going boating and having cookouts. Going on 5K's with friends and laughing my head off. Having one of my nephews trying to figure out my name by starting with "that one" which eventually morphed into "nursery" and is now to the point where I'm "Aunt ShaRee." My name is a challenge for the littles. Haha. Getting a video of a niece brushing her hair upside down and when asked by her father why she was doing it like that hearing her exclaim, "Tecause I love it that way." That mispronunciation kills me every time. Hearing my nephew talk about his adventures in running and how his friends in church asked him to hold some sheet music up for all of them to see by saying, "Go go gadget arms!" Watching endless hours of Matt's Off Road Recovery with literally everyone in my family. It's an actual obsession and I love it. The youngest of us calls it, "The cars that are really stuck." Singing with my family again has brought me tremendous joy. Whether sitting around the piano singing with my nieces, performing a duet with my sister in church, or giving my voice a workout by going to my "like unto" family's house and singing classical/musical theater music. Reconnecting with friends I haven't seen in a while and being able to spend more time with the friends who live near. One of those friends is getting married soon and I can't wait! Making new friends who I get to go out to brunch with regularly and becoming closer friends with my opera peeps. So many wonderful memories that I will treasure. 

It's just that personally, I miss myself. I miss that person that I finally found in myself that could work through her emotions and found so much joy and peace in doing so. I miss the person who started to see the good in herself and in the world. I miss the person who enjoyed getting up early so she could spend some time running in nature and pushing herself to go faster. I miss the person who was ready to take on the world and go after more degrees and performance opportunities. I miss the person who was ready to share herself with the world. I miss the person who believed that there was something wonderful waiting for her everyday. I miss the girl who had confidence and was learning to speak up when needed and set boundaries when needed. I miss the sunshine. I miss feeling like I belonged in a room. I miss the days when I wasn't afraid of myself and who I was. That person was me and I didn't get to spend very much time with her before the pandemic hit and her life began to unravel. I miss me and I want her back.

I have since changed jobs within my company. I was sad to leave the old job because I would miss my patients and my team. But I gained an incredible team and left behind the massive mountain of stress that had been sitting on my chest. It has given me more time to rest, to get my house in order, to hopefully find time to make my physical health a priority, and most importantly the time to be honest with myself. The truth is I know exactly how to move forward with helping myself. I know exactly which skills I need and I know that I need to practice them to get back on track. I know that I had complete control of changing my thoughts and ultimately my emotions. But I wouldn't. I wasn't willing. 

So, here I am laying it all out for myself and for anyone who happens upon this public journal. It's time for me to be willing to try again. I guess the skill that would be appropriate for this predicament would be Opposite Action. I'm feeling fear and disgust with so many things surrounding the idea of turning to my beloved skills and what may or may not happen should I start to use them again. Dialectical behavioral therapy would tell me to see if my emotions fit the facts of this situation and if they don't fit then an appropriate response would be to act opposite to my urge. 

What is my urge? I would like to keep hiding. I want to protect myself from the world by closing myself off like I've been gradually doing for three years. I want to protect others by never opening my door to them and inviting them in. If they aren't around me they can't get hurt. I want to stay in my little shack and eat ice cream and popcorn and watch all fifteen seasons of Supernatural. I want to continue to avoid using my skills so that I don't have to face my emotions.

What is the opposite action?

Well.

It's time to use my skills.

“But her story isn't finished, and for once she's picked up a pen.” ― Kelsey Sutton, Some Quiet Place

The blond woman sat across from the psychiatrist trying to decide how she felt about what she just heard.

"Many people get misdiagnosed as having other disorders because this is such a tricky one to pin down. Based off of what you told me, I think you have this - or at least partially. It's really a miracle that you are 30 and this is the first time you've tried to kill yourself. There's a lot of information floating around about this. DON'T look it up online. Most of the information online is garbage and outdated. I really urge you to stay away from it."

"Well, I'm in a lock down facility with no access to technology. So I couldn't even if I wanted to." The blond woman had a gift for humor in tense moments.

The last few days had been taxing. Suicide attempt, hospital, handcuffs, and now the psych ward. She sat in a room for five minutes with this psychiatrist and learned about medication mess-ups and this new diagnosis and tried to make sense of it all. There was a sense of relief at knowing what had plagued her for most of her life. If she knew what the problem was she could fix it. Right?


It has been many years since the last time I shared my feelings on this forum. In fact, the last time I posted was about what remains to be the worst day of my life. My time since that fateful day and the information I learned because of it has placed me on quite the journey. Typically in my posts, a story is laid out about a specific part of my life after the flash back introduction. This post is going to be different because I want to present the information I'm sharing with you as the woman I am today. In this moment. Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is ShaRee and I am a remarkable woman. I have a very big heart that is bursting with kindness at its core. I am full of passion and am blessed with a unique way of looking at life. I was once described by a therapist as a "glittering unicorn, angel baby, floating ball of light." (I sincerely hope that brought a smile to your face, because it got a cute little giggle out of me.) I have a beautiful voice and a love of sharing music with the world. I have a marvelous sense of humor and a laugh I've come to cherish. I have a desire to learn new things and have become a master pie maker. I am so many wonderful things! And underneath all of that is what I think brings that all together: I am a tender hearted soul with a strong, courageous, and resilient spirit. Two seemingly opposing ideas that I've recently learned how to bring together.

I am a beautiful person.

It's important to me that people know this about me, because it's what I know I am. There have been times in my life where I didn't see these things in myself and, because of that, didn't present myself in a way that others could see it either. And yet, it's always who I have been. Those things are who I am and who I strive to be. I want so much to live a life where love is at the center of it all.

The flashback above, detailing the day I met with a psychiatrist in the psych ward is really etched in my memory. I don't think I fully understood what it meant when she shared that information with me but I did feel a sense that I would finally be able to fix the hole inside of me. You see, the stories of my life that I've shared with you thus far have detailed a life of sadness, despair, hopelessness, anxiety and all of the ineffective ways in which I tried to deal with it all. That day, that excruciatingly painful day, led me to the answer I needed. It wasn't until several years later that I was able to finally connect with the resources that would help me heal. So, let me tell you about some other things about myself.

I came into the world a sensitive person bursting with an overabundance of emotions. A dear friend described it in this way, "ShaRee I know that when the sun is shining in my sky that it's got rainbows and beauty in yours and when my sky is gray yours is black." And he's right. My emotions allow me to feel love and see beauty to heightened degrees. And with that I also have the burden to feel pain to a heightened degree. Life can sometimes feel really heavy and can get exhausting.

