The Demon That Sits On My Shoulder

In my intro post yesterday, I talked about battling with my demons.  About how we ALL battle with our own different demons.  Sometimes I wonder if demons are real.  Not like, they are little red angry creatures with sharp teeth and pointy tails, but literally one of Satan's minions standing next to me whispering into my ear.  "You are a sinner. Everyone knows what you have done.  Just give up and stop trying to be a good person.  You know you really aren't."  Some days he is whispering, "Look at those love handles and jiggly arms. You can barely even button up your pants! You are disgusting.  How could anyone love you in that body."  And some days he isn't whispering.  Some days he is flat out yelling.  Yelling that there is no God.  Yelling that anyone who believes there really is a God is stupid and simply a coping mechanism to give us hope in this dismal world.  And sometimes, sometimes I believe him.

Last night as I was walking the puppy one last time before bed, I was looking up at the sky.  The moon was hazy, and with the Houston city lights I can't see many stars.  In Colorado there were so many stars that I could see the bands of the Milky Way Galaxy over my head.  It was a glorious sight, crystal clear and absolutely breathtaking.  But here, the sky almost looks empty.  As I stood there, wishing for more stars is when the yelling started.  "You really think in that big old empty black space there is a God who cares about you? Even if there was a God, don't you think he is busy with more important things? Like starving kids in Africa? Or suffering people who need him more?...don't you think he would rather talk to people who aren't such a rotten sinner as you?" And suddenly I found myself praying and asking God to make the thoughts go away.  And then I felt guilty for praying, because if I was praying to God, he was probably listening.  And if he was listening that meant I was distracting him.  And if I was distracting him, that means someone with a more important problem isn't getting the attention they deserve.

This is how the Devil works. Like a wave battering rocks, slowly wearing them down over time.  Warping our thoughts into things that aren't ours.

One of my biggest demons, and to those who know me it is no surprise, is the demon that sits on my shoulder.  Every day.  All day.  The demon's name is DEPRESSION.  I have suffered from it for as long as I can remember.  I think the devil yells longer and harder at people with depression, because he knows they are easier to break.  He knows they are vulnerable.  He knows he can get them listening, and he wants us to be miserable like he is.  Misery loves company, you know?  It is hard to not let him get me down.  Depression is one of those almost taboo subjects, people know it exists, but it is scary to them.  Nobody wants to be around a Debbie Downer (though the SNL skits about Debbie Downer are friggin' HILLLLARIOUS).  For a long time I didn't want people to know I had depression, and usually I am pretty good at covering it up.  It took a while to find the right medication, but I found one that works and it makes it so I can't hear the nasty little demon yelling at me so much.  It helps me to feel like ME.  Well, the ME I am supposed to be.  The ME that God created me to be.  The ME that plays with her kids and laughs and runs and puts on makeup and goes out on the town and spends hours giggling about silly things with her husband.  It is nice to feel like the demon on my shoulder is gone for a while. And then I think, maybe he is gone now? Maybe I don't need medication anymore? And I try it out. And EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I eventually find that he is still there. He has been quietly sitting on my shoulder waiting patiently for me to think I am invincible. Persistent little booger, he is.

I had seen this a while back...probably passed along on facebook. But, I have been thinking about it a lot. Sometimes it is hard to know which voice is which.  Apparently it is pretty easy to figure out. *wink wink* .

 

So, it is up to each of us to decide for ourselves.  Which voice do we listen to?  The demon sitting on our shoulder, or the one who made us and loves us and knows even when a little sparrow loses a feather?  I don't know what other religions believe, but I believe that after I die, I will be resurrected. And after I am resurrected, my body will be restored to perfection.  That means, the neurotransmitters and chemicals in my gray matter won't be broken.  I won't have depression.  And, frankly, I am super excited for it.  But for now, all I can do is the best that I can.  When the devil starts to yell, I won't yell back.  I will get on my knees and ask God to yell a little louder for me.

Gray Matter

Hello, I am Natalie, and I am not a Molly Mormon.  It sort of feels like "coming out" in Alcoholics Anonymous.  But, it is what it is.

