Snarkeling

Just beneath the surface of normal


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When Your Mental Health Crisis Doesn’t Fel Crisis-y Enough

I have a couple of half-written posts that I’m struggling with because I’ve been going over an emotional cliff in slow motion for a couple of weeks now. Yesterday I went over the edge- which is basically a good thing, but sucks balls while it’s happening.

I forced myself out of bed with this song:

to drag myself into my miserable job and try to hold it together another day, while I thought things like how much nicer it would be to be dead than to continue dying slowly in this place, and then tried to keep that line of thinking as controlled and non-specific as I could. About an hour in, someone pulled the panic alarm in the bathroom, where it went off for 10 more minutes. That was the straw was too much for my already camel-laden nerves. Tears came, and wouldn’t stop, so I had to go home. Not sobbing or ugly crying or anything, just leaking from the eyes and nothing I could do about it. So I grabbed a tissue and walked the long way around campus and took the train home, wishing I’d taken more than one tissue as the one I was holding got soggier and more full of eye makeup.

Jim came and got me, and I sobbed in the car a little bit, then took a whole Ativan and went to sleep. I woke up last night feeling hollowed out and still on the edge of tears despite a long walk in the sunshine, and so I called out sick today because this is the mental health equivalent of a cluster migraine, or possibly a TIA.

I spent this morning trying to find a new psychiatrist, because my last one moved away and I just let my primary keep renewing my prescriptions for the past 18 months or however long it’s been because I seriously can’t keep up with time anymore. Over the course of two hours of searching and calling, most weren’t taking new patients, some didn’t take insurance, and some were just incredibly impatient with me.

I went online to request a referral, but I had to name the unit to complete the request – and all of this is so fucking much to cope with when you’re about 80% of the way to catatonic. So I went to the website of the hospital network to look up what to call their behavioral health practice, when I came across a crisis number. I called it and they referred me to a place nearby that does walk-in intervention for people who aren’t at the planning point of suicidal (if you’re starting to plan, just call 911). I see my therapist in half an hour, after which I will go to my calculus class because I’m afraid of missing any more and there’s an exam next week and I need to improve my grade to pass, and then I will go get walk-in help before I get any worse. I’m afraid of being hospitalized, but I feel sort of safe that they’ll be able to determine if that’s the right thing, and it isn’t up to me to try to assess myself and navigate this on my own.

So I guess I’m writing this to say that nervous breakdowns are going to happen when you’re being treated for depression, anxiety, and PTSD and have been in a shitty situation for a really long time, and that if everything seems hopeless and inescapable and you’re having vague thoughts about dying but you’re sure that you wouldn’t follow through, you should still contact a crisis hotline right away – even if you’re not an immediate danger to yourself. They can do all the rational thinking bits and help you find the resources you need so that you can find a way through and get away from those intrusive thoughts.

Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

If you can’t bring yourself to talk, there is also an online chat option.

 

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