It may sound odd, but until I was in this facility, I didn't know how to ask for help without feeling guilty. I had to learn to ask for time alone, I needed space to accommodate my panic attacks and meltdowns. Look, I'm not the type of person who likes everyone staring at her while she's having a nervous breakdown. I don't want sympathy, I don't want attention, and I definitely don't want your pity. All I want to do is take my meds and get to a safe space until I can calm down and pull myself together. I've been having panic attacks for so long that I really do understand that I am not going to die or have a heart attack - although it feels that way sometimes. I've had them so long that I know I'm not going to vomit all over the place, although I do at times. I've had them so long that I know the shakes won't last forever, although sometimes I need to go to the emergency room to get shot to stop the process. But I've dealt with this so long, I do have safety measures in place.
Problem is with me is that I wait too long to get things taken care of. I don't take my meds when I should. I tend to wait too long, thinking that I can handle it. It's difficult to get out of that mode, especially when you were raised with parents that emphasized "tough love" and the need to just keep on keepin' on no matter what. There wasn't an abundance on compassion in my family, so you just didn't talk about it, let alone complain about it. You didn't ask for help. More importantly, you didn't know how to ask for help.
I'm a Hillbilly, raised in a small town, so we didn't discuss mental illness, or any of those things. Hell we didn't even have the vocabulary for the things that me and most of my friends experienced. I've had friends who experienced horrendous abuse. Who suffered with conditions, that we couldn't name at the time - but thanks to the internet, I have found out that this one had anorexia, this other one bulimia - another, major childhood abuse, and still another Trichotillomania. We never knew what these things were called. We really didn't ask questions. We accepted our friends for who they were, warts and all. I remember sitting in the yard with my friend who had Trichotillomania. She had pulled out all the hair in the top of her head, her eyebrows, her legs, everywhere she had hair - except for the back of her head. She kept enough hair so that when she wore a baseball cap, she had some hair hanging down. As we were sitting there, she wanted to start pulling the hair out of my arms and legs. We just laughed at the time. I cry, I seriously cry for that moment right now. She had pulled all the hair she could from herself and wanted to try on someone else. I doubt she would have gotten the same "release" she was looking for by taking out my hair. But the thought that she was so traumatized that she needed to pull her hair out to deal with the pain is devastating to me as an adult, and as a parent 💔
Living in a small town, you didn't ask for help because if you did, that meant that other people would know what was going on in your household. And God FORBID the townsfolk, churchfolks or school system know what was really going on. We all kept our mouths closed, except for the closest of friends. And sometimes, even if you did tell someone, they wouldn't believe you. You were a "problem child" and couldn't be trusted. I pray that reporting abuse is easier now than it was then. But I also know that when you're in it, you're never sure exactly what's the right thing to do. And so if you're in a situation where you see no way out, no one to turn to and no one who will believe in you - just know that I am holding you in prayers that you will find a way through and a way out 🙏
Today I got the opportunity to go to Walmart, and I'm so glad that I did. It wasn't an easy trip, but it was definitely worth it. I'll explain my living situation here in another post, but suffice it to say that I'm so glad I was able to get out and do something without having to walk there and back. It was nice. I made shrimp scampi for dinner, glass of white wine and a couple shots of whiskey. I'm gonna find a movie here to watch and do some stretching exercises to help with the pain. Maybe I'll watch Special on Netflix and see what the hype is about! #DisabilityTwitter seems to like it alot!
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