I am a 32 year old...wait...or am I 33?  I don't even know....Mormon, but not Molly Mormon woman. That in itself could be an entire post.  Which, I suppose, would be a good place to start. Female....Mormon...but NOT so Mormon that I am defined as a "Molly Mormon."

Now...this is where it gets touchy.  However, it is something that is very real and honestly something that is sometimes hard to deal with.  Especially on Sundays, at potlucks and mommy dates. But whatever. I digress.

What is a Molly Mormon, you ask?  A Molly Mormon is a term used to describe "the perfect Mormon woman".  This kind of woman we are supposed to strive to be, and when we don't meet the bar, we beat ourselves for it.  You know who she is.  She is the pretty and perfectly put together one driving the minivan with the twelve kids in the back.  The twelve kids who are perfectly behaved and perfectly dressed.  Oh. And her minivan is clean, accept for the cute diaper bag on the floor and the children's scripture cases which they ALL remembered to bring to church.  Yup.  She is the one with the knee length skirt and modest blouse, a casserole in one hand and a plate of freshly baked straight off of Pinterest cookies in the other.  She cooks, she cleans, she sews, she crafts, she blogs, bears her testimony every fast Sunday, she plays piano, and when her kids get home from school she has fresh baked treats on the table ready for them.  On cute plates.  With origami folded napkins in the forms of animals.  She ALWAYS looks put together  Even in sweats.  No lie.  She has never said a cuss word. EVER.  She doesn't drink caffeinated soda, has never seen an R rated movie, and doesn't own a two piece swimming suit.  And, when they get together to hang out it looks like a page straight out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.  Seriously.  I have come to grips with the fact that I am not this woman.  No, I am a female member of the Mormon faith who is trying to figure things out.  One day at a time.  Doing the best that I can, knowing that I am certainly not perfect, and hoping that God still loves me anyway.  And, to be completely honest, hoping that Jesus won't come anytime soon so I can have a little more time to get my life back in order.

The mind is an interesting thing.  So many emotions.  So many thoughts, good AND bad.  Memories that open floodgates to an endless sea of feelings and recollections, triggered by such small and simple things.  A song on the radio, a familiar smell, the changing of leaves in the fall and the way the light dances off of them in the Autumn breeze.  Even dreams that wake you up as a confused mess...being lost somewhere between reality and dream where you are either hoping it is all real, or praying to God that it was just a nightmare and it will all be over after you have a few moments to pull yourself together.  All of this, from a mound of gray matter gently nestled beneath a thin sheath of bone.  And in this mushy gray matter is where my thoughts tumble over eachother like wet clothes in a dryer.  Over and over, dying to be let out so they don't have to tumble anymore.  This is the purpose of this blog.  To let these dang clothes out to dry so that they won't tumble anymore.  Perhaps it will bring relief in my own life, perhaps it will touch someone else and help them along the way. Perhaps no one will ever even read this.  Either way, gray matter, it is time to stop tumbling and let go.

You see, I have three BEAUTIFUL children, a husband who loves me and of whom I love dearly, and a boxer puppy.  Which was probably a mistake, but I caved in a moment of weakness because of utter cuteness and stupidity.  In this world of being a mom, a wife, a Mormon and trying to keep a puppy from destroying our little 2 bedroom apartment, I am dealing with the demons of my gray matter.  The gray matter that makes me uniquely me.  The good and the bad qualities that I have embedded in this DNA.  The demons we ALL have hiding in us somewhere, who we want to face and get rid of, but one thing or another keeps us from letting go.  Whether it be depression, feeling inadequate, weight struggles, saggy boobs, or even constant Pinterest fails.  So, this is where my journey will begin.  Sitting at my computer, slowly taking out tumbling pieces of clothing from the dryer.  Hoping that if anyone reads this they are merciful and understanding, and ultimately hoping that if they are experiencing anything similar that they know they are not alone.  Hello, I am Natalie.  I am not a Molly.  Sometimes I swear.  I like Vanilla Coke.  I hate carrot jello.  I look awful in sweats with no makeup on.  And that's okay.