Needing people is horrible.
Wouldn’t it be nicer if we didn’t? I’d love to occupy that sacred space of the successfully neuro-typical. I think few of us actually breeze through life without depending on somebody sometime, but I reckon you’re a bit closer to that breezy feeling without a brain that doesn’t work the way everyone says it is supposed to.
I’ve had a really rough week at work. I’ve a history of abuse from a couple of sources, which has left me with a bit of the ol’ PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). While it seems like I have the things trendy to have, these days – bipolar, ptsd, anxiety disorder – they’re still really real. Most of the time, I can ignore them.
But not this week. I’ve been dealing with some gross chronic pain stuff and I’ve had a lot of triggers (things that cause my body to react and often ‘remember’ and ‘relive’ the feelings felt both physically and emotionally when experiencing abuse). The result has been panic attacks and a very strong fight or flight response. When you’ve got a line of customers banking up 20 strong, that’s not ideal. There’s no time for it. Having a full blown anxiety attack while smiling through gritted teeth and asking “cheque or credit?” is some kind of perverse exercise in will.
I get to a point when I’m having a rough week where I feel like pretty soon I’ll fail to cope. That’s when I start to feel like I need to ask for help. I reckon chucking up in the staff loo while having a good ol’ sob is a decent indication that I might need some gentle words and support.
But when you’re having a rough week, how do you ask for that aid? I often find it difficult to ask people to give me a little leeway when I’m not in the best space, and I don’t know quite how to go about asking for some kind words and a little love without seeming needy or weak, or feeling needy and weak. I usually write about it in places like this, obscurely, in some effort to turn my discomfort into a useful tool. But I am very ashamed of my sadnesses. Deeply. I feel like my fright and mental hand wringing lessens me, and asking for comfort is asking for indulgence.
I guess the problem too with all this mental health stuff is – in the end, everyone goes away, and you have to somehow find a way to feel ok alone in your bed, with no help. All the rest is trimming.
I guess the trimming just makes the bedtime easier though. That’s not such a bad thing is it? Lord knows, the bedtime is hard enough. If we have to be left to the silent halls of our heads, let the last sounds be the words of a loving friend, not the pitch and fall of a shrieking problem.