And taking action to find one.
by Anonymous contributor
[Trigger warnings: Frank talk of suicidal ideation.]
“Please find a therapist.”
With that, my partner lets me know I’m doing it again. I’ve let the “voices in my head” get the better of me. Maybe I’ve wondered aloud for, like, the millionth time, if that food was safe to eat. Or become obsessed with whether or not somebody hates me.
I wasn’t always this way, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. It’s no fun viewing the world through shit-colored glasses. Most days, I keep the crazy under control. The sky is blue, the grass green. But sometimes, especially when things at work are really rough – a looming deadline, say, or a bad review – the glasses go on, and reason goes out the window.
For years, my partner has asked me – begged, really – to find a therapist. “I don’t want to. I don’t need to,” was my stubborn refrain. Inside, though, I know that’s, well, crazy. Of course I need a therapist. But the part of me that thinks that way also worries that even the therapist will think I’m nuts. Like, put-me-in-a-room-and-lock-up-
The reasoning half of my brain knows that that, too, is nuts. Probably I just need to develop some coping strategies. That, and take some anti-depressants. But it’s difficult. Entertainments like “Monk” and The Silver Linings Playbook, make mental illness seem almost charming. Except it isn’t.
I don’t know how to start. How does one vet a psychologist? Even asking a friend to recommend one is difficult. And opening up to a total stranger? Telling him your darkest fears and asking him to accept them? The thing about bells is they can never be unrung. Better to keep silent, I think, than to say something that cannot be unsaid.
“That’s their job,” my partner points out. True, but psychologists are people, too. I imagine that when they go home, even shrinks sometimes think, “geez, that patient was cuh-ra-zy.”
To outside observers, I suspect (hope?) I appear normal. I have a successful and rewarding career. A family that loves me. A cat. We have all the trappings of a happy American life. And yet sometimes, when things get really, really bad, I think about ending it all. There will be that period, just before I drift off to sleep, when I stare up at the ceiling and wonder, wouldn’t it be better – for me, certainly, but also for everybody else – if I just, I don’t know, ran the car in the garage without opening the door first? When I just lie there, some part of my mind calls me a coward, tells me I’m too chicken-shit to actually kill myself. How pathetic.
Then the other part of my brain counters, no, that’s wrong. Life takes courage. It’s suicide that’s cowardly. Don’t you want to know how your story ends? Plus, imagine your family finding your body, or hearing that you had taken your own life. They’ll feel guilty, betrayed, abandoned. They could develop emotional issues of their own. They don’t deserve that, heaven knows.
I worry that one day things will seem bad enough that the first voice in my head will drown out the second. That I won’t stop to listen, and the car and the garage are so close. And that’s why, despite my fears, I know something must change, and soon. I need to find myself a therapist.
Because, let’s face it, I am mental illness. But I don’t have to be.
Editor’s notes: If you find yourself contemplating suicide or know that a loved one is doing so and without help at hand, the following resources might, quite literally, be a lifesaver:
- National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (US): 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
- For the deaf or hearing impaired: TTY by dialing 800-799-4889 or click here to chat with a counselor
- Materials and resources, including hotlines, state by state
- Coping with suicidal thoughts
- Developing a safety plan for when you have suicidal thoughts [PDF]
- When someone you love is having suicidal thoughts
Image via Wikimedia Commons.
Amazing post. And I so get it. And what’s even weirder? Feeling the stigma when you’re sitting in the psychologist/psychiatrist waiting room. It’s just the oddest, quietest, scariest kind of doctor’s office I have ever been in. All I know is thank goodness I have 2 kids and that I lost my mom when I was young, because making sure my kids don’t end up motherless got me through so really tough times. Good luck to Anonymous. And finding the right professional and the right medication really does make a big difference, even if it takes years of trying.
I was expecting something a little different (i.e., when you SHOULD know to see a therapist, not when you know you should but are denying it), but still, great post. For what it is worth, the stigma gets less and less over the years. It helps to talk about with your therapist. Sometimes it is really about something else, like your own fear of confronting your own issues and feelings, or the fact that you like some parts of being mentally ill, etc.
I love my therapist. She’s awesome and friendly and understanding and still tough when I’m being stupid. I saw a bunch of people before picking this one. Lucky for me I have a ton of friends who are crazies so we all bond over it. Share meds updates etc. My therapist even came to my graduation and I introduced her as my friend for hire. Really, that’s what she is. I like to think to myself that one day when I have a better sense of identity I won’t need to pay someone because I’ll have friends and I’ll know how to use them for the same perspective.
Friends rock.