Here's the thing - sometimes the world doesn't know what to do with sensitive people who experience emotions like that. It's not their fault. If they haven't experienced it, of course they can't understand it. Unfortunately for me, that means that I faced a lot of invalidation. When that happens, it starts a spiral of shame. I became ashamed of what I was and thus, didn't ever learn what to do with my emotions when I experienced them. You know what happens when you're ashamed of yourself for feeling things? You don't want to feel them anymore. You want to stop yourself from feeling anything. (Can you see where this is going?) It means that you spend your life trying to numb out by employing a long list of ineffective behaviors including, but not limited to, anorexia, binge-eating, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and other addictions. (This is my list, not everyone's.)

After a while you lose yourself. You no longer have a positive sense of self or can even see yourself for who you truly are. You become bitter. Your brain doesn't know what to do so it dissociates. You try to fight what you're feeling, but it only compounds and then any little thing can set you off. Pretty soon you're buried in fear, anger, disgust, shame, guilt, sadness, envy and jealousy. And then you make ineffective choices to deal with it which leads to more fear, anger, disgust, shame, guilt, sadness, envy, and jealousy. There's no longer any room for sunshine, roses, and glitter and you're left trying to survive, but you don't know how.

So you eventually turn to other people to save you because you need some sort of love and validation in your life and you've proven that you're not capable of taking care of yourself. And they try to help you in the way that they've been taught, but they don't understand you because, as mentioned above, the world doesn't always know what to do with sensitive, emotional people and they inadvertently invalidate you. Which starts the cycle all over again. This keeps going and going until you give in to the hopelessness and you want to die.

Here's where I want to remind you that the person I am is full of light and love. I see it in myself and I know it's there.

So, that's what my struggle has been. It is a challenging disorder that is full of pain. A lifetime of pain that begins to wear on you without the proper tools to combat it. I wanted to lay the basics of what my life has looked like since I was younger so that you can see that this disorder is more than what people may see from the outside perspective. It is much more than it's stigma. How grateful I am to that kind psychiatrist whose name I don't remember. The kindest thing she could have told me was that the information online was inaccurate and for me to stay away from it. And, of course, I didn't listen.

If you type this disorder online you will see comment after comment of people telling you I'm a monster and not to even bother with me. They'll tell you I'm an energy vampire and that you should set every boundary with me. Even better, put as much distance between us as possible before I ruin your life. Not really helpful to a person who already sees herself in such a way. In fact, it can really only serve to validate the ideal that my life is pointless and that I should die. I now know to stay away from the internet when researching this disorder.

I am a beautiful person with so many gifts to share with the world.

I have wrestled with the idea of opening up about my life since I got the diagnosis. I've hidden it from most people because I hated myself for having it and felt that if I shared it with anyone I wouldn't be accepted. But, I have found so much meaning in my life since I found a way to heal and if there are any of you reading this that may be experiencing the same thing, then know that there is hope and you can build a life worth living. And that's why I decided to finally do this. To be open, honest and vulnerable about all of who I am. And, in future posts, educate more and describe the way in which I was able to heal.

Allow me to introduce myself to you again.

My name is ShaRee and I am a remarkable woman. I have a fighting spirit. I am strong, courageous, and resilient. I have a very tender heart and a beautiful soul. I am kind. I am loving.

And I have borderline personality disorder.

Chapter X: "Because they want to stop the pain.” ― Tiffanie DeBartolo, How to Kill a Rock Star

The blonde woman lay on the couch with her eyes closed. The movie played softly in the background, but she was beginning to relax as he pulled her into his arms and she allowed herself to rest her eyes. 

"You are so beautiful." 

She could feel his nose touching her own and could sense that he was looking directly at her eyes. She smiled and snuggled into him even more, only opening her eyes when she could feel his hands slowly caress her cheek. It had been so long since she had felt so safe in someones arms and reveled at the way his statement had made her feel. She believed him. It wasn't often that believed anyone when they gave her compliments, but she felt safe. The blonde woman felt no need to feel awkward or convince him he was wrong. She believed him.

* * * * * * * * * *

He couldn't stand to be in the same room as her anymore. She wanted to fix it. To try to help him understand how sorry she was for everything that had happened. He didn't want her anymore, but she hated that he felt so uncomfortable around her. 

"Honestly, I was never all that attached to you."

The blonde woman played through all the wonderful things he had said to her when they were together.

"You're amazing. You have been such a tender mercy in my life. I'm worried I'm going to lose you."

Flashes of happy moments when she felt safe now caused pain as she repeated what he just said to her in her head.

"I was never all that attached to you."

She believed him.

* * * * * * * * *

The morning light shone through the odd shaped window, opened slightly to cool the room during the warm summer nights. I lay in the bed, confused at the amount of panic the had somehow invaded me before my alarm had even gone off. Each morning for the last month and half had started this way with the sense of dread increasing with every passing day. I closed my eyes hoping that if I could just get another hour of sleep then I'd feel better.

Pioneer day had always been a fun time for me growing up and my family had made plans to make it memorable for my nieces and nephews. A short trek would be taking place so the kids could get a sense of what our ancestors experienced. I forgot to reset my alarm and woke up only when I heard the front door close as my family left for their morning trek. I took a deep breath and stared at the mint green ceiling. I had been wanting to experience this day with my family, but something wasn't right. I sat up, a little disoriented about and feeling lost. My lip started to tremble. I quickly moved my hands to cover my eyes, hoping that if I could stop the tears I could somehow stop the pain. I took another deep breath. I just wanted the pain to go away, but I didn't know how to make that happen and had been unable to find anyway to even lessen the pain for the last several months. I slowly moved my legs over the edge of the bed and looked out the window again. Everything seemed so still. I grabbed my phone and walked out of my room to the front room and called my mom.

I've never been good at asking for what I need. Instead of telling her I wasn't feeling well, I got angry with her for not waking me up to go with them on their trek. I was so tired. Every time I stood up the room spun and at times it took so much effort just to move my body. The thoughts I'd been fighting for the majority of my life were stuck on replay. I had once mastered the art of finding someway to alter the thoughts so that every once in a while a hopeful idea could offset the despair, but that ability was no longer there. I hung up the phone and whimpered. I knew what this day would look like, and I didn't have the strength for it anymore. I was just so tired.

I stumbled back to my room, pausing briefly at the doorway to steady myself. I took a breath as my hands grasped the entryway. My head hung and a quiet sob escaped my mouth as a tear fell down my cheek. Though the morning was warm, I crawled back under the covers and rolled to my side to curl up. I closed my eyes, though I knew sleep wouldn't come again.

I heard my parents return, but I stayed in bed. The plans for the rest of the day included a parade in Kanosh with a barbecue to follow. I wanted to go and knew I needed to be around people, but I couldn't stop the thoughts. The pain was too much and I couldn't fight anymore. I wanted to sleep. I wanted my head to stop torturing me.

