My Solitude

 

     My first missionary companion in the field was nothing but—how do I put it—a hard ass! There are no other words to explain him. I mean, he followed every rule to the perfect “T.” The next two months were literal hell. I fell into an even deeper depression. I remember one day sitting on a family’s porch while my companion taught the Mormon principles of the Church. I could not take it anymore and I broke down crying. He ended it early and asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t bear to tell “him” of all people. So, I just said I was homesick. A month passed and was gone. We were walking home down a long eerie stretch of cobblestone highway in 110 degree heat. I remember I was so exhausted and depressed that I thought I could easily step in front of a speeding car to end my life, just to stop the anguish. Just one step is all it would take to make it all end. No matter how strongly I wanted to just end the pain, I was somehow able to stop myself. I suppose deep down inside I knew there was still hope for a brighter future. And I was right.