Our Story, Part 6...

This is Part 6 of Our Story.  To get the complete story, read in order starting with OUR STORY PART 1, OUR STORY PART 2, OUR STORY PART 3, OUR STORY PART 4, and OUR STORY PART 5.

I've been feeling for a while that I need to write down Dean's and my story for our family history books, for our children and grandchildren to know and understand how their parents/grandparents ended up together.  But I realized that I needed to give some back story because there are some key people along the way that set me on some necessary paths to get to Dean that will help you to understand who I am, how I've changed over the years, and why Dean is the best man I've ever met and how he's perfect for me.  I didn't want to write a short love story "We met at church, dated, married, had a baby 3 years later....", that's too vague for my tastes.  I want my posterity to know WHY I love Dean, and why we go perfectly together.

Our Story, Part 6

Dean grabbed his cell phone as I laid there struggling to exhale these debilitating sobs of despair while staring at the ceiling praying in my mind that God would just take me right then and there so that I didn’t have to feel like this anymore.  I prayed to remember what it was like to have my heart and mind be able to truly talk to one another.  I prayed to be able to take one, if only just one, full and complete calming breath.  I prayed that I could stop thinking like this.  I prayed that that Dean could take this infirmity from me because I would have selfishly given it to him to bear for a time.  I prayed that I could remember what it was like to be me. 

I finally prayed that a miracle would happen.  It was all I had left in me to plea.  

Dean felt strongly that he needed to call one of the counselors in our bishopric in our single’s ward that we attended.  Thankfully, he answered even though it was the morning of a workday.  Dean told him what was going on, what kind of a mental and physical state I was in, and that he needed a referral to an LDS psychiatrist ASAP for me.  We needed a psychiatrist because they are experts in medication management to see what was going on with me even though I was taking an anti-depressant.  This saintly bishopric member told Dean to meet him over at the church within the hour so that they could get the phone numbers for some different mental health professionals for Dean to call, and plus he needed to write Dean a referral note for me to see an LDS therapist or psychiatrist, and Dean heartily agreed.  The bishopric member left his job to meet Dean over there, and I was in no state to leave so Dean hugged me and through tears made me promise that I wouldn’t do anything drastic while he was gone, and that he was going to get help for me. I looked him in the eye and promised.

I sat there alone staring and flipping mindlessly through the tv channels not caring what was on while my bodily manifestations of symptoms were still in full force, my mind was fighting its’ own horrific battle, and I looked at the clock every minute expecting that 10 minutes would have surely passed.  It was the longest time alone I’ve ever experienced in my life even though the grand total was less than an hour and a half.  

Dean met this bishopric member at the church, and he got the phone number of a few LDS therapists, but there was only one LDS psychiatrist, ONE, in the entire Puget Sound region that was on record, and psychiatrists are notorious for having weeks and sometimes months long waiting lists to get in for an appointment.  Dean was determined to plead my case to get me in as soon as possible.  This psychiatrist was semi retired, and he only did appointments out of his office in his home.  

He got back to the house and immediately called the psychiatrist having the faith that someone would answer, and that I could get in that day.  He answered.  The psychiatrist answered!!!  Dean asked him if I could get in today and he started to do the, “Well, I’m pretty booked, how does 3 weeks from now look?” spiel, but Dean interrupted him and told him truly how bad I was, and that my thought processes were now slowly taking a suicidal path.   Hearing that, magically all of a sudden he had an opening in his schedule that afternoon.  He would squeeze me in.

I got my miracle.  My prayer was answered.

That afternoon Dean drove me up to North Seattle to the psychiatrist’s home, and I sat in the car watching as a girl walked out, obviously having been crying, and then I looked at the clock, and it was my turn to go in.  Dean hugged me, told me he loved me no matter what, and that he would be right there waiting when I was done.  

