Please, Let It Be Me.

Hello, world! I'm finally writing another installment to the already-completed Faith project from a few years ago. And this one's got a lot of juicy secrets, so get ready.

I started writing all this at, like 1 in the morning a few days ago nearly a month ago (because I kept procrastinating actually finishing this post), but it was because I kept feeling like I needed to since Relief Society the week before, and just... I gave up and started because I couldn't put off starting any longer. I can't even remember what the topic in class was- wait, no, I kinda do. It was about how the Atonement helps us, and one of the first things in the lesson was to think about how the Atonement helped us through very hard things in the past. I haven't made the impression that I think about this as much as I really do, but... What I tend to just refer to myself as "Alabama" is what I always look back on as the hardest time in my life ever, despite a couple similar contenders. The reason why wasn't that it was the move farthest away from home-base and we had to learn to live in the culture. It wasn't Ivan being kinda creepy and never letting me be alone in school. It wasn't the vague sense that people sometimes looked at my family a little too weird, or even the fact that my mom legitimately was discriminated against while there (thankfully, not as intensely as so many other people have been, but it still shouldn't have happened). The part that makes me at least tear up every time I think about it is what was happening to my sister this whole time. Long story short, she was struggling through depression.

This hadn't been when it technically started, but it really hit the hardest while there. I remember after we came back from Mexico and my sister was dealing with her physical problems- scoliosis and ovarian cysts. It pained me to see, well, how much pain she was in. But even then, I guiltily tended to get pretty irritated with her. She usually spent the whole day on the couch watching TV. I heard it again and again that the couch was the thing she felt the most comfortable on in our house even though her back still hurt so much on there, but it still bothered me. Why did she hog the TV all day? Why didn't she do anything else? Why couldn't she just give it a break and talk to me a little more?... Pretty much the only sibling bonding time at that point was watching something we both liked (or at least tolerated) together. I'd always catered more to her tastes because I felt the duty to do so and because I much preferred the possibility of cheering her up with her favorite shows over fighting over the control and darkening further her now-ever-present mood. Once, though, she had put on the newest Adventure Time episode for me, and I had felt so touched by the gesture. Despite the circumstances, she still wanted to look out for her sister and show she loved me and wanted me to be happy. It was such a small thing, but it meant a lot. And, of course, there were other little moments where we had fun together and things felt okay and like our strong bond was still there. It was still... different, and I couldn't figure out if it was just because we were now older.

Then we moved to the other end of the country. Her back was doing better, but it seemed her behavioral shift only intensified- she still spent much more time on the couch than typically considered healthy, but then she was also spending a lot of time lying down in her room, door closed. Sometimes, I felt like I hardly ever saw her. I still tended to feel anger about it during these spots when she was hiding away and in the kind of mood where I felt like I couldn't talk to her- though my irritation was easily combatted by my proportionally increasing amount of guilt and worry. I knew she was in pain, and she didn't get to socialize much with being out of school (though it also tended to feel like she wasn't really trying to socialize, either, despite being much more social than me), but... She couldn't just be acting like this because of that, right? What else could be making my sister so... this?

The worst part was, every once in a while, I would hear my mom consoling my sister as she sobbed in her room... and I usually couldn't think of a reason for why she'd be crying.

I guess I'm not doing a fantastic job at explaining all of this, but there were signs of depression, yet I was still rather oblivious to them. Even if I had started making the sneaking suspicion, though, I probably would've tried to avoid the thought, considering... well, I wouldn't want to be thinking that that was my sister had (especially after having to read 13 Reasons Why [still don't like the book, and I don't dare to watch the show]) .

So, the way I ultimately found out was... I was taking the laptop we used for seminary to start on my lesson for the day, but a couple unrelated tabs were still open. They were Google searches about how to deal with depression.

That had really shaken me to the core. I wanted to believe it hadn't been my sister who Googled that, or that she had been doing it for someone else, but I couldn't lie to myself. It only made sense with how she acted. Nonetheless, I shakily got up to tell my mom what I found, and she confirmed. I think she said they hadn't yet gotten my sister officially diagnosed with clinical depression, but it was now clear that she had it.