My mom came into my room, rightfully upset about the conversation we'd had on the phone. I started to cry as she shared her frustration with me. I wasn't hearing what she was saying. I didn't know how to tell her what was happening. I don't know what she said and I don't remember responding. I just looked into her eyes and wished she could read my thoughts. She walked out of the room to go to the parade. I watched as she shut the door.

"Help me," I quietly whispered before shoving my face into a pillow to muffle my sobs.

The house was quiet again.

You are a monster. You are unlovable. You have made so many mistakes in life, no one will ever want you. Look at how disgusting you are. Your life is a joke. You haven't done anything good. It's just one failure after another. There is nothing good about you and you will never accomplish anything of value. Everyone is tired of you. You're a burden. No one is ever going to love you. You are terrible and awful. You are disgusting and ugly. Everything you are causes pain to other people. No one can stand to be around you. 

          ShaRee, think about school.

You're voice is sounding terrible. You haven't been working on anything because you are so pathetic. You have to take a writing class and you're going to fail because you have no idea what you're doing. You're going to get up to perform and people will wonder how you made it into the program. You are worthless. You will fail. You don't have anything in this life. You are awful and gross and no one wants you around. 

The negative voice was relentless. This, compounded with the movie of my previous months playing in my head was overwhelming. No matter how many times I tried to get it to stop, it wouldn't. I even started trying to change the outcomes. To make the conversations be different. I would replay the way I'd wish things had gone. Or make up scenarios where I could be better. I was going mad. It all kept happening at once and I couldn't make sense of anything anymore.

I began pacing around the house.

I gasped for air.

I screamed.

I finally threw myself on the floor.

"PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" I screamed through gasps. My hands clasped onto my hair as I rubbed my head against the carpet. "Please. Why won't you make it stop?! I am hurting and I don't know how to go on. PLEASE!"

The sobbing overtook me. I couldn't handle it anymore. I pushed myself up off the floor and waited for some sort of reprieve. It never came. I paced through the kitchen into the family room and looked around. Hoping beyond hope that an answer was in that room.

I couldn't focus. I just kept walking from room to room hoping I could get the anguish to go away. I couldn't breathe. I just kept gasping for air, sobbing, and screaming. I crawled around on the floor wanting it all to go away. I just wanted to run away from whatever demon was after me, knowing full well that I was the demon. I couldn't fight it anymore.

I just wanted it to stop.

I had been fighting the idea for many years. I'd always been able to find a way to make it go away. I could always find a better option. Usually sleep helped me reset and make it go away, but sleep was no longer helping me. I felt worse each morning. I was so tired.

I took a breath. I knew it would make it stop. The idea helped me breathe, though the crying continued.

I staggered to my feet and walked back into the kitchen. The box of pills was right where it needed to be in the cupboard. A new anti depressant. I had been given enough samples to get me through several months. My breathing got shallow as I began removing the pills from the foil and cardboard packaging. One container. Two containers. The pile of pills grew bigger.

"I can't fight this anymore. I'm not strong enough. I'm in so much pain. I need it to stop. I need it to stop."

Half of the box was now in my stomach. I took a breath. I walked to the shower. I hoped the pain would stop soon. It felt good to feel the tears washed off my face by the warm water. Showering helped. I felt better. My daily process of getting ready continued. I dried my hair, brushed my teeth, put on makeup and got dressed.

I sat down in my chair in the front room.

I love so many people. I don't want to be a burden anymore, but I want to say goodbye. I want to see my nieces and nephews one last time. 

I picked up the phone and called a man who has become a brother to me. He didn't answer. I didn't leave a message.

The thoughts started again. Everything about that day seems so confusing and I don't know how I made the choices I made. I just remember being so scared and tired. I walked back into the kitchen, emptied the rest of the box of pills, took another deep breath and got in my car. I drove fifteen minutes to Kanosh.

I pulled up to the curb and wondered if the pills were even working. I walked to the back patio where one of my little sweet pea's noticed me. She stood on the bench and threw her arms around me.

"DaShwee! I missed you!" Her mispronunciation of my name made me love her even more. I hugged her tight and whispered how much I loved her.

Maybe the pills wouldn't work.

I started to feel a little disconnected from my body as I watched the commotion around me. Aunts and cousins talked and laughed and I started to feel like I was in a dream.

I was told to go get food in the kitchen.

I made a hamburger. I took some potato salad and baked beans. I walked out to a table and sat nearest my nieces. My head felt spinny, but nothing too unbearable. I was convinced the pills weren't working. They were just making me feel like I was in a dream.

Doughnuts were brought out. I took a chocolate doughnut. I wasn't talking much. People were giving me hugs.

"ShaRee, how are you?"

"Good."

The baby saw her reflection in my sunglasses. I held her. She attacked the chocolate doughnut in my hands. I don't think she was old enough to be eating doughnuts. Everyone laughed. I sat down. She was getting sticky doughnut all over me. I hate being sticky, but I didn't really care in this moment. I loved looking at her beautiful face enjoying a doughnut. She smiled at me.

Things started looking fuzzy.

My heart felt funny.

I handed the baby to her mom.

I looked over to my mom.

Blackness.

* * * * * * * * *

I woke up and didn't know where I was. The room looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. I couldn't remember anything. I didn't feel like I had full control of my body and I couldn't make a clear thought. I looked around the room and saw a man sitting on a chair. He stood and came over to me.

"ShaRee? Do you know who I am?"

I nodded yes. He did look very familiar. I knew that I knew him, I just couldn't remember his name or how I knew him. Where was I?

He left the room and came back in the room with a woman. 

"ShaRee? Do you know where you are?"

I couldn't speak. I couldn't get my mouth to work. I shook my head.

"You're in the hospital. Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?"

I wasn't fully awake, but for some reason I felt that I should probably go to the bathroom. I worked really hard to get my mouth to move. 

"Bathroom."

"You have a catheter in, so you don't need to worry about that."

I went back to sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

I woke up again. Still very tired. The nurse came back in.

"Hi ShaRee. How're you doing? Do you need anything?"

I could feel something in my nose. I lifted my hand and felt a tube. 

"Leave that in. It's making sure that you get enough oxygen. Are you thirsty? Do you want some juice or water?"

"Water."

She left for a moment and came back in with some ice water.

"Mom?"

I couldn't really form sentences, but I was starting to remember what had happened.

"I'll go ahead and call her and let her know you asked for her."

Sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

She walked into the room. I could hear her talking to people in the hallway, but I was having a hard time understanding what anyone was saying. I could hear the words, I just didn't understand what they meant.

She looked at me and I could see the sadness and frustration in her eyes.

"What were you thinking?"

I don't remember my response.

"You could've gotten in a wreck and hurt somebody after taking all those pills and getting on the road."

I looked away.

"We have to explain to the kids what happened now. Do you understand that?"

