I Am a Child of God

From the time we were very small, we Mormon children sang

I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.

I always thought that believing that we are one of God’s children is a positive thing, that it gives people an innate sense of self-worth, as opposed to those poor Protestants who believe that everyone is a “depraved” sinner. But as I’ve sorted through a lot of things in the recent past, I’ve come to a new awareness of what being a child of God has meant in my life.

As the verses above tell us, we are God’s children, but He sent us to earth to teach us the things we “must do to live with Him someday.” Everything about this life was, in essence, a test to see if we were worthy of coming back to Him. And passing the test meant doing what we were taught to do; anything less wasn’t enough for our Father.

The second verse of the song speaks of our needs:

I am a child of God,
And so my needs are great;
Help me to understand his words
Before it grows too late.

But the “needs” spoken of aren’t love, safety, happiness. No, our “great” need is to understand God’s words “before it grows too late.” In other words, we need to understand what God wants us to do so that, again, we can be found worthy of His presence. And we’d better hurry up, “before it grows too late.”

The final verse is a little more hopeful:

I am a child of God.
Rich blessings are in store;
If I but learn to do his will
I’ll live with him once more.

If we’ve understood God’s word and done what we must do, then “rich blessings are in store.” But notice that the blessings are always conditional. Russell Nelson explained that

“While divine love can be called perfect, infinite, enduring, and universal, it cannot correctly be characterized as unconditional. The word does not appear in the scriptures. On the other hand, many verses affirm that the higher levels of love the Father and the Son feel for each of us-and certain divine blessings stemming from that love-are conditional.

“Understanding that divine love and blessings are not truly ‘unconditional’ can defend us against common fallacies such as these: ‘Since God’s love is unconditional, He will love me regardless …’; or ‘Since ‘God is love,’ He will love me unconditionally, regardless …’ These arguments are used by anti-Christs to woo people with deception.

“The full flower of divine love and our greatest blessings from that love are conditional-predicated upon our obedience to eternal law. I pray that we may qualify for those blessings and rejoice forever” (“Divine Love,” Ensign, Feb. 2003, page 20).

Thus, God is a parent who will love His children only if they understand His words and do what they are taught to do. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I realized just how much of this kind of teaching I had absorbed in my own life.

My mother was talking to me about my struggles with depression (I was telling her how I’m doing really great these days and that the depression seems like a distant memory). I mentioned that one thing I had to overcome was the belief that my self-worth was conditioned on what I did for others. I always put others first, but I never felt good about myself.

My mom asked me where I had gotten that belief, and I told her that all of my siblings and I had been taught in church and at home that we were to put others first, that self-sacrifice was the ultimate act of love and only true way to happiness. That said, no one had ever told us we should take care of our own needs, that we should feel good about ourselves, even if we couldn’t do everything we thought we should.

“I always thought it was a given that you feel good about yourself,” my mom said. “Yes, you serve others and try to meet their needs, but you have to feel good about yourself first.”

“I never felt good about myself,” I said.

“Then you were listening to the wrong people,” she said. “I’ve always thought you were a wonderful person with great potential.”

I wondered who I was supposed to be listening to, because no one had ever said anything like that to me. In my family, praise was served up in tiny slivers, if at all. I don’t remember my mother or father saying “I’m proud of you” until I left for my mission. But it made sense: if self-worth is a “given,” you don’t need any praise. You just feel good about yourself.

I thought about the praise I got growing up. I remembered that, in fifth grade, I won a short story contest at school. I have no recollection of my parents’ reaction, but my uncle, who looking back must have sensed my needs, read my story and then said it was so good that he wanted to buy a copy. So, I wrote out a copy, and he gave me a silver dollar for it. It seems silly, but 35 years later, that moment stands out because it was one when I felt good.

My senior year in high school, I won the district Lincoln-Douglas debate competition. My parents weren’t there, but my teacher, Mrs. Dix, who had encouraged me from the beginning, gave me the trophy and a big hug and told me how proud she was of me for working so hard and becoming a skilled debater.

But that’s all I can remember. When I was a newlywed, my wife said, “I can’t believe I got to marry such a handsome man.” She didn’t believe me when I told her that no one else had ever told me I was good looking.

I suppose on some level I recognized my strengths and weaknesses. I always thought I was rather unattractive, but at least I was pretty smart, at least enough to do fairly well in school. Even when I won an award for being the top first-year grad student in my program, I was convinced that I got it because the board had felt pity for the poverty of my young family.