I had a hard time concentrating on anything with the revelation bouncing around my head. It explained things, but it was not the explanation I wanted. More than that, it was an explanation that I couldn't do anything about, and it killed me. I didn't know much about depression, but I knew it wasn't something that could really be cured, especially by a naive 15-year-old.

I became more and more acutely aware of her misery, and, respectively, my own continued to engulf me. I wasn't depressed, not like her, but I did end up thinking a lot of stuff that contradicted the still typically happy self I portrayed, the one I actually used to be more until I knew my sister wasn't okay. Stuff I didn't dare to tell anybody, because my family already had enough to deal with and I didn't have strong enough a bond with anyone else to spill my thoughts to. 

I don't know how well I can show my thoughts through the written word... but it tended to fall along the lines of "Why was it her and why wasn't it me?" I was aware that I was being a special kind of angsty teenager then, but I just couldn't help it. I couldn't comprehend why my sister, one of the best people I knew on the planet and one of the people I looked up to so much had to have depression and the intense physical problems (plus the occasional drama with old friends- but, like, intense drama). Why couldn't she just be allowed to be happy instead of have all this bad luck? I wanted so, so bad to take on the burden for her instead. I begged in so many prayers for at least a little bit of her weight to be put on me, for me to be able to ease her pain at least a minuscule amount. I was sure I could handle the physical pain better than her, especially if I knew it would otherwise fall on her. I would take on anything for her. If I needed to take Atlas's place in order for my sister to be okay again, I would do it in less than a heartbeat. I would even take on her mental and emotional hurt- I'd gladly take all of it on if I could. I really did pray for this to happen- I just about pleaded to be given her trials every night. But, well, as we all know, that's not how it works, so there was no transfer of burden to speak of.

I hope I didn't sound too crazy... I was sure that, even if I explained the entire sentiment the best I could, none of my family would have understood (it can sound nearly masochistic if taken the wrong way) or wanted to hear it. I mean, I spent who knows how long asking to be given bad health and mental health conditions for my sister's sake, and I felt very strongly about it despite knowing it would probably never happen. It was pretty much the only thing I could think of that could genuinely help her. I was adamant that it was very unfair that she had all these problems when she was an amazing person who didn't do anything to deserve any of it, so if somebody had to suffer, why wasn't it me? Why couldn't it be me?

Please, let it be me.

I have to admit my admiration for the Elric brothers (FMA, of course) did not exactly help. I mean, they're amazing, but also so infuriating when they're too self-sacrificing- yet that's exactly what I wanted to do, too. Around this time, I wrote a little... it wasn't a story, or essay, but more like a declaration of how I would rather that terrible stuff happened to me- as an example, it was limbs being chopped off- and live in absolute misery and trauma if it would mean my sister would be okay (which, in that case, would mean I would feel less miserable because it would be helping her).

I don't know what to say about how I feel about my younger self. In a sense, I guess a bit embarrassed because I'm finally admitting all of this, and to the whole world at that. Maybe a little sad because it was the only solution I could think of, and I thought about it constantly. I just couldn't understand why things didn't happen that way in the first place- I mean, I know we are supposed to be challenged a lot in this life, but it's all stuff He knows we can conquer in the end. Yet... my sister had already gone through plenty more than I ever did, and deserved to be happier, yet she was instead being eaten up by the depression. I couldn't understand what it was really like, but I knew it sucked beyond description. What right did I have to not be going through this instead when I hadn't had so many trials yet? I know she's strong, but I was still scared she wouldn't be able to handle it much longer unless something changed...

I pleaded for something to change all the time, at least every night. I just wished I knew better how to cause the change because, as much as I asked to be taken as tribute, I knew it was very unlikely to happen.