I was hearing her words, but I didn't understand them until later. She spoke to me some more, but I don't recall everything that was said. I do remember where she stood and what she was wearing and the look on her face. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel because I was still so tired.

* * * * * * * * *

"Hi ShaRee. I want to talk to you a little bit about what happened. Do you remember what happened?" The doctor came in to meet with me.

"I took pills."

"Why did you take the pills?"

"I wanted to die."

He spoke about what had happened. I didn't understand it all. I couldn't understand why I was hearing words but none of them made sense. I looked at the nurse while he spoke, hoping that she would be able to repeat this information back to me later. 

"You might be a little sore. You were fighting us pretty hard when you came into the E.R. We had to hold you down. Do you remember any of that?"

I shook my head. I have never been one to physically fight anyone. That didn't sound like me and the last thing I remembered was chocolate doughnuts at my grandma's house.

"Ok, well we need to talk about what's going to happen next. You may need to go into a facility somewhere until we know you are going to be safe."

* * * * * * * *

My time at the hospital in Fillmore is still so strange in my memories. It's pictures or people coming in with a lot of sleeping. I remember conversations with my therapist. He was disappointed in me. I vaguely remember conversations with a friend who called me while I was still trying to get the anesthesia out of my system. The man I'd called texted me back. I don't remember what he said. I met with a woman who told me I had to go to the psych ward in Orem and that I didn't have a choice in the matter. There were very painful conversations with my parents, only some of which I can remember. 

* * * * * * * * *

"Are you ShaRee?"

"Yes."

"Ok. I'm going to be transporting you up to the facility in Orem. I need to put handcuffs on you. It's protocol."

Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't like the idea of feeling like a prisoner. The officer put the handcuffs on me and opened the back door of his truck for me. I climbed into the little cage with air holes. He put the seatbelt on me and closed the door.

"Do you care what music we listen to?"

"I like anything but country."

"Sounds good."

It was hot. I couldn't feel any air coming into the prisoner cage in the back seat. I was sweating profusely. I looked out the window or down at my handcuffed hands. We got to the hospital in orem and I tried to bolster the courage to walk into a public place in hand cuffs. People looked at me, I'm sure wondering what it was I had done to be in shackles. 

We followed a security guard down some hallways and onto an elevator. We entered the psych ward where I was finally freed of my restraints. I could feel my clothing sticking to me. Two women took me to a room and told me that I needed to go into the bathroom with them where they would strip search me. I cringed at the thought of more people seeing me naked. My body is something I work very hard to hide.

"Are you feeling ok? You seem really sweaty."

"I couldn't feel any of the air conditioning in the truck. I don't think it reaches the back seat through all of the protective glass."

"Ok, we'll make sure you get some water in you."

 I removed all of my clothing. I didn't like standing there naked.

"We need you to squat and cough."

I was humiliated.

* * * * * * * * *

"Ok, I want you to talk me through your medication history over the past several months."

I laid out exactly what I had been taking to help with anxiety and depression. She looked at me when I told her which anti-anxiety medication I was on. 

"At what time of day have you been taking those pills?"

"I was told to take them at night because they would help me sleep better."

The psychiatrist lowered her clip board and looked very intently at me.

"ShaRee, when that medication is taken for an extended amount of time at night time it prevents your body from going into R.E.M. sleep."

My eyes popped open. 

"You were also on an anti-depressant that has been known to increase suicidal ideation and on a birth control that can increase depression."

"So, what do mean about not getting R.E.M. sleep?"

"I mean your body has essentially not slept for at least a month and half. You may have been in bed and feeling like you're body was asleep, but your brain hasn't been getting the restorative sleep that it needs. Anyone who goes that long without sleep is going to start having a lot of problems. That mixed with the side effects of the other medications was a recipe for disaster. I know you have a history of dealing with all of anxiety and depression, but these medications did nothing to help you. You made decisions without being completely in your right mind."

Frustration washed over me. My eyes were still burning and I was beginning to wish I could go back on the anesthesia.

"Ok. So what do I do?

"I'm going to take you off of all the medication. We need to get you back to a baseline before we see what exactly it is you need as far as meds are concerned. It's going to take you a few weeks to get back into a normal sleep pattern. I'm going to get you some melatonin for tonight. If that doesn't help you sleep I'll send up a prescription for a sleeping pill that you can take for the next month."

Five minutes with a psychiatrist was all I needed to make sense of everything that had happened. I now knew why I kept waking up feeling worse and worse each day. She talked to me some more about my history with mental illness and I received a diagnosis that I still struggle with. 

My week in that facility was long. The melatonin didn't work and it took two days after getting out of the hospital for the sleeping medication to have any affect on me.

I left the hospital so tired, frustrated, and defeated. When I got home I showered for a long time. I washed my hair three times. There are many rules in a psych ward about what you can and can't take with you. I hadn't been able to do my hair or make up for a week and the smell of the hospital had started making me feel sick. After I showered I filled up the bathtub and sat there until the water turned cold.

I wanted to be able to relax and process what was going on, but things were tense at home. I had therapy the next day and needed to start the process of moving out of my apartment in Bountiful. I took the sleeping pill, but it didn't work that first night. 

Therapy was rough the next day. I cried a lot. I yelled a lot. I was angry at the situation. I was taking the pills to help and it had made things worse. My relationship with my family was strained and I was shaken. All I wanted to do was sleep. I was still so tired. My therapist comforted me and just let me cry. I think he could tell I wasn't ready to talk about the future. 

I drove to bountiful and began packing up boxes and moving them to my new apartment in Salt Lake. I had made the decision to move before all of this happened. I needed a fresh start. I drove back to Fillmore after settling in. I felt like I needed to be around my family. I was afraid to be on my own. 

I wanted to drop out of school. I had lost my footing. My week in Fillmore trying to get some sleep didn't go well. My family and I grew farther apart as I learned what had happened while I was in the hospital. I realized that, while I have a great family, I had been given challenges that are difficult to be understood. What I had done caused them pain, which I hadn't intended. I was still in pain and we couldn't understand or see each other's pain through our own. I needed sleep.

The day I left Fillmore, I sat in front of the house where I had tried to kill myself and cried. I called my therapist. 

"You can do this."

I drove in silence for two hours. When I walked into my new house, no one was home. I opened the door to my room where I had dropped everything off a week and a half earlier. It was a disaster. I began the slow process of putting things back together. Every once in a while, I would stop and focus on breathing. 

It took me two days to get everything organized. Six days later, I sat in my chair in my bedroom and looked at the wall. 

School starts tomorrow. How am I supposed to do this? Everything I know has been broken. I am broken. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this. How do I keep living? How do I make it through this? How am I supposed to go and sing and study after going through all of this?