I knocked on his door, and this white haired man that I dwarfed by at least 5 inches answered.  He introduced himself as the doctor and kindly asked me to sit down.  I sat down, slid a check for $200 across his desk to him to pay for the hour that was beginning, and then waited.  He asked me a little bit about myself, where I was from, how many in my family, parents divorced or married, what did I do, and then he asked me how I really was feeling and why I was there.  The waterworks unleashed.  I sobbed my way through the next 55 minutes describing the past couple of months, my physical symptoms, how my anti-depressant worked and then didn’t work, and how now I felt exponentially worse than ever.  I explained that I truly didn’t see a way that I would ever feel or get better, and why would I want to live and how could I live feeling like this?  I explained that I had this stalwart boyfriend sitting out in the car who hadn’t waivered in his love and affection for me for one microsecond since the moment of our first date, but I didn’t feel like I could ever wholeheartedly trust him even though he’d never ever done anything to betray my trust.  I told him that I hated who I was, but I used to love myself, and I hadn’t changed anything at all in my life to warrant this perpetually anxious and unsettled Michelle.  Dean was the only variable in my life that I could see from pre-depressed Michelle and currently depressed Michelle.   

Towards the end of my hour after he asked a few questions here and there, he started to explain what was going on with my body, first of all.  My anti-depressant had worked, but it definitely wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t anything I had done.  He told me about how a small percentage of people have this experience I was having with an anti-depressant where this new foreign drug is introduced into the body,  and it ran its’ course for a few weeks because it’s this new potent chemical that my body is craving, but then my body rejects it for an unknown reason. And it rejects it on a large scale even though it’s still being presented into the blood stream every day.  It will amplify the symptoms of depression because my body was screaming for this drug to not be introduced into it anymore, it wasn’t allowing for it to be effective, but of course I kept taking it like I had been instructed to do by my primary care doctor. 

He wrote me a prescription for a different anti-depressant, and told me that I was going to do a quick 3 day wean off this one I was currently on that wasn’t working and add in this new one.  Day 1, take 3/4 pill of the non-working one, and take ¼ pill of the new prescription.  Day 2, take ½ pill of the non-working one, take ½ pill of the new one. Day 3 take ¼ of the non-working pill, take ¾ of the new one.  Day 4, I was only to be taking the new prescription.  It’s never a good idea to go completely cold turkey in 1 day off an anti-depressant, but he felt like I’d be ok doing a quick 3 day wean when coupled with the new prescription, and of course he wanted to see me again in a couple of days to see how I was handling the switch.  

Then he told me that aside from the issue with my non-working anti-depressant, I needed to do therapy.  I had a lot of issues from my growing up that had never really been dealt with that were being projected unfairly onto Dean.  I’d placed my own little band aid on them, but he told me that unless I professionally dealt with my growing up, mainly my parents extremely dysfunctional marriage, the effectiveness of the new anti-depressant would only be so much, but more importantly, I would never completely be ok and my relationship with Dean would never progress past the insecurities that I was currently dealing with.  

He was right.  So very right.

I started the new anti-depressant and it worked beautifully, noticing a significant improvement in how I was feeling over a couple of weeks.  It completely helped alleviate the physical symptoms like the first anti-depressant had done, but this time it held.  I never had the tingling arms, shortness of breath, paralyzing anxiety, or sleepless nights ever again.

But equally as important as getting on a new anti-depressant, I decided right then and there at the end of that appointment that I was going to do whatever I had to do, pay whatever I had to pay, work however hard I had to work, so that I could get better, and so that I could deal with undealt with matters.  Dean was worth it. I was worth it.  I couldn’t just rely on a magic little pill to make everything all better when that pill is only half of the solution in my situation. 

So I paid thousands of dollars for therapy over the next 6 months.  I decided to do some intensive therapy.  I saw the psychiatrist a few more times for medication management, and of course for actual therapy, and at $200 a visit that adds up fast, but Dean and I didn’t care, we would have paid $500 per hour.  We realized we couldn’t put a price on mental health.

But then he said that he felt ok having me see a licensed therapist now that the anti-depressant was definitely working and he’d monitored me for a while, which of course is much more affordable at $80 per hour, so that’s what I did.  

Weekly I went in and talked, explored, cried, vented, understood, didn’t understand, laughed, remembered, complained, wished, and slowly allowed the change to happen.  The change to let go.  The change to realize that Dean wasn’t ever going to be my Dad.  He was never going to cheat on me.  He was never going to berate or belittle me. He wasn’t ever going to abandon me in my moments of weakness or anger.  He wasn’t ever going to accuse me of anything that he knows I didn’t do.  He wasn’t ever going to let his selfish desires and addictions become more important than me.  He wasn’t ever going to be bad for me.  