These days I feel good about myself, which is a major accomplishment for me. I don’t have to kill myself looking for other people’s approval, and I don’t have to spend my life serving everyone’s needs but mine. And I do not feel responsible for the success and happiness of others.

If there is a God out there (and most of the time I believe there is), surely He loves us “regardless” of our personal failings. I’m not perfect, but I’m good enough. And knowing that has made all the difference.

Red-Letter Day

Yesterday was just an all-around good day for me. As I mentioned, I finally got to a good place regarding my participation on certain message boards, and that feels very liberating. But I also reached my goal weight after 5 months of diet and exercise. I’ve worked really hard to lose the weight and get into shape, and I really feel good. I’ve lost a total of 38 lbs., which given my height and bone structure (I’m 5′8″ and rather small of frame) is a huge amount of weight. I never want to get that fat again. I’m at the same weight I was in the Missionary Training Center when I was 19 years old. Anyway, it feels good, and I suppose I needed to share that.

Also, my wife scored 100 on her Biomedicine exam, which is wonderful. I’ve watched her take her studies so seriously, and it’s great to see it’s paying off. I would have said that her grades are amazing, but then I knew what she was capable of, and she is proving me right. I could not be more proud of her.

And my son, who is a sophomore, placed tenth in the pre-region cross-country meet yesterday. And that really is amazing. A sophomore is not supposed to do that well running against juniors and seniors. But more than that, my son is just a great kid. He works hard, he does what we ask of him, and he is just generally a pleasant person to be around. I am very proud of him, too.

Maybe it’s the adderall, but I feel good these days and genuinely hopeful for the future. Of course, having said that, I’m sure something is bound to go wrong. But I feel like I can handle it.

Alive

On this blog I’ve chronicled my bouts with depression and in particular my downward spiral that led to a suicide attempt and a three-day stay in a psychiatric hospital. When I got help–therapy and the right medication–I felt like I had gotten some of my life back. I didn’t walk around feeling sad and heavy all the time.

But I was still tired, still struggling to function. So I drank a lot of caffeinated drinks. For a while Dr. Pepper was having a sweepstakes where a code from the bottle cap might win you a car or some money. I would just throw the caps into a drawer in my office desk. There must be at least 50 bottle caps in there.

In short, I have felt tired most of the time for a very long time. Yes, the seroquel was helping me sleep at night, but I was still tired. And scatterbrained, and easily distracted.

Turns out there was a reason for that. For about five years, my cousin, who is a nurse practioner specializing in psychiatry, has been pestering me to get treatment for ADD. She has it, and so do quite a few people in our extended family (I suspect my father has it, too). She said I have all the classic signs.

A few weeks ago she visited us and spent most of a Sunday at our house. The entire visit, she kept coming back to that subject. So I agreed to go see a psychiatrist to be evaluated. Long story short, she was right. I started on medication last week, and I feel so much better.

The first thing I noticed was that I wasn’t tired (of course, that’s because I’m taking what is essentially an amphetamine), but I didn’t even want the caffeine. I’ve gone from probably two liters of diet coke a day to none, with no withdrawal. I’m convinced that it wasn’t so much addiction but exhaustion that was driving me to drink so much coke.

I also noticed that my thought processes were clearer, maybe a little more linear. But I’ve also learned that I have to concentrate and focus on getting things done; but then the good news is that I actually can focus and concentrate.

Meetings, both at work and at church, have long been ordeals for me. I would sit and squirm, just waiting for the meeting to be over with, and when at work they would open up for questions at the end, I would silently pray that no one have any questions. Last week I sat through a quarterly meeting without zoning out, without squirming and fidgeting. And I even watched a few conference talks without falling asleep.

I feel like I’m alive again for the first time in so long. It’s not like a euphoria but just sort of a relief to know that I don’t have to feel like I did, that I can function like a reasonably normal person.

It’s interesting that some people who know me from various LDS-related web boards have used words such as “deceptive,” “faux-innocent,” and “two-faced” to describe me. I was thinking about that this morning, that my thoughts jump around so much that I’ve tended to write whatever it was I was thinking at the moment, and those thoughts differed wildly. But if nothing else, I have never tried to deceive anyone or hide my feelings; on the contrary, I’m far too open with my feelings, which I think has led people to say those things about me. But it doesn’t matter what others think. I know who I am.