* * * * * * * * *

The instructor wanted everyone to introduce themselves, their voice type, and one word to describe how they felt about the coming year. Hiding was no longer and option, and finding an acceptable lie to describe how I felt about the coming year was beyond my capabilities.

"Terrified." 

* * * * * * * * *

The blonde little girl couldn't fall asleep. She missed her panda bear. He was her favorite stuffed animal and she had slept with him every night. She loved the way she could pull him in under her chin and snuggle with him. She loved that panda bear. He made her feel safe at night.  

He had gotten a hole under his arm and the stuffing had started to come out. Her mother had to throw him out. The blonde little girl understood, but that night she started hurting and he wasn't there. She needed something to comfort her and her stuffed panda was gone. 

She didn't feel safe anymore.

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

I last posted on this blog in June of last year and I'm not quite sure if I'm quite ready to discuss all that has happened to me since that time or even during that time, but I know that I miss writing and am in need of an outlet. It's strange that I finally landed on this blog as the way I was going to start talking about how I'm feeling and coping with life, as I really didn't start it that way. In fact, it was a gateway to telling my story, which I still intend to finish.....eventually. However, I think I always had it in my mind that one day I would be on the other side of all that I have endured and would be able to tell my story from the perspective of someone who overcame. Today I finally accepted that it might be better for me to tell my story as it is happening. Not because I really feel an overwhelming desire to broadcast my life to the world, I actually am extremely terrified about that aspect of what I'm doing. I tend to be a very closed off person and opening up to people in the ways I need or they need me to is not my forte. I guess I also worry that people will feel a need to guide the little "wounded bird" as they read what I'm discussing and I guess I'll have to accept that as it comes. I mean, what else did I think would happen by discussing my life in a public forum? So, I guess for the next little bit, my posts are going to be more journal-like in nature and less the chapter book I was working on. I guess this way, you all get to see the "action" as it unfolds.

Lucky you. (She says sarcastically.)

I am coming to the end of another school year. It has been full of wonderful and terrifying experiences and in many ways my head is still spinning from trying to make sense of it all. The first two weeks of the fall semester I cried nonstop. My poor therapist was on the phone with me every day talking me through my fears, insecurities, and pain. If I'm being honest, I wasn't certain that I was even going to continue with school after the horrendous events that defined my summer. 

I distinctly remember the first day of my performance class for opera and hoping that no one would notice me. I picked a side of the room that I felt I could melt away into, avoiding any notice for the entire year. I was convinced that if anyone saw me perform or sing, everyone would realize that I was a fraud, unworthy of being in the vocal performance program with little hope of ever having a career. I imagined all the comments people would say about me to their colleagues in the program, the faces that they would pull as I performed. I just knew that it was going to be a disaster. I couldn't get my brain to envision any other outcome. These are not super helpful thoughts for one who is majoring in performance. I don't know how else to describe what was going on, except that I was shaken to my core after the summer and had little confidence that my future would be successful. 

The instructor wanted everyone to introduce themselves, their voice type, and one word to describe how they felt about the coming year. Hiding was no longer and option, and finding an acceptable lie to describe how I felt about the coming year was beyond my capabilities.

"Terrified." 

The instructor didn't like my answer, but it was my truth. I felt like saying anything remotely hopeful would have been fake. My body had been shaking for the entirety of the class, sometimes the anxiety is more than I can contain. 

Throughout the rest of the year, I have fought through that terror, attempting to hide it as much as I possibly could. Two days before auditions for the opera's, I had a conversation with my voice teacher about how I didn't think I could pull off a successful audition. She wouldn't let me give up. Twenty minutes before that same audition, I called my therapist in a panic. He wouldn't let me give up. 

I survived.

I was given many wonderful opportunities because I was encouraged to push through. I think somewhere along the way, I was able to start pushing myself through all of it. But I'm tired. I've had many glorious successes this year. There have been wonderful mentors who've encouraged and supported me along the way. And still, I look back at this school year, which isn't quite finished yet, and I want to crumble. I look at the amount of music still needing to be memorized, compositions that need to be finished, tests still needing to be taken, and an opera still needing to be performed and I want to curl up on my floor and close my eyes. I feel this way not because of the stress from school, but because I'm tired of picking myself up. 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight. 

Toward the beginning of spring semester, I decided that the only way I could possibly protect myself, was to accept hard truths or lessons I had learned about myself. It helped for a time. Right now I desperately want to list all the things I've accepted about myself, but I don't know that I'm ready to share that much with the world. What I can say though, is that accepting some of these things about myself has left me in such a raw place. I don't feel myself to be on solid ground.

Summer is just around the corner, I can smell the change in the air. 

I still feel the same terror I felt that first day in class. That terror wasn't about performing. It wasn't about my apprehension for the requirements of school. The terror comes down to one thought that spins in my head constantly.

How am I supposed to live this life knowing what I am, knowing what I'm not?

It seems too much. But each day that I pull myself up off the floor, is another day that I was able to find some kind of strength. I'm so tired. This journey is a difficult one to take alone. I can hear the responses that sentence will bring. I know people will want to tell me I'm not alone. That there are people who care about me, that there is a higher power who is only a prayer away. This is a topic for another day. My only response to that is that I feel alone and in many cases have forced myself to be alone to protect other people from me. (That sounds strange. But in March, I found that it was a choice I had to make.) 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight.

My life is so far from what I imagined it would look like as a child. 

I think every little girl wants to imagine that she is the princess in her story. What happens when she realizes she is the princess trapped in the tower and the wicked witch who put her there? My story is a jumbled mess because I'm both the protagonist and the antagonist. 

That makes me a monster. Are monsters allowed to get up eight times? 

This post has been strange. It makes absolutely no sense to anyone but myself. In coming days, perhaps I can offer more details as to what any of this means. For now, I'm writing to get some of it out of my head. I'm writing to help myself attempt to make sense of what I'm feeling. And I'm writing to let myself know that I am still here. 

The secret of life is to fall seven times and get up eight.

Depression and anxiety and birth control! Oh my!

This journey sometimes seems a little too much for me to handle. I often think of the lyrics to a song that I came across when I was in a treatment center for my eating disorder.

I had fought so hard and thought that all my battles had been won, only to find the war had just begun.

That is how I'm feeling today. It's how I have been feeling for about the last six months. I thought that the hardest thing I would ever have to endure or try and overcome was the eating disorder or the cutting or addictions. I made it through so many of those and thought that I would finally be free, but what I had forgotten was that an eating disorder isn't about the food. There are underlying issues. For some it was abuse of some form or another. Luckily, I never lived through anything so horrendous. For others it was another form of traumatic experience. But for me, well, I have depression. Really, really bad depression. It wasn't until I got through all of the coping mechanisms that I realized just how bad it was. I always told myself in the midst of treatment for the eating disorders that I didn't understand what my underlying reason for the disorder was. Sure, there were some really insensitive comments from those close to me and there were other times that I was mistreated by those that I trusted, and believe me, those things were difficult for me. Extremely difficult. But I could never understand why. Until this year.