I felt even worse because I didn't know about when her depression started. I... don't even remember when it was first explained to me, but my mom told me while in Alabama that they thought it began when she was 12 or 13. I never thought anything was wrong at that point, though. I mean, she was just barely a teenager, doing teenager-y things! Like, I knew that she wasn't playing with me because she was too cool for toys and the Wii, but I still felt a little sad because she all-around wasn't talking to me as much anymore around then. Beyond that, I was very much the kind of kid who was in their own little world, letting adults deal with their adult problems and just thinking that nothing older people discussed (even just a couple years older) was of no interest to me unless I was spoken to directly. It was for that same reason that I was oblivious to a lot of other stuff, like the financial crisis of 2008- I mean, I know I was just 8, but couldn't I have bothered to pay attention at least a little bit? My childhood, despite the moving around, was quite carefree and innocent, and it was my own fault.

I guess, to be chronological, I should be putting this detail at the end, that one or two nights before my sister moved out of our house, I admitted this to her, that I hated that I didn't know for so long and she said that that was also because they were actually trying to hide it from me so I wouldn't be worried about her and could just be a normal kid (or as normal as I ever got). It's still a little hard to decide how I feel about it, because I am glad that they did that a little, but also a little disappointed that I never saw what must've become obvious to everyone else and never made more of an effort to, I dunno, be a nicer little sister at the very least?

I've typed out a lot, but I guess the main take-away is... I felt guilty and helpless. Nobody knew I was struggling this hard, but I thought what I was going through was minuscule compared to real, genuine depression. I didn't think I was even going through anything, because I wasn't thinking about myself all that much.

She couldn't take anymore living so isolated from everyone we knew and feeling like it was so much harder to live like a normal person- her small internship-ish thing didn't last long, the community college was too far away to be worth it, and there weren't many opportunities to hang out with people her age or Latinos. I really didn't blame her, and was excited that she was gonna go out in the world and make herself happier- especially since she had a decent pill to take at this point that actually helped- though of course I was also worried as heck. That's part of why I needed to admit how I felt before she left. I knew there was a very small chance that I wouldn't ever see her again, but my nerves had me wrecked and I couldn't leave it unsaid. I cried a lot, and she did too. She was understanding of my emotions, and we shared a lot of the same sentiments. I don't remember all I said that night, but I know it ended with me saying "I'll miss you" and her saying it back, hugging each other hard enough to pop our backs. I also know I didn't say a lot of what I've managed to get myself to say in this post. She is my closest confidante, but even she didn't know. I mean, some stuff just seems harder to admit to the people closest to you.

Then, somebody knew.

I know I wrote a little bit about what happened on this day, the Sunday after my sister left. Up to that point (and, well, some time after that), being in the house just... hurt. It felt so empty and quiet without her. I felt a little empty, even though I heard her on the phone and texted her. Like other stuff I know I probably shouldn't think about or don't want to think about, I tried to ignore it and focus on, ya know, school and stuff instead. Didn't always work. I've always had this thing where I can be all normal and ignore the thoughts I don't want to think, then the moment something reminds me of that- like when people had asked if I missed her- my usual little smile drops and I can't get it back, and I'll probably start crying in the middle of nowhere, and it takes a long time for a distraction to work again, but once it does, I'm totally fine and you can't even tell. It doesn't take much to make that happen- even now, a mention of depression quickly ruins my mood because it brings back memories from Alabama, and I am not good at hiding that kind of shift from people, which I find a little unfortunate.

Anyway- here I was in church, doing pretty good ignoring the fact that my sister wasn't in the classes with me, and then we get to the Young Women lesson. I don't even remember what the lesson was about, but it started with us pretty much going around the small circle of girls and women telling about things that were very hard to get through or we were going through at the moment. Like, intense and intensely personal trials here. Most girls cried while talking about their own thing, as expected, but the others would try to stay strong for them and not shed a tear even if we were still obviously sympathetic/empathetic. I... had a harder time. It felt like the girls were giving me a lot of reminders of my sister and what she'd gone through and was still going through. The only one I can remember well enough to bother writing down was that her cat had to be put down (and that one was a story that didn't make me agonize over my sister's matching experience, but still hurt because then it reminded me of Mittens and Milky-Way), but that probably speaks well enough for how heavy this whole thing was. If you thought I was already getting worked up over things I couldn't fix before, hoo, this moment trumped all of that. All the horror and guilt just pounded me as I remembered her back, her cysts, her depression, her feeling alone, her useless little sister, her deserving so much better at 17 years old- how she did get the medical help needed but it took far too long, how I was often a ball of flimsy flesh shedding tears at the foot of my bed secretly asking why it wasn't me instead and it didn't help anything.

