I hate being mentally ill. I hate even more that I can’t control it. People tell me all the time to control it to snap out of it take my meds, make myself happy but I cannot control it. Even prayer, though extremely helpful doesn’t control it and the worst part of it is that Sundays are my worst days. Today is Sunday and it’s a bad day. Here are the things I wrote during church today. Maybe, someone can make sense of it for me
I am in Sacrament meeting, Nathaniel is sitting on one side of me and Kim and Alex on the other. Grace is not here because she is on her way to California with the upward Bound group. It is a really noisy Sacrament meeting. The children sitting behind me are crying, fighting and yelling. It almost seems like every child in this room under 5 is making some kind of horrible noise. I can’t hear the speaker well and I can’t concentrate. I feel like leaving but I promised President Miller that I would at least come to Sacrament Meeting so here I am. My friend told me that writing helps me work it all out so I am writing.
The headache that I came to the meeting with is surprisingly gone but I feel tired. I got plenty of sleep so I shouldn’t be this sleepy. Sleep is my escape, my drug, my way out of the drama that has become my inner life.
Suddenly the speaker says something and I listen. I write. She says “You have to know me first then you can love me.” She is talking about God. She is talking about our relationship with our Heavenly Father, She goes on:
“5 things that we must do to get to know God:
1- Pray 2- read the scriptures 3- come to church 4- trust him 5- follow him.”
I write down some scriptures that the speaker mentions, with the idea that maybe I’ll look them up during my personal study time tomorrow morning. They are:
1 Nephi 8:24, 30
2 Nephi 31:20
Moshiah 2:41. She says something that sticks out to me. She says “Pray for strength” So I do.
What do I know about God?
He is my Father
He is approachable
He knows me
He loves me
He will help me
Sacrament Meeting is over. Kim goes home to get something that he forgot, the Bishop said he would talk to me but he is with someone else. I feel alone. I feel like crying. I feel angry and I can’t figure out why I feel all of this. I glance into the Sunday School room and the teacher tells me to come in and sit down. Everyone looks at me and I suddenly feel embarrassed. I find a seat then I sit down briefly just to get up after the opening prayer and bolt from the room. I cry and someone sees me. She tells me it’s good I have a notebook in my hand and tells me to go write because that will help me. I’m just glad she doesn’t see the scratches and pen marks on my arm. I then decided to go home and sleep. After all sleep, is my drug, my escape from the real world.
The Bishop passes me in his car. He waves, I don’t wave back. I’m tempted to run back to the church but I know that the Bishop can’t help me and that talking to him will make it worse so I continue on my way home. Then I get on the computer and write, because writing is my therapy.