I Needed Help and Still...

Welcome back. I say that to myself more than anyone else. The tough thing about creating a blog is actually blogging. Though, that should be common sense, mental illness has a way of warping that information right out of your concept of life. Anyway, welcome back! To me, to you, to my FBI agent who's watching me type this. How ya been Jeff? I’m back in a steady enough relationship with my therapist to be able to talk to people again. After 3 years of consistently meeting, I’m genuinely in a stable enough place for me to pursue passions and dreams outside of just working and existing. Here I am again trying to gather my shit enough to get excited about the future and all it may hold. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, with as much sense as a bull in a china shop, I’m royally screwed. Let me explain.

At the end of May, just 2 days left actually, I managed to go from two decently functioning legs down to one hobbled at the knee and the other fighting for a 15-minute break under OSHA laws. I managed to dislocate the knee while cleaning up my kitchen and trying to live out my fantasy of being able to afford a Renaissance Tour ticket around my island. After an ass-itchingly expensive trip to the ER, 2 trips to urgent care, an MRI, a time-wasting Physician Assistant, a much more efficient Physician Assistant, and a very cordial Surgeon, I found out the formal name for this is a subluxation of the knee. On top of that, I bruised the bone, and a piece of cartilage was missing. An actual chunk of cartilage, probably gone since birth though. So yeah, just when I was getting the most amazing rhythm I’ve had in a while, I managed to quite literally fall flat on my ass. Which, in and of itself, sucks. But what comes after is the part I struggled with more. With all that happened, you’d think the pain or the bills would be my biggest concern right? The cost of fucking healthcare is always too much. Truth be told, I anticipated that and how gut-wrenching it would feel. My savings are almost completely gone, and there's not much I can do to stop it. Got that. The pain, well, sleep and Ibuprofen pretty much manage that. I mean, there were prescriptions but, for legal reasons, I no longer have them, and I’m declaring that now for the FBI to see. But the biggest struggle? Truth be told, it was being able to ask for help with all of it. Crazy, right? Depending on how many Geminis you know, you may agree with the next sentiment. But asking for help means relying on people, and relying on them means giving them a chance to disappoint you or, even worse, for them to see you as a burden. I know, I know. You’re supposed to be safe from your therapist here in my little ole blog. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to share anything, and then I started having those really dark and unbearable thoughts that forced me into therapy in the first place.

How can just needing help make one feel so bad they’d rather join the rest of Jesus' winged homies topside in the big ship of life? Shouldn't getting help make you feel better? Shouldn’t your friends pulling up to get you to appointments make you feel supported? Or you should feel loved when your mom takes time out of her day to come run you to the city over for a doctor that can actually get you answers, right? I’m well aware of how unhealthy it sounds. No worries, we're past the major depressive episode and back to the regular clinical stuff with just a dash of the most potent anxiety seasoning you can find. But the unfortunate truth of being injured and vulnerable and scared is that it comes with those really icky feelings. Like the worst soup recipe: a dash of loneliness, two sprigs of feelings of inadequacy, two tablespoons of pure frustration, and 32 oz of "what the hell happens now." What it all boils down to are some very trying moments that remind you of your own blatant humanity. The soup is bitter and strong and pungent, but it’s medicine. And we all know when the going gets tough, we have to learn to swallow the medicine and move forward to the healing part of the process. Sifting through all that crap feels like it’ll never end though you will reach the end of the bowl. Is this soup thing making any sense? Oh well, my mother says I’m not too good with analogies anyway. The point is: sometimes the difficult things are meant to remind us of how human we are and how that connects us to other humans. Asking for help being a prime example. When I struggled with getting out of bed, making meals for myself, keeping up with my hobbies and goals, it was the people around me that helped. I asked for help from family, friends, fitness coaches, doctors, and yes, my therapist. Asking for so much help felt like catching up on the last few years I spent reclusive and avoiding needing anyone for anything. And you know what? It didn’t kill. I didn’t burst into flames or have to give up my firstborn for sympathy and support. What was I so scared of in the first place? Mostly myself. The reason for that has everything to do with how my brain has created scenarios and stories to keep me focused on how sick and lonely it is. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

I needed help and still struggled to ask for it. I needed help and still felt ashamed by it. I needed help and still hated feeling that way. And I needed help and still got it. No point in this process was easy. Remembering just how mortal you are is always a tough time for the hero in your story, which I am really hoping is you. We have to be the masters of our fate and come to terms with destiny all while filing taxes annually, and that’s hard. If the last few months of injury and healing have taught me anything, it is the beauty of asking. The peace you feel in just having an answer is so much better than racking your brain to find excuses not to reach out. If you struggle with the concept of asking for help, try starting small. Little things that can make a big difference. General questions for people to answer. Even trying posting on your private story to see who will respond to the call. Try anything so that when the time comes and you need the help, you won’t be too afraid to ask. Now take a deep breath and grab your emotional support thingy. No more deep stuff for now. Welcome back, and let’s make it last this time. See ya later Jeff!