I am on my ass today. It’s okay. Even though I’m exhausted and falling over from the tired, my mind is clear for the first time in almost a week. It’s been pretty crazypants in my body this week: my heart playing rapid percussion on my ribs, my stomach in knot after knot, my thoughts erratic and unfocused, the black dog holding me down, trying to drown me. I’ve had moments where my ability to cope was not strong enough to fight this battle, and I’ve done a lot of compartmentalizing to make sure that my dysfunction didn’t rub off in places where not-crazy was needed.
Sure, non-crazy is needed all the time. But I don’t have it in me to perform not-crazy all the time. Short bursts of faking it ’till I might eventually make it, followed by nights of fear and anxiety and self-hatred and shame.
So, yeah. That’s been my week, and I’m glad to be on the other side of it. But it’s left me with the clear understanding that even though it eventually always ebbs away, the darkness also always comes back. And lately, I don’t bounce back so well. I was reminded last night that when things are dark, I use up all my spoons on my work and school and kid responsibilities, and have nothing left for loved ones, friends, or myself. That’s not acceptable to me. I need more spoons. In their absence, I need to find ways to use the ones I have more effectively.
I’ve been trying to find ways to be healthy, people who can help me build my mental health back up again. I’ve talked with my family doctor, who sent me to a psychiatrist. Bad fit. Baaaaaad fit. He was incredibly offensive, and is not someone I would feel safe working with for a second session, let alone for an extended period. He also prescribed medication with no follow-up, a general suggestion that I find a support group for PTSD, and that was that. He also commented on how successful and functional I’m doing, and how I really wasn’t that unwell.
Turned off by the experience, I committed to keep on keeping on on my own. That worked, until it didn’t. So I went to a trauma counsellor for a session. She thought I was coping just fine with my trauma stuff, but referred me on to a(nother) psychiatrist to rule out the biomedical crazy stuff. This one also said I was doing really well, though had too much stress and not enough support, and recommended cognitive behavioural therapy. Done by someone else (who will either charge me money I cannot afford, or take months to make it off a waiting list). I have access to eight sessions through my university’s counselling centre, which she sadly admitted was nothing.
Oh, and my family doctor suddenly disappeared 2 weeks ago, and has not yet resurfaced.
So, here I am. Lucid, today. Knowing that the black dog will return soon enough. I just called the outpatient mental health intake at a local hospital. I’ll find someone who can help me with this. I’m too stubborn not to.