Help, Hypocrisy, and What it Took for Me To Ask
I shocked my psychiatrist recently. I have never seen her more surprised than when I asked, “do you think a third session every week would be helpful?” It took her a moment to process. “yes,” she said, “I think it would.” Today she explained her surprise. In the nearly 8 years she’s been working with me, I’ve done just about everything to avoid asking for help. And suddenly, I am determined to get it.
Let me give you some background
My childhood and teen years were spent trying to convince myself that my obsessive-compulsive disorder was quirkiness and that I was being overdramatic by thinking I was suffering from depression. I made excuses to myself for why it wasn’t mental illness, one of the main ones being that no one else recognized them as mental health issues. I wrapped my compulsions up in jokes and spoke of my hopelessness and with only a select few people.
It felt like asking for help was asking too much when my family and friends had their own worries. While I was a strong supporter of those with mental health struggles, I felt as though I would be letting everyone down if I reached out for help. In my head, it was “my duty” to be the strong one and take care of everyone else.
The turning point
At 17, my depression shape-shifted into something new, something I couldn’t hide. It was a feeling of utter nothingness. Food was no longer all that interesting and sleep fled from me. My mind was not overly active. Rather, I would lie awake and count the hours until morning, counting four hours of sleep as a good night. My body was Velcro on the couch. I wasn’t all that interested in what was on TV, but I also wasn’t all that interested in anything else. I could find enjoyment with friends and at my job, but getting there was difficult.
My struggle was becoming less and less silent. I didn’t want to let anyone down by asking for help, but I knew that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to hide the deterioration of my mental health much longer. One afternoon, with a deep breath and a great deal of hesitation, I peeled my torso off the couch and asked my mom if I could see a therapist.
Help was offered readily and just in time
Within weeks I spiraled into the terrifying realm of psychosis. But despite my eagerness to find help, everything was tinged with a subtle denial. Therapy was fine. I was willing to take medication. Inpatient was a firm no. Independent study for my senior year of high school was also a no. I wanted so badly to continue on the starry-bright path that I had been traveling prior to my psychotic break. But psychosis said no. I reconsidered inpatient, but when I found out that I was not “acute enough” to earn a bed without going out of state, I determined that that meant I should be able to do things as I had always done.
Just enough
From that time on, I accepted just enough help to get by. Medication and therapy, sure. Take time off from school? No way. I could be mentally ill, but I could not appear mentally ill. My hypocritical self could champion every level of mental health support for others, but felt like I was not allowed the same care. I convinced myself I had to fill the role of “the strong one.” People depended on me, for both psychological and everyday reasons. People looked up to me. I became “the girl who overcame seemingly insurmountable obstacles.” My job was to use my story, my experience, and whatever wisdom people thought I possessed to support others. I could not let everyone down.
But it all fell apart
Despite my triumphs, I have been on a downward trajectory for quite some time. Stress piled on stress on top of stress and a year and a half of trauma left me drowning and gasping for air. Good things began aligning in my stars – better job, better pay, truer love. But my mental health continued to trickle downward. My symptoms that used to come in neatly packaged episodes began to break free of the packaging, first grain by grain, and then shooting off like fireworks with every new revelation in therapy. And anxiety swept my feet out from under me like an undertow.
Last year, I strongly considered the hospital. But again, I feared letting everyone down. Not necessarily disappointing them, but by inconveniencing them. My boyfriend was away. Who would take care of my dog and cat? I didn’t want to risk leaving my employers high and dry at the last moment. I couldn’t do it when I felt like there was any chance I could get through the night.
Just enough is not enough
Once again, I find myself in a position where my mental illnesses will become more visible to others. I can force myself to work through panic attacks because I’ve already had an emergency department visit and full cardiac workup that confirmed that that chest-tightening, throat-closing, heart-fluttering feeling is not me dying. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t want to let everyone down.
Methods of therapy that are the old standard for others have actually made my symptoms worse. I throw logic and reason and countless affirmations at myself, but the mental illness still wins. I have no capacity to reassure myself. For the first time, my insight into my symptoms carries no weight. And it makes me feel like I’m letting my doctor down.
The girl who would only accept “just enough” is asking for help
This has not been an easy decision – just ask my boyfriend and my doctor. But I am back at that point when I was 17. By spending all my time trying to push through and not let everyone down, I’m now at risk of not being able to support everyone else. Despite my efforts (and tantrums,) my functioning is slipping away. Just enough is not enough.
I am eager, excited, terrified, and unsure all at once. I’m good at encouraging others, but feel a bit lost doing it for myself. I’m fighting my own rigid ideas of what help I am “allowed.” Is my quest for help actually about my personal wellbeing? Not entirely. Maybe one day I’ll focus on me for the sake of me and not others. But right now I’m feeling a tiny bit proud of myself. The girl who doesn’t ask for help just shocked her doctor. For the first time, I truly want whatever help I can get.
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