Exhaustive Explanations

Read the post below this one first. It provides context to this one.

I give the answer which is true, but which is utterly unsatisfying to me. It's the one that explains why I don't accomplish a lot of things that I want to do. It's my bane, my achille's heel, my enemy, my shame. Me: "Mostly, I was just exhausted."

Over the last few weeks I have discovered a few things. Among them, that it's not normal for people to be exhausted all the time. It's not normal to sleep for hours and not feel rested. It's not normal to force yourself to stay awake for days at a time so that you can collapse unconscious afterwards. It's not normal to spend four hours of every eight in bed awake, staring at the ceiling. This was news to me. I've spent the last five years in such a state. In hindsight, I see the damage that my exhaustion has done. It's foiled my academic aspirations. It's ruined romantic possibilities. It's slaughtered my ability to be a reliable employee. I thought I was "just" depressed. I've been firing on two of eight cylinders for longer than you, dear reader, have known me. In combination with my perfectionism, it's caused heartache for me and the ones I care most about. Perfectionism. I hate admitting my weaknesses and shortcomings. I feel like I should be better than what I am, should do more than what I am. "Should" is a dangerous word. Especially when I'm using it to refer to myself. I've known since I was very young that I have exceptional talents and abilities. Growing up, it was obvious to me that I could accomplish anything I set my mind upon. It seems though, that you've got to find a way to drag the body along too. I feel shackled by my flesh. It just won't do what I ask of it. After a while, I started getting used to being tired all the time. I tried to tell myself it was normal. I figured that since I'd started doing the right things, seeing the right doctors, taking the right medications, been pronounced clean... that I really was ok. It didn't make it true, though. Oh, I could fake it enough to squeak by. But it made it hard to explain why I did so poorly in my classes, when I was "ok." So I lied. And I lied, and I lied, and I lied. Then I lied some more. I hurt my family, I hurt my friends, I hurt myself. I destroyed trust. I wasted money and several years of my life. But eventually, the truth comes out. It always comes out. I don't really care to lie any more. For the last two years, I have failed every course I have taken at BYU. The pattern went thusly: I would start the semester full of hope and vigor, and do well in my classes for a week. Surely this time I'm doing ok! After the second week, I'm feeling tired. But I'm hanging in there. By the end of the third week though, I'm completely worn out. And I can't admit it to myself. Much less to others. So I lie. To myself, mostly. Lying to others was a side-effect. And now? I'm too tired to lie any more. So I told someone. I told my family. I told my doctor. And they told me, that maybe they could help. That I shouldn't have to live feeling tired as I do. But changes must be made. Hence, here I am in St. Louis, leaving behind my place of suffering and hope. They say they can help. I dream of a day when I can stand before you all, healthy and strong, and show you what I am truly capable of. I write these things not to ask for your pity, or even your understanding. It would be nice, however, if you could give me your forgiveness. Somehow I suspect that it is my own forgiveness that will be hardest to obtain. BYU might forgive me, at least. I've submitted a petition to strike the last two years from my record, leaving me with a sparkling GPA and good standing with the University. I have reason to expect that it will be granted. What bothers me most, though, is that even forgiveness cannot return opportunities lost. It cannot rewrite the past. It cannot undo what has been done. All it can do is let me move forward. I am done with shame and lies. I am done with the facade of perfection. I am a human being, flawed, and burdened, and struggling, and weak. And it's ok. I am beginning to believe that. I plan to return to BYU someday, having accomplished great things. I want to finish what I have started there. Academics holds much interest to me, if only I can muster the energy to do them. I like to think that some of you will be there when I arrive.