My History

I was born in the covenant in Logan, Utah, in June of 1994. When I was born, my parents were both still attending college at Utah State University. My mom graduated with her bachelors soon after my younger brother, Joe, was born about 18 months after me. My dad stayed in school to get his masters a few years later. He was in the military, so he had to travel fairly often. He was never sent overseas, although his unit was weeks away from that when the war ended. He left the military when I was four or five, to my mom’s relief.

                My family and I lived in a small apartment for the first few years of my life. By the time I was nearly ready for kindergarten, I had a brother, Joe, and a sister, Rachael. Just before my kindergarten year we moved to a house in Providence, Utah, just a few minutes away from our old apartment. I started elementary school at Providence Elementary, and I loved my kindergarten teacher. I remember one school day in particular. My aunt Cyndi taught elementary school in a nearby community. She knew my teacher, and one day my teacher asked Cyndi to come read an original book to my class. I was so excited! After reading the book, Cyndi handed me a letter as she left. I felt like the star of my class. Cyndi and I exchanged letters through the mail for years, even though I lived ten minutes from her and saw her often. I exchanged letters with my cousins Heather and Erika, too. They lived a few hours away from me, but when we saw each other we were inseparable. Thick letters would arrive for me in the mail, smothered in glitter, colored paper and crayon.

                By the time I finished 3^rd grade, my sister Katie had been born and our little house was getting crowded and a little rickety. We sold our house and moved in with my grandma and Cyndi while waiting for our new house to be built in Wellsville, only 15 minutes from our house in Providence. For all of my dad’s tools, we built a shop out back of the house, an enormous steel and concrete building. My uncles and grandpa and other family showed up to help us many times. Many times we worked late into the night by floodlight. Once the shop was finished, I spent a lot of time woodburning on the floor below my dad, or curled up in his chair listening to his Celtic music while he worked.

                I had a few good friends in that town. I had severe social anxiety as well as some obsessive-compulsive disorder and depression. I always had, though I had no clue at the time. I hadn’t had any good friends in my old town, and I was happy to finally make a couple of good friends. One of them, a year older than me, lived across the gravel road and a hay field from me. We walked to the dam and to church together, babysat together, and shared favorite colors and books. One of those friends, a Star-Trek and theater fan, decided from the day we met to call me Lauren. She thought that’s the name I looked like, I guess. I wore my guy cousin’s hand me down clothes and carried a knife. I fought battles with pvc swords against my brother and cousins and usually won. I insisted that my friends never call me a girl. Then, in 6^th grade, I met someone new. We were opposites. But we had to read a book together for class. We both fell in love with the book, and from then on we were best friends. She was girly, fashionable, and pretty. I was a tomboy who was afraid to walk down the hall at school. But, we did everything together. It was the first time I felt like I had place at school or socially. Then, for reasons I still don’t know, she suddenly wouldn’t talk to me. She left hate mail in my friend’s locker because she still hung out with me. Three weeks later she acted like we were best friends again. I knew better, though, by then. I still don’t understand, but I remember those few months as happy, although they ended oddly.

                I slept in the unfinished basement of that house, and soon after we moved in, my sister and I woke up in the middle of night to find 2 inches of water on the floor.  The contractor we hired to build our house neglected to check the water tables in the area. Our house had essentially been built in the middle of an underground river. We sawed holes in the concrete floor to install pump after pump. We looked into every possible solution. My things molded if I let them stay on the floor. My mom cried and worried, and finally, after only two years of living in our house, we put it on the market. It took over a year for the house to sell. Nobody else wanted to deal with our river, either. Eventually, though, our house was sold and we moved again, this time to River Heights, just three blocks from our first house in Providence. We built another shop for my dad—smaller this time—in the backyard. I only lived there for two years, and they were not good years. I was crippled by social anxiety, though I thought it was just me. I would hyperventilate in class just thinking about everyone around me. It took minutes of self-persuasion just for me to raise my hand. I retreated into a book series. It became my world, because it was easier than the real one. It was not a good series, though, and I became proud and dark, believing that I was better than everyone, but longing at the same time for a friend or for something, but I didn’t understand that I was sick, so I didn’t even know what it was I was looking for. Mental illness is strange that way. Most people’s thoughts trigger feelings. My emotions float, they have a life of their own, and then I desperately try to assign some reason to them. My family had no idea I felt like that, I was really good at hiding away.

