Plans

Once upon a time I had a perfect plan. A plan to go to a year of school and then immediately leave for 18 months to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

A minor heart procedure altered my plans slightly. I would have to wait a few extra weeks before I would get my call, but nothing drastic.

Weeks passed and no call came. Finally, tired of being in limbo, I asked my bishop to figure out what was happening. He did some digging and discovered that I was required to get a pre-mission evaluation because I had mentioned depression on my papers.

I can't even describe to you what the day I found this out was like. Even before the news, I was extremely depressed. I woke up every morning wishing that I didn't have to, because waking up meant feeling the ceaseless mental pain of pointless despair and the never-ending anxiety of over thinking. I hated my life. I never smiled, never laughed. I sat in silence or cried. I had finally worked up the courage to admit to my mom that I needed help, so I was scheduled to meet with a doctor the next day to talk about getting medicated. I was extremely high functioning. My grades were high and I got along well with others, but inside everything just hurt. I had started to have doubts about serving a mission. Could I really handle leaving everything behind for so long? Was I actually mentally okay enough to do it? My inner demons screamed these questions, and my resolve wilted as something inside me whispered, no, you can't. 

When my bishop called first thing in the morning to tell me I needed to get this evaluation, all I could think of were neighbors and friends who had been in similar situations and who had been told no. Suddenly the fears I had secretly harbored were brought to the surface and became so much closer to reality. My once perfect plan was now utterly uncertain.

I spent the rest of the day crying, praying, talking to my parents, and reading gospel literature until I had received the answer that I should keep working toward my goal of going on a mission. I still felt miserable, but at least I had some direction. The next day my doctor prescribed an SSRI. Within a few days I began to feel the effects. My anxiety ebbed and I felt light return to my dark mind. I arrived at the pre-mission evaluation slightly nervous, but mostly confident that I would be approved. I felt fine, didn't I?

I was told that my evaluation report would be sent along and a decision would be made in a few weeks. The therapist that evaluated me predicted that the worst-case scenario was that I would have to wait three months so that they could monitor the effects of the medication.

In the following weeks of waiting in limbo for an answer, I felt more and more grateful for modern medicine. Limbo was hard enough as it was, but the pain of uncertainty didn't constantly barrage me as it would have before. Nevertheless, in a normal-reaction sort of way, it was painful to wait and wonder.

Yesterday I got my answer. Because of the medication, and because they want to monitor the effects, I must wait SIX months and then resubmit my papers. I could tell you why this is so extremely dumb and why it makes absolutely no logical sense AT ALL. I could explain and defend my bitterness and you would nod along and realize that I am perfectly capable of serving a mission.

But that won’t change a thing, so there’s no use in rehashing my frustrations. Instead I’ll tell you why I’m okay: This morning I emailed the marching band director at BYU, and he told me that I could return to the band this fall. I'm currently working a summer job that I happen to love, and now I get to work there for the rest of the summer. I may have a TA job lined up for me for fall semester, and I'm just waiting to hear back from the professor who asked me to TA for him. My meds are still working wonderfully, and I have been able to handle the news with minimal tears and anxiety. It will be a struggle to find an apartment for this fall, but a friend of mine just told me that she is looking for place to live in the same area, so we could be roommates. And most of all, even though my perfect plan has utterly fallen apart and I have been forced to recreate it from the bottom up, I finally have enough information to make a new plan. I am no longer living in limbo. The answer is disappointing, but it is finally an answer. I will go to school for another semester and resubmit my papers in November.

Maybe the original plan wouldn't have been so perfect after all. Hopefully the new one will be.