I learned to accept that I KNEW Dean already.  I knew him and I knew his soul.  I learned to not sit there waiting for him to screw up even though he never had.  I learned to trust my intuition with him.  I learned to trust that he is his own person, and that he defied the odds despite some of the unfair hand that he was dealt growing up.  I learned that I loved him even more than what I thought I did. 

And I realized that I wasn’t going to be my Mom.  My Mom was bipolar and through fearful tears, I asked the psychiatrist in one of our appointments if I was, and he said no.  I was so afraid of embodying any trait whatsoever of my Mom’s, and her manic depression was something that I felt defined her because it was so present all throughout her life up until that present time. I had to spend such a great time of my teenage years and early 20’s energy learning how to deal with her depression on my own since I was the only child left at home, and my parents got divorced in the middle of my teenage years after 32 years of marriage.  Of course I learned and eventually accepted and understood that it didn’t define her, but it certainly was a part of who she was. There is nothing wrong with the fact that she was bipolar, there is nothing wrong with the fact that anybody is bipolar.  My Mom just didn’t manage it well at all, medication-wise.  She picked and chose when to take her medication, and all of us suffered for that.  

Through therapy I learned to accept that I was a stronger person than my mom was, that I would never stand to be in a less-than-ideal marriage.  I learned how to argue fairly.  I learned that I knew how to do the work. I learned that any real gritty issues or fights that Dean and I would ever have should never be broadcast to anyone but a professional.  I learned our childhoods and growing up years don’t have to define us, but they certainly can have a heavy bearing on who we turn out to be.  I wanted to be better than my parents.  And I am. 

    

I wish I could say that it was easy to do therapy, but I would be lying.  It was a hurt so good feeling during and after each session, with the bewilderment and resentment and acceptance melded into the same thought.     

I wish I could adequately explain to you how liberating it felt like to have each link of that chain cut and lifted of my heart that had unknowingly settled itself into a stranglehold on the most vital piece in my physical body.  I wish I could adequately explain to you how complete I felt once my heart AND my mind could actually talk to each other again in agreeance.  I wish I could adequately explain to you close to heaven I felt when I could actually feel that I had a soul again.

I did the work.  Therapy doesn’t make you perfect, which is not to say that I never had any regression because I did, but I never ever ever got anywhere near to the low where I did before.  I would have my blah days even while on the anti-depressant because anti-depressants aren’t meant to make you feel euphoric, they take you back to even, and they make you feel like your old functional self.  I would sometimes regress in the way of not understanding why my parents stayed in such a ridiculous marriage, and not take into serious consideration how it would affect their kids.  I would sometimes regress to trying to pick fruitless arguments like my parents did, but Dean would call me out on it.  Communication is always a work in progress in any marriage, ours included, but it’s completely worth the work.  When I had those blah days I wouldn’t let those thoughts get me down for long.  My parents made their own choices, I couldn’t expect them to change just because I think they should, and I am my own person in charge of my own choices. 

  

I ended up only having to be on the anti-depressant for a total of 9 months.  Three months after we were married Dean and I decided I had felt good enough and stable enough to try to go off the medication.  We consulted a doctor, and he said that it was ok to do, just to monitor myself very closely on how I was feeling during the weaning.  So I gradually went off of it over the course of 2 weeks and I watched myself very closely every single day to make sure that my body and mind were ok with it.  They were.  I didn’t regress at all, and my body didn’t need the medication anymore.  I haven’t had to take any anti-depressants since January 2006, but I most certainly would take something again if I ever felt like I needed to.    

My sweet children and grandchildren that are reading this, I want you to know that if you’re ever down it doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re human.  Unfortunately you’re genetically predisposed to this because of me, but it’s such a manageable predisposition.  It’s ok if you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.  If you ever feel angry or alone even when you’re surrounded by everyone you love and who loves you, I want you to know that I’ve been there, that I understand, and that I want to help you.  I don’t ever want you to be embarrassed of being depressed if you are.  There are some things that we can’t pray away, some things that getting a blessing doesn’t take away, and there are some things that Heavenly Father doesn’t take away for a while and sometimes indefinitely despite our pleas.  Sometimes we have to seek out the extra help that is needed.  I want you to know that Dean and I will absolutely listen to you, help you, and align you with the right resources in a heartbeat.  I don’t want you to ever suffer alone.  I wrote this story for you.  For you to know that it’s ok to be down or depressed, there is help.  For you to know that Heavenly Father is mindful of us even in our darkest hours.  Sometimes it takes others who love us to pick us up and carry us for a while.  And I will always carry you.  Always. 

