"I have some experience in dealing with people who have mental illness and depression, but I didn't see the signs in myself. I couldn't ask for help because I didn't know I needed help."- Clara Hughes
Before I began writing this, my hands sat still on the keyboard a while. Questions like, "What do I say? What do I not say? How do I say it?" flashed through my brain. Judgement and assumptions that people would make danced around in my brain like Liesl and Friedrich (The Sound of Music) in that glass atrium.
Gail Porter says,"I want to break down some of the stigma associated with mental illness."
I suppose that's why I'm writing this. You see, this weekend I was admitted into High Point Regional's Behavioral Health unit for PTSD, severe depression and anxiety.
My brain is similar to a large pot of spaghetti. All of my thoughts, pressures, joys and concerns are all connected but in my case, that spaghetti is a part of a whirling vortex. The added spaghetti noodles eventually caused collapse. I couldn't see a way out of our issues.
My self esteem is crappy. Instead of getting defensive when someone critiques me (generally very passive aggressively) I often accept it, take it to heart, and then use it as a baseball bat to beat myself every time I screw something up. Please don't respond to this post with a "But Sarah... you're so.."
I'm just being honest. I need "me" time to take care of myself but I can't justify it.
I over analyze everything... really... everything. "Me" time is a few moments where I can sort out some of the calamity and make room for the next. I haven't had much of that lately... but neither has Andy. The kids need us, the house is perpetually dirty even though I just cleaned it.
I spent 4 days there creating a new stereotype for myself.
Hello, my name is Sarah, and I have a problem.
My brain is broken.
Something about the body not producing enough serotonin blah blah.
My heart aches.
For the guy who was next to me in the emergency room.
He was faking pain so that he could get pain killers.
For my friend Daniel, detoxing from a Heroin/Cocaine addiction, and terrified that he wouldn't make it to a long term rehab facility in time. Terrified for his wife and 6 kids.
Wondering if his life would be lost to this chemical his body craves.
For the abused. For the weak. For the woman who blacks out in anger due to a bipolar disorder and wakes up to a mistake she can't undo.
It's all so heavy.
Does it weigh on you too?
The brokenness of the human race is screaming for mercy.
My heart can't handle reality.
That's why I've always written stories in my head.
Pharmaceutical companies created short term relief in the form of Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. I feel like an old woman. I need one of those pill sorters.
I have considered going to a longer program (30 days or so...) to really pull myself and my thinking back to something more stable. Unfortunately, nothing like that exists...well not that insurance will pay for. So, I've been in touch with local facilities that do Intensive Outpatient treatment three days a week. I don't know if that will teach me to "accept the things I can't control.." (The Serenity Prayer) but it's a step in the right direction. Eventually, I'll make a really banging spaghetti.
My brain is similar to a large pot of spaghetti. All of my thoughts, pressures, joys and concerns are all connected but in my case, that spaghetti is a part of a whirling vortex. The added spaghetti noodles eventually caused collapse. I couldn't see a way out of our issues.
Honestly? I didn't want to live anymore.
 |
| Spaghetti Vortex |
Instead of going through with it, I called my therapist Kathie. She was very kind to me and encouraged me to check myself into the hospital where I could take a break from the whirlwind and get my head on straight. I am so glad I went. Embarrassed, but glad. I met some beautifully broken people with hearts the size of Texas. Bigger heart=more square footage for those knives to dig in. I was blessed to be there.
My self esteem is crappy. Instead of getting defensive when someone critiques me (generally very passive aggressively) I often accept it, take it to heart, and then use it as a baseball bat to beat myself every time I screw something up. Please don't respond to this post with a "But Sarah... you're so.."
I'm just being honest. I need "me" time to take care of myself but I can't justify it.
I over analyze everything... really... everything. "Me" time is a few moments where I can sort out some of the calamity and make room for the next. I haven't had much of that lately... but neither has Andy. The kids need us, the house is perpetually dirty even though I just cleaned it.
I spent 4 days there creating a new stereotype for myself.
Hello, my name is Sarah, and I have a problem.
My brain is broken.
Something about the body not producing enough serotonin blah blah.
My heart aches.
For the guy who was next to me in the emergency room.
He was faking pain so that he could get pain killers.
For my friend Daniel, detoxing from a Heroin/Cocaine addiction, and terrified that he wouldn't make it to a long term rehab facility in time. Terrified for his wife and 6 kids.
Wondering if his life would be lost to this chemical his body craves.
For the abused. For the weak. For the woman who blacks out in anger due to a bipolar disorder and wakes up to a mistake she can't undo.
It's all so heavy.
Does it weigh on you too?
The brokenness of the human race is screaming for mercy.
My heart can't handle reality.
That's why I've always written stories in my head.
Pharmaceutical companies created short term relief in the form of Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. I feel like an old woman. I need one of those pill sorters.
I have considered going to a longer program (30 days or so...) to really pull myself and my thinking back to something more stable. Unfortunately, nothing like that exists...well not that insurance will pay for. So, I've been in touch with local facilities that do Intensive Outpatient treatment three days a week. I don't know if that will teach me to "accept the things I can't control.." (The Serenity Prayer) but it's a step in the right direction. Eventually, I'll make a really banging spaghetti.
No comments:
Post a Comment