I caught a little of general conference yesterday. I watched Jeffrey Holland’s talk while I was helping my daughter make bread in the kitchen. Elder Holland’s talk made me want to believe more than I have in a very long time. I wouldn’t say I’ve crawled over the Book of Mormon, as it was years before I left the church that I’d made my peace with its not being an actual historical record, but then that’s beside the point. I really did ache for that faith I once had, and I felt keenly the loss of it.

After the talk was over, I went into my bedroom, where my wife had been watching conference. She was weeping, and I put my arms around her and held her and told her how sorry I am for putting her through what I have. She said that she was crying because she hadn’t felt the spirit that strongly in a long time. But she did acknowledge how much it has hurt to see me take the path I have taken.

She said last night that I seem to have gotten my life back, like I’m alive again in a way I haven’t been in a long time. She’s right. I feel like I am finally in a place where I can start putting the pieces of my life back together.

Prozac Nation

I’ve misplaced my bottle of fluoxetine, commonly known by the brand name Prozac. The last time I took one was on Friday. I really should have scoured the house for the bottle, but I have been too busy.

In the past when I’ve stopped taking it, within two to three days I’m really feeling it: I’m edgy, have trouble concentrating, and generally feel down and slightly out of control. I’m not feeling that way right now. Maybe it’s just that I still have my Seroquel, which I take before bed. It helps me to sleep, and perhaps the continuing good sleep is reducing the effects of the lack of Prozac.

Anyway, I thought I’d mention it here because when I’m dealing with depression, my mood changes, and it’s usually pretty evident in my writing. So, if you see anything here that sounds depressed, let me know.

Update: I found my pills at lunch, so I’m back on track.

They Just Look Happy …

When I was a small boy, we lived about half a block from a rather large park in Southern California. My mom would take us over there almost every afternoon in the summers after my youngest brother had his nap. But we never went on Sundays. Returning from church each Sabbath, we would see other kids playing happily on the playground equipment and wonder why we couldn’t play with them.

“We keep the Sabbath day holy,” my mom would say. “It’s a commandment from Heavenly Father.”

“But those kids are having so much fun. Why wouldn’t Heavenly Father want us to have fun, too?” we protested.

“Well, they’re not really having fun. They just look like they’re having fun,” she would say.

As I grew older, I heard variations of this thought: People outside the church may think they’re happy, but they aren’t really happy. Only church members can truly experience real joy. Everyone else just looks happy “on the outside.”

“Happiness is the object and design of our existence,” Joseph Smith wrote in a letter proposing plural marriage to Nancy Rigdon. And we spent an awful lot of time reminding ourselves of how much joy and happiness the gospel had brought us. Numberless testimonies were given of how the gospel had blessed people, and conversely, of how they would have wandered in dark paths had they not known the truth.

I thought I was happy. I had everything a Mormon boy is supposed to aspire to: a loving wife, lots of kids, a postgraduate education, a professional career, and leadership positions in the church.

But then my faith in Mormonism collapsed, and I saw it for the manmade organization it is. But that realization wasn’t nearly as devastating as the realization that I wasn’t really happy and hadn’t been for a very long time. I had accepted the church’s definition of happiness without ever considering whether that kind of life really meant happiness for me.

I had held suspicions that I was dealing with depression during my church years, but it wasn’t until I got out of the church that I began to deal with the problem. I remember filling out a questionnaire to determine the level of depression, and one of the questions was, “How long have you felt this way?” I could only check the answer, “I can’t remember when I didn’t feel this way.”

Of course, I’ve had some church members tell me the depression is a direct consequence of my apostasy, but that’s what I would expect them to say.

The church provides a framework for interpreting experience, and in many ways that rigid framework is comforting in giving us a consistent approach to life. However, I had to break out of that framework to figure out how to be happy. At 40 years old, I had for so long lived by what others had told me that I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. I didn’t know who I was.

And in the end, that’s the only way to be happy: to know who you are and know what you want out of life. I’m sure some people can find true happiness in Mormonism. I didn’t, but then I didn’t really understand what happiness was.

So, yes, I may look happy on the outside, and that’s probably because I am happy.

Therapy

I’ve decided to see my therapist again. I’m not very good at conflict resolution, and I certainly have self-esteem issues. But I’m surviving.

