There's a force greater than me that, no matter how hard
I'm trying, I can't seem to be able to control it.
Everything just feels like it's in a fog.
I felt like I wasn't worthy or I was doing something wrong,
because I'm having all these terrible thoughts.
At first it really hurts, and then after a while
it just feels numb.
When I was by myself, I had a lot of self-doubt.
I didn't feel hope.
I didn't know how to feel hope.
I felt so alien.
I felt so alone.
I thought everybody was just against me or something.
I even found myself at one time yelling in prayer,
expressing my anger that this wouldn't stop.
I was really broken.
I felt like I had no control of my emotions.
It's like water torture.
It's just there.
It just never lets up.
I had the feeling a long time ago that it was a very large
problem in varying degrees--some severe,
some not so severe--but lots of people who struggle with this.
I get those impressions, as the Brethren do
when we pray about our general conference topics.
I just knew that at some point, some day,
I wanted to give that talk, and waited for what I felt
was the right time.
And that's kind of how my talks come.
And that's how that one came, and seemed
like the time and the place to do it.
I wish to speak to those who suffer
from some form of mental illness or emotional disorder.
I once terrifyingly saw it in myself.
At one point in our married life when financial fears collided
with staggering fatigue, I took a psychic blow
that was as unanticipated as it was real.
When it hit me, I didn't know what it was at first.
It was all of a sudden, out of the blue,
and I remember talking to my wife.
I got up in the middle of the night,
and I said, "Something's wrong."
I remember just laying there in my bed,
and I'd feel like a darkness was laying on top of me.
It was a real, nine-month hell that I
went through of absolute fear, darkness, and pain
that I'd never experienced before.
The anxiety was so severe, I couldn't sleep at night.
I went weeks without sleep.
I was very alone.
And I was trying to figure out, "What am I
supposed to do that makes me valued by other people?"
And I got down to 55 pounds.
I wanted to disappear.
You get to that point where you don't want to be here anymore.
And I remember thinking, "I have to choose now
if I'm going to take a chance."
None of us can go very far without finding somebody who's
struggling with something.
And that's not surprising.
We talk about the issues of mortality.
We have thorns and thistles and noxious weeds.
We have trials and temptations and disease and death.
We seldom think about what the Father went through
as He watched a Son, a perfect son, do what He did.
I suppose everybody has had some kind of an experience
where they say, "I'm never going to be happy again."
Well, we are.
We are going to be happy again.
And that's the nature of this plan.
It's the nature of joy.
We have to hang on and believe that.
The hardest thing for me, over and over and over again,
is to accept that I have something to deal with.
It's a pride issue.
I don't want to have this.
I don't like to have it.
The reason it's hard, I think, is, for example, you
break your finger.
They'll put it in a splint, and in four to six weeks
you're going to be back to normal.
But with these kind of mood or mental challenges,
it really attacks the way you think, the way you feel.
And that's really a core part of your personality.
And so it's very distressing and confusing.
When I'm in those kind of dark, down kind of times,
the best way that I think I can explain it
is like standing on the edge of a roof
where I don't know really what's going to happen
or if the wind blows too hard, like, where I'm going to go
or if I'm going to be safe.
And it's just kind of terrifying,
and you can't see anything beyond, like, just a couple
feet in front of you.
And you don't know what's coming.
If you had appendicitis, God would
expect you to seek a priesthood blessing
and get the best medical care available.
So too with emotional disorders.
Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all the marvelous gifts
He has provided in this glorious dispensation.
There are ways to get help, and some of that
is spiritual in nature.
Some of that is through the scientific and medical
professions.
But in my own experience, I found that yes, Heavenly Father
loves me, that priesthood blessings are powerful,
that they are real.
And I think that a combination of both
is kind of where the solution is at.
I went to a doctor and explained what was going on.
We tried some different prescriptions.
We found one that works, and that's great.
It took a little trial and error.
I did a little bit of counseling, too.
I also got really into exercise.
That was another way to just kind
of outlet all of my feelings.
I was thinking, "I'm just going to try everything
that I can and then hope that God takes care of the rest."
I realize what my limits are, and I
try not to run faster than I have strength.
I'm more fragile now than I was before.
I still deal with it on a daily basis.
I still have to think positively and not
allow my thoughts of the future and fear of the unknown
to take over and to cause me to be thrown back into it.
I also have to stay close to the Lord.
I remember laying on my bathroom floor, trying to breathe,
and my patriarchal blessing came into my head.
So many beautiful promises that I
was sure I had lost the opportunity for.
I needed to feel like there was someone there who understood.
That's what I caught, was this warmth of a promise.
And so I took that small piece of hope.
And I said, "I will try."
And in return I got, "And I'll be there."
We do the best we can.
We manage the situation.
But when we've done all we can do, you endure.
Hang in there, and press forward, and be steadfast,
and count on light at the end of the tunnel and a blessing
at the end of the day.
Heavenly Father really just does love us
for our intrinsic value as His children.
He does not love us because of our strengths or our weaknesses
or because of anything we do or anything we don't do.
And it's not something we deserve,
and it's not something that we earn.
It just is, and it's always going to be there.
And so when I realized that even though I
felt like this pile of brokenness on the floor,
that Heavenly Father still loved me,
I think that's when I was able to then realize
that I was worth loving and it was worth getting better.
And that's when I let the Savior start to heal me.
So you think you're a broken vessel, and lo and behold,
in the miracle of the gospel, you get your vessel healed
whole, put back together.
And that's the hope that everybody needs to have:
physical illness, mental illness.
And it's hope with a capital H. I mean, it's doctrinal.
I'm not talking about wishful thinking.
I'm talking about doctrinal hope that God's grace is sufficient,
that if we come unto Him, everything that was broken
gets fixed.
That's the great promise of the gospel.
If you invite the Savior in, if you
can trust in Him, if you can have courage,
then He can heal you.
If there is someone that I know is accepting of me
and that will never leave me, it's Christ.
The only way we can be saved is through the Atonement
of Jesus Christ, by relying on His grace and His mercy.
As you strive to become like Jesus Christ every day,
your illness just becomes something, a trial,
that will bring you closer to becoming like Him.
There is hope for you and everyone.
And you're not alone.
You're not.
My Heavenly Father and Savior won't give up on me,
so don't you quit.
So I'm not going to.
He knows our weaknesses, and He knows me better than anyone
and still loves me.
I feel like I know better now who I am as a person
and who God wants me to be and who I can become with His help.
And I've learned my whole life that I've
got to trust my Heavenly Father, and that's
been a great source of peace to me.
If it wasn't for His Atonement, I
don't think that I would be able to be nearly
as well off or as happy as I am today,
despite my mental illness.
I've come to learn that if I hold on and if I trust in God
and I do everything I can and I rely on His Atonement,
that there is absolutely hope.
There is absolutely hope.
There's always hope.
Until that hour when Christ's consummate gift
is evident to us all, may we live by faith,
hold fast to hope, and show "compassion one of another."