I don't even remember all that well this part, but if I'm right, it had snowballed until I apparently looked not-okay enough that one of the leaders paused and hedged out, "Are you okay?" and the dam freaking burst right there. Everyone looked really concerned because everyone was crying but this looked like an unrelated crying, and I just wanted to scream that I wasn't the one they should be worried about! Some tissues were passed over to me, and the girls sitting next to me hugged me for a while, and I think I'd been able to pull myself together enough that by the end I could offer up my own little story about how I really missed my dad while we were in Mexico (because I did and it was hard, but it was also so much easier to admit that, and distract myself with telling that, than try to say anything about my family's current issues).

The lesson eventually ended, and I was ready to get out of there and put my normal face back on and go home after that embarrassment, but the other leader wouldn't have it. She kept me in the room and asked if I missed my sister, aaaaaand I started crying all over again. This particular leader tended to feel a little hard to approach before this- not that she wasn't nice or anything, just... I dunno how to explain- so I'd been a little surprised she was the one to push the issue and be soft and patient as I finally... admitted what the problem was. Out loud. To a lady that, after all this time, I didn't feel like I really knew all that well. I think that's what I really needed, though, was someone I wasn't as close to as my family. She actually seemed to understand my feelings, even.

I'm pretty sure she'd said some stuff about how my sister was doing better now so I didn't have to dwell on it so much, and other stuff I didn't want to hear, but then... she said something I didn't expect.

"It seems obvious to me, with how much this hurts you, that she isn't the only one suffering."

She said that, of course, this was my sister's trial, but having to watch her was mine. It would mean that I'd be more sympathetic and caring and kind to people later, wouldn't it? That I'd pay more attention to how I could maybe help other people in the future, wouldn't it? And just like how my sister had a hard time handling these things- maybe it was true I could've handled them a little better in her position, and so I had to instead watch someone else, someone I loved, go through it instead because that was harder for me. I'd been shocked to be told all of this, because I never thought about that way, but now it was just... duh, of course it was true! She helped me immensely with her wise words, and I felt a little more at peace with the whole situation, even though it still was... well, hard.

I thought it was funnily ironic that being told this stuff legitimately made me feel better. Why did "she isn't the only one suffering" help at all?

The leader, who I am eternally grateful to for being there at this moment to give me the truth and comfort I needed, had said that, but it also implied my sister isn't alone.

Our struggles were a little different, but we were still going through them together, and that eased my soul more than anything.

It really wasn't until a long while later that I put two and two together- this is exactly how the gospel works. Christ had put upon Himself all our inflictions and sorrows (and I'm really hoping some other stuff that sucked less to feel) so that He could then go through these hard times with us. It means we are never alone, and we are always understood.

And it didn't hit me until I just barely started to write this that that's what I'd been trying to do, all the way back in Alabama. I'd wanted to take on her troubles and pay them in her stead. I'd never realized I was basically asking to do what Christ did for her. What he did for her already. If I think about it now, it really doesn't make sense for me to take on her troubles because someone had already paid the price in order to try to help her with them.

I like to think that He did help her, though exactly how He did it I don't know. That's between the two of them. After all, she did get better and is still doing a lot better. Things still aren't perfect, and if I could take that imperfect part away, even if it meant it fell on me, I would still gladly do it, but I feel more okay with not being able to. She is strong, and she's only stronger when she leans on Him.

So... yeah. Reflecting on this again (even though it made me cry yet again) with that last realization hitting me upside the head really strengthened my testimony, and I hope the same could perhaps be said for anyone else that bothered to read this whole thing. He is actually there, and He actually helps us, and no matter how cliché I'll continue to affirm that because of that, everything happens for a reason. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.