When I went to see her before, she stressed that I needed to express myself openly and confidently, or I would end up depressed and miserable. I haven’t really learned to talk about troubling issues with people who are important to me, so I’ve too often just gone along to get along. I think that attitude was slowly crushing the life out of me.

This blog has been kind of an escape hatch where I could express what I was feeling and thinking. I could be as blunt as I wanted, and it was OK. What I’m learning is that the rest of my life needs to be like that, too. I need to stop worrying about what people think of me and just do and say what I think is right. I don’t think that’s too much to ask from someone.

I’ve been more open in my personal relationships recently, and it feels good, even though it has led to some heated moments and some other moments of despair. Somewhere inside of me are opinions and feelings that need to be expressed. So far, so good.

Starbright

Sometimes I send my posts to be linked from the Carnival of the Vanities, a conglomeration of posts from Outer Blogness. One poster was Jason, who went by “Starbright” on RfM and elsewhere. I linked to his blog early on when I still had my old blog, and he linked to mine, and we exchanged comments and emails. I knew he had been dealing with mental illness, and I was shocked and saddened to learn that this terrible disease had finally claimed him.

I am so sorry for his family for their loss. I cannot imagine how it feels to lose a spouse and parent that way. It’s a sobering reminder for me that I nearly did the same thing last year. I’m really not sure what it is that stopped me before it was too late, but I’m grateful I didn’t go through with it.

It’s easy to blame Mormonism for the kinds of problems that led to this tragedy, but that would be simplistic and really unhelpful. It probably goes without saying that I think that Mormonism’s culture of guilt doesn’t really help people who are predisposed to mental illness, but that’s not the whole picture. And it would be just as easy for Mormons to point to Jason as showing the results of unbelief and apostasy. But that would be equally as wrong. I do think that becoming detached from lifelong moorings can certainly add to existing mental illness, but again, it’s not the cause.

I wish I had some words of comfort, but none come. In grieving for Jason, maybe we should remind ourselves that there are others out there suffering just as he was. If we see someone struggling, I hope that Jason’s memory will motivate us to do something to help.

Why You Should Always Take Your Meds

As GBSmith has helpfully pointed out, I’ve been a bit irritable lately. I haven’t made a conscious decision to be snippy, but I did do something stupid earlier this week: I neglected to take my medication for three days. That’s never a good idea when you’re on antidepressants, and I always respond the same way: part depressed, part crabby. Sorry to have put my readers through that, especially ditchu, who has been the target of much of the snippiness. I am truly sorry. I’m back on the meds and feeling a little better today.

I caught a little of LDS General Conference today, though I really didn’t have time to pay much attention. We had carpet cleaners in all day, and I was taking a load of junk to the dump and DI. I heard a little of Dallin Oaks talking about appropriate sacrament meeting content and Dieter Uchtdorf speaking about faith. Between sessions there was a little bio piece on Thomas S. Monson. I had forgotten just how young he was when he was ordained an apostle (37, I believe). But a few minutes into the documentary, I had to move some more furniture for the cleaner. I felt a little bad for the kid, who is a BYU student. I’m sure he would rather have been watching conference than cleaning my carpets, but at least he got paid.

The last time I really watched a session of conference was a year and a half ago when my home teacher invited us over for the Saturday afternoon session and dinner. I had hurt my back, and I could not get comfortable on his couch. The home teacher fell asleep about five minutes into the session, which kind of defeated the point of inviting us. But he’s a good man, and I enjoy his company (well, when he’s awake).

Tonight I’m home with my two younger sons. I think we’re going to get some dinner and then watch the USC-Oregon game. Maybe I’ll sit through a little of conference tomorrow.

Joy (from JLO)

Every Latter-day Saint is familiar with the Book of Mormon scripture, “Adam fell that man might be; and men are that they might have joy.”

I was going to write this morning about why it’s OK to be angry, but I realized that there’s a bigger issue than not having the right to be angry; it’s that we were not really allowed to feel much of anything at all. Yes, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but our emotions and feelings were always to be held in check.

Some gems from the Ensign illustrate these teachings:

“A young mother once turned to a wise old man for advice. ‘What should I teach my son?’ she asked. The man replied, ‘Teach him to deny himself’” (Bruce and Marie Hafen, “Bridle All Your Passions,” Ensign, Feb. 1994, 14).

