365 days. 52 weeks. 12 months. 1 year.

365 days. 52 weeks. 12 months. 1 year.

Last Monday marked one year since I've come home early from my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Boy has it been a crazy year. I have lived in two different states. I have lived with my parents, paid for two different apartments, had roommates from around the country. I've had two jobs and learned money management skills. I started college again and struggled focusing on my classes. I've made new friends and lost touch with old ones. I've tried to push people away as I've attempted to come to terms with my mental illness. I've tried to convince myself that I was strong enough to overcome my trial on my own and been devastated when I realized that I couldn't. 

I was blessed to have amazing people come into my life at exactly the moments I needed them. It's a little bit overwhelming with how many people who have come into my life and changed it. I may not be able to remember every last name, but I will be forever grateful for how they've made me better.

There have been moments of regret for my decision, moments where I've felt like a quitter, where I've felt like I wasn't worthy since I came home. There have been days in this last year where I didn't think I would ever amount to anything, where I felt like my self worth hung on that choice to come home early. I've had days where my self worth hangs on simple daily decisions and if I feel like I've messed up in the smallest way then that makes me a horrible, stupid person.

In this last year since leaving Alabama, I've had moments and days where I didn't want to be around anyone. I didn't want people to know that I was hurting inside, because I didn't know why I was hurting. There's no explanation for the way I feel, no way to adequately describe it to someone who doesn't already know the feeling.



Through it all, the ups and the downs, I've had my Savior Jesus Christ and my Father in Heaven by my side.