Changes.

Sometimes it's easy (and in my case, always a little too easy) to push our problems out of the way rather than work through them as they come. Not everyone believes or practices this habit, so I feel that I have to explain to some point what it means. To experience what it's like to be trapped in a prison you've created is unreal; when those bars break (and they will break), it's terrifying and devastating.
Still don't quite understand the issue?

Let me tell a story.

You find yourself at a party. This one isn't much different than the other ones you've been to; lots of alcohol, lots of drugs. Lots of people noisily running around, others silent as they lay in the corner. And you're in the middle of all the chaos, but you know what? Instead of feeling scared this time, you feel excited. Curious. Open to endless possibilities of what it's like to experience these different sensations and states of mind. You've been around it enough that the standards you've set for yourself seem just a little silly today. 

So, you pick up a drink. And that's fine. One drink won't hurt anyone, especially you. But you find that with each sip, you become lighter and it's addicting. You want more. You crave it. You love this feeling of nothing, but everything. And for the first time ever, you experience what it's like to forget all your worries. So, one drink becomes two. And then three. 

On and on the night continues, until you're so altered that you stop. And that's fine. You bounce with the blasting music; you run around with your friends. You have not a care in the world. And you know what? That's just fine. Everything is fine.

Except it's not.

Something terrible happens later on in the night, and you wake up disoriented and confused. Scared. Heavy. You wonder what happened to you, and then all at once you remember. Like a giant wave crashing down on only you. The heaviness increases, almost to the point where you can't breathe. And you think to yourself: I can't handle anymore. If this gets any heavier, I'll suffocate. I'll die. 

This is something that happens in movies. This is what happens to people you only know from the stories your friends tell you. Except it's different. Something is different and you don't want to face it yet. You just know now that something went wrong. And you literally can't escape because you have no idea where you ended up at.

So you catch a ride with a stranger. But you feel uncomfortable the entire ride home, because this is not what you do. You feel like you're living someone else's life.

As if it were a miracle, you find yourself back inside the place you call home. And it's fine. Everything is fine, because nothing happened. You force a smile on your once solemn face and go about the day like normal.

You are fine, because nothing happened. 

At least, that's what you convince yourself of. But really, you can't comprehend what happened. You don't take it. You shut down; eventually, there comes a time where you can't physically ignore it. Day by day, you carry a heavier weight on your shoulders. One that deforms and cripples you, just like the wave - but wait, there was no wave, remember? Of course. No wave. So, you keep moving forward, crippled as you may be. Why? Because you are fine, and nothing happened.

This is what it's like to push your problems away. This is the emotional struggle you go through and you take it willingly, because anything is better than letting the nightmare become reality. You can go the rest of your days, if only it were possible, without mentioning a word about it. Without shedding a tear. And definitely without giving it a single thought.

But, guess what?
You can't.

Eventually your body catches up with what happened. Even if it's months or years afterward. You start to feel pain, and you don't know where it's coming from. You can't sleep normally anymore. You panic more often, your childish nightmares get worse. You are terrified to be alone for the pure fear of it all hitting you at once, just like the wave.

But there is no wave. You refuse to face it. You can't face it. Emotionally, you are more unprepared than you ever thought you'd be.

Your life becomes an emotional rollercoaster until one day you smack straight into the wall of water, and you start to drown. You have absolutely nothing to hold on to. The reality you created for yourself burns to ashes and there is nothing left as the last of the flames die. You don't know who you are anymore. You have lost what makes you you.

Can you see it now? To have that self-inflicted cage crumble is terrifying. It is devastating. Because while it prevented others from helping you, it also served as a defense mechanism.

But you knew, as you have always known, that at some point it needed to happen. At some point, whether that was in months or years, you needed to understand what happened to you so you could move on.

You can't do it alone. That's the bottom line. We as human beings need to associate with others. It is how we cope. It is how we survive.

Now, this isn't exactly what happened in my situation, but it was pretty close to the truth. And when I hit that wave, I was drowning. Why? Because I thought I could do it on my own.

But then I saw this:

And somehow, that wave didn't seem as bad as it had before. Somehow, some of that weight was lifted off of my shoulders, and I didn't feel like I was drowning anymore.

That doesn't mean that those emotions I struggled with disappeared. In fact, they were more evident than ever. But I wasn't alone as I tried to understand them.

I realize some of you who may be reading this are not part of the LDS religion. But I am. And seeing how this is my opportunity and special place to share my feelings, I will.

Forgetting about my religion and the standards it taught me was one of the worst and best things I could have done in my life. Worst for obvious reasons, best for reasons that aren't easily seen.

I need to make clear that when I say 'best,' I do not mean that it was a piece of cake living without religion, or that it was a good idea. In all honesty, I wish I could have learned the lessons I did without leaving. Don't get me wrong; partying? It was fun. I experienced sensations that I never knew existed. But the mystery of it all made it more exciting than it really is. In the end, for me, partying hid my sadness for a short time, only to have it return worse than before. But, having too much fun taught me (the hard way) that I needed something better. I needed a strong foundation to plant my feet on, so when things got rough I wouldn't fall to the floor.

Sometimes, living the standards of the gospel can seem like the most boring thing in the entire world. I know because I used to think that, and sometimes I still do. But the blessings you receive for living these out-of-the-ordinary standards are incredible. I know because I've experienced it first hand, and I've lived both sides (and more). I need the gospel and its teachings more than I need the air that I breathe. Without it, my life just isn't what I want it to be and I'm not who I want to be. I need my Redeemer and Savior. He grabs my outreached hand as I'm beginning to drown, just as He willingly and lovingly does for all those who seek His help.

So, for anyone who's questioning their faith, let me testify to you that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is true! Jesus Christ is our Savior, and He loves us more than we'll ever be able to comprehend. Our Heavenly Father exists and also loves us no matter what we do. Trials are difficult, but they make us stronger people. If we allow the spirit to walk with us in life, it will make our burden a little lighter. Everything happens for a reason. It is no coincidence that you are going through what you are right now, whether that be a positive or negative thing. With His help, you can come back from anything! You just have to be willing and humble enough to accept assistance.

And just a word of advice. If you ever find yourself in the position I was in, at a party where things have gone wrong: leave the party. You'll be better off without what could happen there.