The Struggles Of Wanting Help, But Not Knowing The Help You Need
Before I begin this written rant, I need to make a quick disclaimer: the title of this post sucks. It’s not catchy, it probably doesn’t make sense, but it is honest. Part of being a writer is having raw emotions that sometimes can’t be subdued by creativity…and this is one of those times.
Musical lyrics speak to me. They always have. While I love a good tune, a beautiful harmony, an acoustic jam, it’s the words that find their way into my ears and embed themselves into my very veins. I hear lyrics and can relate anything to those few simple words – my past experiences, my challenges, my feelings, my future desires. It’s a blessing and a curse. I can’t go to a concert without diving into a wave of nostalgia, and listening to my iTunes is enough for me to crumble into a ball of emotion.
That feeling came today, as I rode the metro home, when Rascal Flatts began playing through my headphones. The opening lyrics of “Why” immediately distracted me from the bustling people around me.
“You must have been in a place so dark, you couldn’t feel the light reaching for you through that stormy cloud.”
Bingo.
Rascal Flatts nailed it once again.
I fought back tears on the train, on my walk home, in the hallways of my apartment. I got to my room and lost it.
The power of words is funny, you know? Sometimes you don’t know what you’re feeling, where you’re at, until someone else’s words allow it to all make sense. As for me, I’ve been in a period of slight emotional and mental turmoil for quite some time now (and it makes me feel sane to know that I can admit this and be open about it). I never really denied what was happening… okay, let’s be real, I was definitely in denial in the beginning. But I assumed it was just a rough patch, and I kept telling myself that every rose has its thorns, it’s always darkest before the dawn, etc.
See, I always used to think the word “trauma” was solely associated with military warfare and/or Grey’s Anatomy. I was naïve and pretty clueless. I slowly realized trauma can happen to anyone, and it can be a variety of levels of severity. It can involve the military, or a hospital…but it can also include a family, or an event that happens in an instant that changes you forever. Trauma can be caused by someone else, or it can be completely internal. Whichever the case, you should never doubt someone’s situation when they say that they’re “traumatized” or “going through a trauma,” because you never really know the emotional battle they’re experiencing.
We all have our traumas, one way or another. Whether you choose to call it that or not, that’s your own business. For me, my traumas are a mix of memories and feelings associated with those memories/events that make me blind to reality. What I originally saw as a “rough patch” became exposed as a trauma the moment Rascal Flatts sang those lyrics to me.
Recently, I’ve been opening up about the fact that I need help – and I’m not talking a mental institution, a doctor, a therapist, medication. Side note: I love how that’s the first thing people on the outside will bring up to you, the moment you open up about your struggles and, likely, your sadness. Of course there’s nothing wrong with medicinal tactics, or chatting with an unbiased third party (heck, maybe those would help me), but when others bring that up to me, I immediately get defensive and slightly offended.
My issues with help lie in the fact that a) I know I need it, but b) I don’t know what I need. I’d like to think I need a combination of travel, friendship, Chipotle, and self-worth, but I really have no idea. Money comes into play, as well as that full-time job, the apartment lease, the unfair amounts of sodium/calories, and the criticisms that bring you lower than you were meant to go – when they were only intended to help.
Knowing you want help is when you’re so spastic, so desperate for something to change your life, even in the simplest way, that you don’t even know which direction to go. You look in the mirror and become terrified, because the person watching you is a stranger. You realize you’ve lost nearly every quirk that used to make you feel special, unique, important. You don’t feel like yourself, and it saddens you to know that you no longer have the drive to do the things you once loved. Of course, thinking about all of this makes you upset, and seeing that stranger cry and turn into a blurry silhouette of wrinkles and frowns makes you feel horrified and alone.
Wanting help that goes deeper than therapists and medicine AND trying to balance your responsibilities is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to experience. Wishing that I could roadtrip to the west coast right now…but oh, I have work tomorrow and commitments I can’t cancel. Wishing I could jetset off to Australia for a fresh start…but alas, I just signed a new lease and created my one-year goals at work. In case you’re wondering, my job is a combination of logistics and event planning, so you can only imagine the miniscule details I analyze about everything on a daily basis. I’m pretty sure it’s making me crazy.
Being in a period of turmoil where you know you need something, anything, to help ease the weight off your shoulders or give you hope, is extremely challenging – especially when you’re impatient, unhappy, and unsure of how much more you can take. It’s one of the most absurd feelings to try and explain to someone else, because no matter what they recommend, you always find a way to be a realist and shoot the idea down.
The most absurd part of it all is that while you may be living with a stranger in your mirror, you are also living a dual life. Sure, there are some people you can confide in and feel comfortable spilling the beans to (even if, see above paragraph, you shoo away any help they give). As for the rest of the world? They haven’t a clue. They know you’re going through some “stuff,” and that sometimes you have a “bad day,” but they will never know the full extent of it all – and it’s not their place to. You want so badly to break down and let everyone see your pity party, in hopes that they’ll back off and understand that you’re going through some “stuff” right now and can’t deal with much of anything else. But…that’s not the solution. Although it is indeed your life to live, life is not solely about you.
The biggest struggle of wanting help, is simply the fact that…it’s not that simple. The world is not going to come to a halt and begin a communal journey to find what is it that will make you feel yourself again. It’s also not fair to ask that of others, when they have their own traumas, “stuff,” “bad days” to handle.
So where do I go from here?, you might ask.
Honestly? I’m unsure. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.
I think the best kind of help for someone going through a mental/emotional trauma is, ironically, self-help. Doctors, friends, strangers – they won’t be able to tell you what you need.
I think it’s rooted in a single moment when you begin to recognize yourself again – whether it’s picking up that guitar, folding the corner of a new recipe, basking in the sunshine by the water, singing in the shower. No matter how tiny that moment is, it’s genuine and it’s honest. And while the moment may not last forever, it’s a reminder of who you used to be, and who you still are. Fill your days with little quirky bits of yourself, because one unique piece will soon lead to another – which will lead to two more – and eventually, you will be found.