Dean, along with Heavenly Father, carried me during my darkest hours.  I love him for an infinite amount of reasons, but that is one of the big ones.  I know he’ll always be there for me.  I don’t doubt our marriage one iota.  He supports me unconditionally, and I do the same for him.  We have created OUR OWN beautiful marriage, partnership, and friendship.  

As therapy progressed, and I learned so much more about letting go, about who I was, who Dean was, who we were together, and who we had the potential of becoming together, Dean and I became even more amazed with who we were as a couple, even more in love, and we prayerfully decided that we definitely wanted to and should be married and sealed to one another for time and all eternity in the Seattle Temple.  

So we worked toward that goal. We loved each other unconditionally, supported one another in everything we did, and spent every spare second that we could with one another. Dean and I both kept working, and we decided that we wanted to go into marriage with absolutely no debt.  I hesitantly moved back in with my Mom for a few months before we got married so that I could devote the $800 that I was paying for my apartment plus utilities towards paying off debt. Dean and I devoted almost every single extra cent we had towards paying off my remaining credit card balance and also my car.  We paid off almost $6,000 of debt in just a few months, and we remained debt free up until we got married then we accumulated a bit in student loans but that’s a different story. 

We were that couple who was so in lovey dovey la-la land that we didn’t care about planning our dream wedding, we just wanted to be together, to be married and sealed to one another.  We were also so concerned about having every extra cent in our bank account that we could because we going to be moving out to Iowa for Dean to go to chiropractic school right after we got married, and we needed money to be sustained out there.  So we went as cheap as we could on almost every single thing for our wedding and reception.  Looking back we’d do it differently, but it is what it is and we’re ok with it.  

Finally came October 8, 2005.  I still remember the look of complete amazement on Dean’s face when he saw me for the first time in my wedding dress.  I still remember the look of reverent joyful anticipation on his face as he held my hand as we were walking towards the room where we would be married and sealed.  I still remember seeing him as we knelt across the alter from one another in that sacred sealing room in the Seattle Temple.  I saw him there and knew that I had made the right choice in a husband and eternal companion.  When the temple sealer was performing the sealing I literally don’t remember anyone else being in that room even though every seat was full, it was just Dean and I to me.  I only saw him.  He and I were all that mattered at that moment.  

Our reception was chaos since we threw everything together at the last second, but Dean and I had the time of our lives.  I literally ate 1 strawberry the entire night because Dean and I were so busy going around talking to all of our guests.  We had a much bigger turnout than we expected which means there weren’t enough tables set up to accommodate everyone so people ended up grabbing chairs and sitting in the hall to eat their food.  We had such a great time dancing when the time came, and we felt so incredibly loved by everyone there.

Two of our friends gave us a gift of a hotel room in a very nice hotel up in Bellevue for our wedding night, and everything about it was perfect.  The next day we drove out to Leavenworth and stayed at an amazing bed and breakfast for one night and walked all around downtown, never letting go of one another’s hand.  But a 2 day honeymoon was all we had.  We had to get back to Covington where we were going to be staying at Dean’s Mom’s house for the next 4 days.  We had to open up all of our wedding presents, take back or exchange wedding presents, we went on a Spirit of Washington Dinner train excursion one night because it was a bridal shower gift Dean’s Mom gave me and the dinner was amazing, we had to do moving paperwork, and then we had to finally pack our moving truck.  Six days after we got married we closed and locked the back door on our Budget rental truck, hitched up my car, and nervously but even more so excitedly drove 2,000 miles eastward to Davenport, Iowa as husband and wife.  

We always say that moving to Iowa right after we got married was the best way to start our marriage because it truly did make us rely on only each other because we were all one another had out there.  We would completely do the same thing again.  

I’ve never ever regretted marrying Dean.  

He’s never ever regretted marrying me.  

He’s made me happier than I ever thought it was possible to be happy, and our hearts still know how to talk silently to each other.  We truly do have a love to be envied.  

I see Heavenly Father’s timing starting from the moment Dean looked at me from behind that pulpit. 

He’s the priesthood holder in our home. 

He’s the father of my children.   

He’s my husband. 

He’s my absolute best friend. 

I love him unconditionally, and I always will. 

Together he and I will make it home hand in hand to live with Heavenly Father for eternity.