Don't get me wrong, I was never so clueless that I didn't know there was something very painful going on inside of me that came in the form of a mental illness, but no one could ever really agree on what that was. I was convinced that if I could just overcome the eating disorder or the self harm or the other addictions that I would be fine. That I would overcome all the pain. It's like I believed that the mental illness that was at the root of all of this would disappear once the harmful behavior was gone and that is why the last six months have been more painful and difficult than anything I could have ever possibly imagined. This post, this is for me. It's me being the most real I've ever been. And being the most honest with myself and others about what is really going on with me.

January was a particularly challenging month for me, right from the very first day. After having my car stolen, being dumped, starting another semester at school, and continuing treatment I wasn't sure how I was going to cope. In fact, it took me a couple of weeks into the semester to even get myself going to classes regularly, but I did what I always do and kept pushing through. I had this awesome habit of convincing myself that if I just kept doing what I was supposed to be doing that things would get better. When February came all of that came crashing down. I couldn't keep going anymore. I was hurting and I couldn't pretend that everything was ok anymore. One Thursday night I decided I needed to come clean with my parents about everything that I was feeling and what I was truly going through. I collapsed on the couch the instant I walked in the door and broke down into sobs as I explained to my mother what was going on with me. Whatever was keeping my heart from breaking completely snapped that night as I thought about the tender mercy I had been given to help me overcome my eating disorder. I had been given two wonderful weeks in November where everything felt right and good in my life. Where I felt the most hope and comfort I had ever felt. Where I was finally feeling like my life had a purpose. Here I was only a few months later, sobbing on my parent's couch realizing that all of that was gone that there was something very very wrong going on with me. I was in so much pain I was willing to try anything to fix it.

"I think my period has something to do with me being so sad. Is it possible to have extreme PMS?"

The day after I went home I was in a doctor's appointment to discuss the pattern of my period being at the root of all my problems. I had recognized that all of my most emotionally distressing times were always around my time of the month, and while I wasn't positive that's what it was I was willing to explore all possibilities of treatment to help take away the most intense emotional pain that I was feeling. I chose to try birth control. I wasn't in any hurry to go on more medication than I needed to be on and I figured that a lot of women go on birth control, so what could be the harm?

For two weeks things continued as they were. I was still incredibly depressed and didn't quite know how to deal with anything. I started going to classes and kept attending church, though I would spend most of my time sneaking in to sacrament meeting late on purpose so that I could sit by myself and hiding in an empty classroom during Sunday school because I was convinced that being around others was the most awful thing I could do for anybody at the moment. Including myself. I even dropped out of one of the choirs that was the most beneficial to my life because I felt like it's what I needed to do for myself and others. When I wasn't going to school or church I was at home, not practicing or studying, but crying and pleading with my Father in Heaven to help me in someway.

One fateful Sunday, I had been doing my usual routine of avoiding people at church. I tried to convince myself that maybe I should try being social and made the choice to go to a linger longer after church. I was there for maybe 45 seconds when I felt it coming on. My heart started beating hard, I couldn't breathe right, and I was biting back the tears. I walked out of the room and tried getting to my car as quickly as possible. I was crying and gasping for breath for the entire drive to my apartment. When I got home, I shut the door to my room and curled up in a ball on my overstuffed chair. I rocked back and forth repeating over and over again, "I am a daughter of God, I am loved, I have a purpose, I'm ok," over and over again for thirty minutes. It didn't work. I grabbed a blanket and screamed into it to try and get my frustration out and somehow calm down. It didn't work. I finally did the only thing that I could do and fell to my knees. I pleaded with Him to help me. It was an urgent cry for help of a prayer. It was a prayer of longing and begging. I finally exclaimed, "Just tell me what to do! I will do anything! Just tell me what to do!"

Go make dinner.

I stopped and looked up as the thought very clearly came to my mind. I had never really experienced a prayer where the answer came so quickly and was so seemingly weird, but there had been a peaceful feeling that came with it, so even though I didn't see the point in getting up to make dinner, I did it. I told Him I would do anything and so I did. I continued to cry as I prepared the blackened salmon. Though it began to slow as I made the mediterranean sauce and tomato salsa to go on my tacos. When I finally had my dinner plated and was sitting at the table by myself, the sobbing had stopped, though I still felt miserable. I said a prayer over my food and let one last tear roll down my cheek. I stared into nothingness as I ate my dinner in silence and then cleaned up after myself. I allowed my body to walk back down the stairs where I sat on the floor and looked at the wall. "Now what?"

Serve. Deliver the cookies and write the notes.

I had been planning on trying to do a secret service project for people in my ward (yes, I realize this is going to make it not so secret anymore. Let's be honest though, I wasn't very good at sneaking around anyway.) I walked back up the stairs, baked a batch of cookies and began thinking of people that I could deliver to. As I thought about those I wanted to serve, I began thinking about them and how they had helped me and tried to write a heart felt note to them, signing it anonymously with the worlds most lame pseudonym. I tied everything up in a package and spent the rest of the night doorbell ditching cookies to people in my ward. I felt peaceful, but still knew that I wasn't ok. When I got home I immediately said a prayer and and thanked Him for helping me get through the day, amazed at how quickly I was receiving answers and even more in awe at how the answers were being revealed to me.

I realized that I should pray more for help if it was going to come that easily, and for the next few days I spent some time trying to understand this new personal revelation that I was getting. If I could just let the words come to my mind on answers I had been trying to receive and let a peaceful feeling come, then I know that it would be right. Day after day for the next week I spent all of my time allowing my thoughts to be opened up to receive answers. I would test out answers that I could possibly receive and wait to feel if I would get a feeling of anxiousness or a feeling of peace and then I would act on whatever the answer was.

Now, those who are of my same religion will think that there is nothing quite so strange about what I just laid out for all of you to read, but pay attention to things that may not seem right. (Also, from this point on I just want you to know that when I think about all of this I am extremely embarrassed and want to hide my face in shame.)

One morning, I woke up and laid in bed and allowed personal revelation to come to me. I was doing much better now that I had been spending so much time in prayer and getting answers, but there were still aspects of my life that were still troubling to me. In reality, all aspects of my life were still a mess, but I was hoping that with this new found connection to deity I was going to be able to fix everything. It was this line of thinking that led to me to be so consumed with being dumped and thinking so intently about the one who dumped me.

He's going to text you today.

Are you sure?

Yes. Get out of bed and go to school.