                The one place I always did feel good was with my extended family. I have a large extended family, and we have always been close. Seeing my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and especially cousins was what I looked forward to all the time. I loved being with them. Of course, it didn’t make the anxiety go away, but somehow my brain had a block that said, “you don’t have to be anxious here,” so I felt much better. With my cousins, I went sledding and ran around and had sleepovers and talked and talked and had a great time. Most of my cousins are younger than me. The ones my age lived a ways away, so I saw the younger ones more often. I was their favorite. I was a completely different person around kids, especially my cousins. I babysat them and I played with them almost every week. I loved being with them.

                Through all of this, my dad had switched jobs several times, moving between small companies. None of them had very good conditions. When we lived in River Heights, he worked for a company that designed instruments to test for microbes. His degree is in mechanical engineering. He was playing that part plus two or three others for the company. The company’s manager often dragged him on trips. One year she called him on Christmas day and had him go move her fridge to her new house. He was getting to work early and often coming home after midnight, and using his own equipment for company business. He had been applying for jobs for a while. Finally, he got a job programming for John Deere. When my parents told us we were moving to Iowa, I didn’t even know where it was.

                My first year or two in Iowa was the worst time of my life.

 I’m sure you’re thinking, “This sounds like a tragedy, when does it get better?” Wait a paragraph or two.

I was still trapped in social anxiety, and the worst anxiety trigger for me was people who do things that are morally wrong. Well, Iowa is not the place to go for that. I was bombarded by twenty times more sexual and drug information than I ever wanted to know. I heard people laughing at stories of some terrible things that I try not to think about now. The worst part was that the kids at church were like that, too. They weren’t bad people, now that I look back. They just lived in a different environment where it’s harder to do what’s right. I missed my cousins. I looked like an idiot everywhere I went because I had no social skills. I was terrified of people. When I was finally starting to feel a little more comfortable, we found out that my dad’s twin brother was addicted to pornography and had been cheating on my aunt for half of their marriage. That was really hard.

                Finally, though, I started to pull myself up. (Although I think God was doing more pulling than me, even though I was pulling as hard as I could.) I felt a little more comfortable with the people around me. I judged a little less harshly, and my social anxiety, after 16 years, started to fade into the background. I made two amazing friends in my ward. I started being able to deal with people more easily. My social anxiety completely morphed into generalized anxiety, which I would take over social any time. I still didn’t know I was sick, though. Social anxiety makes you hide everything. Generalized anxiety doesn’t, at least not as much. So, finally, I started to show some signs on the outside. My mom, who has OCD herself, recognized it.

The night before all-state choir auditions I couldn’t sleep. I cried and cried, but I tried to figure out why and I really didn’t know. Finally, in the early morning, I climbed two flights of stairs and woke up my parents. I asked my dad for a blessing. They asked what was wrong and all I could say was, “I don’t know, I just feel terrible.” After my dad gave me a blessing and went back to bed, my mom explained anxiety disorders and suggested that maybe I had one. So, in the following weeks, I checked out some books and read. In a self-diagnosis quiz, I tested way above the “severe” line. Everything started to fit together. Everything I read made sense. I could see myself in every paragraph. All of the descriptions of things that I thought were only in my head. All the physical symptoms: tension headaches, faintness, dizziness, shakiness, fatigue, indigestion, blurry vision, odd allergies that come and go, even an unnerving sense of being disconnected from the world, like I’m suddenly detached from everything and  I feel like everything is a mile away, even my own fingertips. My mom talked me through some things, and I finally, finally started treatment.

I was still anxious and depressed. Badly. But, I was not as controlled by it anymore. I became a great artist and vocalist. I spent hours and hours in my choir teacher’s office sorting papers and talking to her, or backstage at events. I spent time with my friends. By the end of high school, I was fairly well-respected by my peers. I was valedictorian. I was an all-state vocalist and artist, and I knew what I wanted to do as a career. That summer, I started taking therapy for mental illness. I never imagined improvement so fast. By the end of the summer, I felt much better, although I definitely still dealt with depression and general anxiety every day.

I left for BYU-I and moved into the room next door from my best friend through high school. That’s about where I am today. I still struggle every single day with depression. I still pray and cry for an end to the illness, and just to be happy. But, I am now in control of my life. I know where I’m going and what I want. I just have to keep working.