“There are absolutely two ways you can control a horse. (We learned a little bit about horses last night.) One is to kill it; one is to bridle it. …

“A horse is stronger than a man, so the man bridles it, thus controlling its power and using that power for good. Passions are stronger than we are, so we bridle them, thus controlling their power and using that power to strengthen a marriage and forge it into eternity. One has to know how to bridle a horse or a passion” (Paul Dunn, “Teach ‘the Why,’ ” Ensign, Nov. 1981, 71).

“One of the last, subtle strongholds of selfishness is the natural feeling that we “own” ourselves. Of course we are free to choose and are personally accountable. Yes, we have individuality. But those who have chosen to “come unto Christ” soon realize that they do not “own” themselves. Instead, they belong to Him. We are to become consecrated along with our gifts, our appointed days, and our very selves. Hence, there is a stark difference between stubbornly “owning” oneself and submissively belonging to God. Clinging to the old self is not a mark of independence, but of indulgence!” (Neal Maxwell, “Put Off the Natural Man, and Come Off Conqueror,” Ensign, Nov. 1990, 14).

And of course many of us are familiar with the symbolism “that desires, appetites, and passions are to be kept within the bounds the Lord has set.”

But this kind of hemmed in experience is not what Joseph Smith taught. He said, “Happiness is the object and design of our existence, and will be the end thereof if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.” The irony of this quote is its context: a letter proposing sexual union with Nancy Rigdon. The commandment in this case that he’s telling her to be faithful to is becoming his “wife” in secret, even from his first wife Emma (and presumably all his other wives).

Joseph seems to have understood happiness in terms of sexual gratification, but I very much doubt that any of the brethren would see it in those terms today. No, there’s a strange effort to contain the range of human emotions in Mormonism. It’s OK, for example, to weepily tell stories of the miraculous in testimony meeting; it’s not OK, though, to have any strong emotional response to a bad decision by church leadership. It’s fine to have companionship with your spouse; it’s not fine to have passion and even lust within that relationship (Spencer Kimball described it as ‘animal’ passion).

From my own experience, I was often at war with myself. My natural man (the enemy of God, natch) was curious about the way other people lived their lives. That part of me liked looking at beautiful bodies, enjoyed “impure” music (Nine Inch Nails was a guilty pleasure), and told bawdy jokes. But the Mormon in me battered my soul because of these failures, decried my weakness, loathed my passions.

One consequence of learning the fraudulent nature of the church is that people get angry, not only at being lied to, but also at being denied the feelings, the passions they always had. And at being made to feel guilty for having them. But the brighter result is that most of us lose that overwrought asceticism and find joy in living a passionate life. This is not to say that we’re living debauched lives of depravity; nope, we’re just admitting who we are and finding joy happiness in that.

Isn’t it wonderful?

Staying Up Late

So it’s 2:00 in the morning, and I’m still up, one eye on the Internet, and the other watching the BBC halfheartedly (though Graham Norton is pretty brilliant). Why am I up? My daughter had her tonsils out this morning, and she needs her pain medication at 2:30. I figured I had only one choice if I wanted to give her the medication: the pill I take at night puts me out completely, so I can’t take it until after she’s had her 2:30 dose. Then I guess I’ll be able to take my pill and go to sleep; I’ve learned that I’ve become dependent on it, as when I have forgotten to take the pill, I’ve stayed up all night.

I really hate being that dependent on a pill, but then the medication is working. A year ago I was coming off a suicide attempt and a stay in a psych ward that was something out of Ken Kesey or maybe Dickens or worse. The new pill has really helped keep the depression under control (though if you ask some people, I’m still dealing with severe paranoia–just kidding). But the side-effect is that it makes me sleep. Once I’m asleep I do not wake up for anything for at least 7 hours. Obviously, I take the pill before bed, and it works out nicely: I get a good night’s sleep, and the pill augments the prozac I take in the morning.

When I got home from work today, I sat with my daughter, and just put my arm around her and talked to her for about an hour. She came through the surgery pretty bravely and stoically, though I suspect the codeine had something to do with that. But really, I don’t think I could have had that kind of time with her last year. The depression had made me withdraw from pretty much everything, and I felt like I had nothing to give my family. So, I have traded that depression for a drug dependency. I think it’s a fair trade.