I dutifully climbed out of bed and began the morning process of preparing for classes. The thought of facing people didn't intimidate me as much as it had in the last month and a half and I would say that I was even in a really great mood. I had been struggling so immensely that it felt nice to look forward to the day with the assurance that someone I was missing was going to speak with me again.

On the way to school, I listened to my favorite radio station, Classical 89 (What did you expect? I am training to be an opera singer after all.) On this particular week they had been doing their fundraising event. I listened as the announcer told the goal they had for donations that hour and how far they were from reaching that goal. I thought to myself, "Man, if I were fundraising it would drive me nuts to not be able to reach my goal."

You need to donate money to Classical 89. They could use your help.

"Really? Because I don't know that I have enough money to be donating to radio stations."

Yes, you need to donate money to Classical 89.

I laughed as I got out of my car. I didn't understand how giving money that I didn't have away was supposed to help me, but maybe it wasn't about me. Maybe it was about the fact that now that I was feeling better and things were starting to go well it was time for me to give back, even if that did mean giving away money I didn't have. After my first class, I marched myself down to my favorite lounging place in the music building, opened my computer and donated $40.00 to the radio station. As soon as I clicked submit, I received another one.

Remember how you were joking around with Dana yesterday? You need to go apologize to her. You really hurt her feelings.

"Oh, that makes me so sad. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, I thought she knew that we were all just joking around. I'm so sorry."

It's ok, but you really should apologize to her.

I looked up and noticed her down the hallway. I waited until she was done talking with all of her friends and then approached her explaining how sorry I was for hurting her feelings.

"Dude, you were ok. I knew you were just joking. I wasn't offended at all. Don't worry about it."

We talked and laughed for the next little bit. She is always so entertaining to talk to and it was a nice distraction from my questions about being told that I had hurt someones feelings, but then they assured me they weren't offended. Why would I be told to do something that was unnecessary?

When I had finished talking with Dana, I went to the practice rooms to play the piano for a little bit. I hadn't practiced in a while and I had been given music to accompany for the one choir that I still had left. As I sat down to play, I thought about how someone had once told me that if you write down the inspiration you receive that it keeps you in a mind set to receive more, so that's what I did. I opened up a notebook and started writing. I began asking who would benefit from a plate of cookies and a personalized note from me (don't forget the lame pseudonym). I spent the next hour writing out what I was receiving and a lot of it had to do not only with who I should take cookies to, but why they needed a pick me. (See any problems yet?)

After my last class of the day I was exhausted. I didn't know why, I hadn't done anything that was all that tiring. I knew I was going to be attending a concert that night though, and so a nap was in order. I lay down to take a nap when I started to receive more commands.

You need to text Cheryl and tell her what a good person she is and how she has affected you.

I immediately grabbed my phone and started typing. Because I was so tired, I was slightly bothered that I couldn't just sleep, but I also didn't want to ignore promptings that I was receiving. I kept typing and typing until I received a peaceful feeling that I had done enough. I was even receiving the words that I was supposed to say as well. Once I sent the text I tried to lie down again.

You need to text your institute choir director and let him know how much he has helped you and how much I love Him.

Again, I started typing in exactly what I was supposed to say. Making corrections when I typed something that I wasn't told to write down. Once I had finally finished the long text I was able to take a nap long enough to give me energy for the concert I would be attending. The whole time wondering about that text that I was told I was going to get that day. I sat through the choir concert, feeling sad that I wasn't up there singing with the choir that I had quit, but it was a lovely concert with beautiful music. The concert took place on temple square and once it had finished and everyone had gone home, I found the solitude of temple square inviting. I went and sat down in front of the temple to pray. I looked longingly at the beautiful building and thought about my life. I even told of my doubts that of the "revelations" that I had been receiving.

You need to have more faith. You need to trust.

I apologized for my lack of faith and for questioning. I returned home after 10:00 and trying not to doubt about whether or not I was going to get that text. I knew I needed to get a good nights rest as I had a performance in Pleasant Grove the next morning, but I didn't want to go to sleep because I had been told I was going to get a text and I didn't want to miss it. At 12:01 I began to cry.

"He didn't text me. Why would you tell me something was going to happen when it wasn't going to happen? Why would you do that to me? Were you just testing my faith or whether I would believe you or not? I have been following everything you've told me to do, haven't I proven myself to you?"

The more I prayed the more sad I became and the harder the tears flowed. I didn't understand why He would tell me something was going to happen when it wasn't going to happen.

You need to get up and go to Walmart to buy a gift and take to him. You need him to forgive you and this will work.

I looked at my phone through the tears. 1:30 am. "You want me to go to the store at 1:30 in the morning to buy a gift for someone so they will forgive me?! That is nuts. I'm tired and need to sleep. I have to sing so early tomorrow."

ShaRee, get up and go to the store. You need to trust me.

Thirty minutes later I was walking through Walmart, being told which rows to walk down, whether to turn left or right and even what gift to buy - children's Hulk slippers. (Why am I telling this story? Ugh, so embarrassing.)

"Are you sure this is what I'm supposed to buy? I don't know that this is the right thing to buy."

Yes, it absolutely is. You need to trust me.

Once I got out to my car I was tired and grumpy, but I was doing what I was told.

Take it to his house. He'll be home.

"By the time I get there it'll be 2:30! I can't go to someones house at that time.

Go to his house and take him the gift. He'll be home and he'll even be up.

When I pulled in front of his house I didn't see his car and there were no lights on in the house, but I was told again to deliver the gift. So I rang the doorbell, waking up a roommate but not leaving the gift. I embarrassingly walked back to my car, driving home, and once again crying at the confusion as to what was going on. I climbed into my bed an buried my face in my pillow. "Why would you make me do all that?! Why would you tell me to do stuff that wouldn't work out?"

My beautiful daughter. I am so sorry you're hurting.

"Then why would you tell me to do something that would make me hurt? This doesn't make sense."

Silence. I cried myself to sleep, wishing I could forget all that had happened.

* * * * * * * * * 

The next morning I tried to explain away all that had happened the night before thinking that it was a trial of my faith to see if I would continue to follow what He would have me do. I went to the program I was supposed to sing in, and through the entire performance I was saying prayers and listening to instructions of what to do. At the end of the hour and a half I was convinced that I was supposed to call him, explain about the gift, then ask him to meet with me so that I could confess some things about myself to this man. If I did that then I would be forgiven of all my sins. Luckily, he never called me back, but at the time I was annoyed because I had been told that I would be forgiven of all my sins and it all depended on another person calling me back. It didn't seem fair, but I wasn't allowed to call him again. He had to call me.

