I know I was going to write about dissociative disorders this week, but I can’t do it…not yet. Because, I felt that you should know that I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for awhile, and I can’t keep pretending to be okay. I’ve somehow unearthed a mountain of shit, and it just keeps getting bigger. I’ve been trying to ride the waves of a long, major depressive episode, and I can’t do it alone anymore…I’ve determined I need a “bigger boat”. Yes, folks, I’m quoting Jaws here.
I’ve got a giant shark that is depression staring me in the face, the waves are choppy, and I have voices in my head telling me that it would be a better idea to cease to exist than to deal with all of this…to deal with life, and depression, and the mountain of shit. I know I’m mixing metaphors all over the place, and I wish I could articulate my thoughts better right now. But, the bottom line is I’m not okay and I need more help than I’m currently getting. I need more help than seeing my psychiatrist and therapist on a weekly basis. I need to go back into the outpatient treatment program, where I can be monitored every day. And, hopefully, by the time you read this, I’ll be going through the necessary steps to make that happen.
Both my psychiatrist and therapist recommended that I go back into the program a little while ago, but I didn’t want to do it at first. I wasn’t sure if I could take another leave of absence, how much it’s going to cost me, and [insert a bunch of other excuses]. But, I have to put my health first. My life is on the line here, and I need to do what I can to save it. It may mean that I have to make some financial sacrifices but, I acknowledge that, in this moment, I have the privilege to be able to choose to make those sacrifices, and so I am grateful that I have that choice.
And, I am grateful that there is a bigger boat. So, I’m climbing aboard. Even with the voices in my head, I have hope that I’ll be okay. I have hope that this treatment program will help me, and I’ll be able to get through this. I’m not okay now, but I have hope that I will be. I have hope that I will be functional—and able to take care of myself and others —soon. I have hope that I will be well again.
And, if you’re sitting there wishing there was something you could do to help, there is, and I’m going to ask for it, even if it sounds greedy right now. I need casseroles or meals for the days when I can’t bring myself to make anything for dinner. I need cards, or cookies, or whatever you’re willing to send me to remind me that there are people out there who care about me. I need texts, emails, phone calls, to help cheer me up. I need gifs of cute baby animals, or ridiculous things, so I have something that will distract me from all of the pain I feel. But mostly, I need your love, I need your support, I need to know that you’re still there, even though I feel like garbage right now. I’m climbing aboard a bigger boat, and I need to know that you’re still with me. I need to know that I'm not alone.