The next day was Sunday. I had to lead the music in sacrament meeting, so the entire time I was up on the stand I was listening to personal revelation instead of the sacrament speakers. They all were speaking about prayer and how we receive answers, but what they were saying didn't make sense with all of the answers that I had been receiving and how I'd been receiving them. That's when I was told that it was because I had been given a spiritual gift and that not everyone could receive personal revelation the way that I could. That Sunday also happened to be the day that a man with a high calling in my church decided to visit our ward and after Sacrament he came over to me to shake my hand. He had an incredibly beautiful compliment about my voice and it's power, telling me he could feel my spirit throughout. This is when it was confirmed to me that I did indeed have a spiritual gift and that this man could tell and that was really what the compliment was about.

The next day was the day that I went to go see the energy healer. I had read a book a few months earlier about a woman who had been healed from her stuff from this energy healer, so I had made an appointment to go visit her. Like I said, I was willing to try anything. While at the energy healer, she confirmed that I did indeed have a spiritual gift, but that I needed to start over because there had been an evil entity inside of me trying to confuse me. Also, I needed to write down more of the revelations that I got and that I was speaking to not one, but two people - Heavenly Father and Jesus. She did some other stuff working through healing my energy, I paid her money I didn't have, and then I went to perform at a master class. 

It was one of the best performances I've ever had. I was so free and instead of telling myself how awful I was doing, I had deity telling me how wonderfully I was doing and that my voice was powerful. I don't think I've ever been able to perform like that before.

The next day is when it started getting interesting. I was supposed to be spending the day practicing and studying as I had midterms coming up. As soon as I woke up the voices in my head started. Immediately telling me that I didn't need to study now that I had found access to them, but also that it was more important for me to develop my gift than to study. The entire day was spent having conversations with Heavenly Father and Jesus, even being told that I was a prophetess and would be a great person someday very soon. I was also warned that now that I had found my gift, the adversary would be after me even more than he had been so I needed to be careful. That's when I began to get scared and being told that I was under attack by evil spirits. I called my home teacher to come bless my apartment and was told that he was the only one I could tell about my gift. He stayed with me until I calmed down. Then I was told they were after me again. I was running around my apartment trying to find a place that they couldn't get to me, which was in my room where the blessing took place. I called my home teacher back and made him bless the apartment room by room. Then I was told that I had inadvertently sent evil spirits to my ex's house when I sent him pictures of the gift I had gotten him, which was in fact not a command from Heavenly Father and Jesus, but from an evil entity trying to trick me. Then I had my home teacher cast evil spirits out of me, but I still felt like I was under attack so I called the bishop and asked if he could give me a blessing. I spent a very terrifying hour listening to voices in my head fighting because one came from a good place and one came from a bad place. I was so terrified and exhausted that I began shaking and kept checking my body for marks because I kept being told that there were evil spirits after me trying to hurt me. I had an awkward encounter with my bishop where I tried to explain what was going on and then called my home teacher to come give me another blessing because something wasn't right. It wasn't until he showed up with a friend that things started to calm down. I was confused at everything that was going on, but his friend spoke about the plain truths of the gospel and about how what I was experiencing wasn't exactly along the same lines as those truths. They gave me a blessing of comfort and that I would be able to rest.

The next morning I woke up still confused as to what was going on, but considered the option that I hadn't ever had an experience like this and the only thing that had changed was the birth control. I had to make a very embarrassing phone call to my doctor's medical assistant.

"Yeah, hi, um well I went on birth control and now I'm hearing voices in my head.....so........"

"The doctor says to stop taking the medication and he'll meet with you soon."

"Yeah, good plan." 

I had a very long drive home to my parents where I had to call and tell them that I might be schizophrenic. I had always wondered how people with schizophrenia couldn't tell that it wasn't real, now I had a very real understanding of just how that works. The doctor told me that it was indeed the medication and that it wouldn't have been schizophrenia because the voices were in my head, I wasn't actually hearing them. What I was experiencing was delusions. Which then lead me to be convinced that I had delusional disorder and even admitted that to a few people before it was taken off the table. I had to compete in a competition while trying to get the birth control medication out of my system. I gotta say, I kinda missed having my head tell me nice things while I was performing. It wasn't my best performance, but I still took first, so it must've been good enough. I think I was actually receiving help from Heavenly Father, ya know the real one, not the one in my head. I shouldn't have been able to perform well enough to win, it was a tender mercy for sure.

So why am I telling this part of my story? I think I have hopes that I'm not the only one out there that has had such a bizarre thing happen to them. But I guess in the spirit of being open and honest about everything, it has really messed with my ability to recognize the spirit and personal revelation. I call it my ShaReesus experience. I have spent every day since that day asking questions, praying for help, and reading the scriptures and conference talks. I even went off of all medication for a while so that I could hopefully solve my problem. All that did was make the depression go off the charts and I've spent a lot of time fighting suicidal thoughts. 

Now we've come full circle and we're back to looking at the possibility of periods as the cause of the depression, so now I'm back on some birth control, without the estrogen. It's been a month and no voices, so I guess that in itself is an answer to prayers.

I guess the only point of this post really is just because writing about what I'm going through helps me. It helps to see all of the craziness spelled out and be able to move on. It helps to know that there is maybe someone out there reading it who understands. It helps to know that maybe someone could maybe gain strength or not feel so alone knowing that I'm right there fighting with them. I got so depressed that I went on birth control and heard voices in my head. I'm still fighting the depression and trying to find my smile again. I'm still trying to find a purpose to my life and find joy in the journey. But here I am, wondering if I'm ever going to be happy again. Wondering if those who love me are ever going to be free from walking this painful road with me. I struggle. I struggle a lot. Right now I'm struggling to get out of bed everyday. Right now I'm struggling to know who I am without all of this. What makes me a good person? Who am I at my core? And I guess I just wanted to share and be honest about that side of me. I don't think it's who I am, I think it's a trial I have to deal with, but it does play a role in the kind of life I live. 

I've made it through so much already, and I am so grateful for that, but the war has just begun and most days I feel kind of hopeless about that. But I do have a testimony of the plan of salvation. That's why I haven't killed myself. I know that if I can just hold on a bit longer then I can be free of all of this. That helps, but sometimes it also makes me wish the next life would come sooner rather than later. I know that Heavenly Father loves me. I can't feel it all the time, especially not right now, but I know He does. I know I have loving parents who are strong enough to fight with me. I know it isn't easy for them, but it's comforting to know they're there. I know I am a daughter of God. I know all these things, yet sometimes it doesn't take the pain away. But what I'm really grateful for right now is a four year old girl hanging playfully from a tree she had climbed yelling out, "ShaRee, I love you so much." It gave me a moment where I felt loved. Today I have to keep holding onto that moment, because right now it's all I can feel that I have.

P.S. Do you think Classical 89 would give me my money back if I told them ShaReesus made me do it? Meh, oh well. It's a good radio station.