![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Obviously, Captain
Feb. 1st, 2025 02:00 pmI need help. I KNOW I need help. LOTS of help. Do you want the list alphabetically? Chronologically from when I first identified or asked? by order of importance or overall financial expense?
Historically, asking for help has not gone well. Asked for help with my flowerbeds once, only for the helpers to show up to take me to dinner, after which it was too dark to do anything outside. "oh, ha ha, sorry, we were hungry and wanted to treat you" was the wildly troubling response. Other requests were met with "oh, well, first we must take this trip, and then that trip, and see these people and then those, and how does the second Tuesday of never work for you?" My failure to pair-bond and spawn held against me with the most saccharine smile.
Asking friends for help at my rock-bottom lowest also backfired. I was in constant, unmanaged pain, my house was a wreck, but I was too [whatever the words are] to articulate what I needed. So the day was spent with a few friends helping with what ended up being mostly cosmetic things: removing wallpaper border from bathrooms, moving some other things around. one friend (since dropped) chastised me for my request not being "serious" enough, that she had given up a day with her husband & family for this, and how dare I ..... The entire day I was a hair's breadth away from losing my shit, having put myself out there so far to even ASK, then to be met with this.
I'm not sure I've asked for help from friends since. A single friend, maybe, if I'd keep an eye on her littles, her assistance also providing an escape from the confines of her house in the dead of winter.
more recently, friends have helped, in the form of readying my house for a roommate, moving and building furniture, appliances, hauling unwanted things off. Their kindness given freely, readily, if only I know what I want.
Since The Wreck (always capitalized, and usually assumed that others know what I mean, five years on), very few people have been to my house, tapering off as I got better and then the arrival of Covid restrictions. D has been the only one to see the horror of what it has become, The opening scenes of a Bravo TV Series. Those issues are fueled and compounded by the mental and physical issues, and the growing disconnect from reality. I am too embarrassed to list the things that need to be dealt with, but the cat tree in the corner might give you an idea.
Meds are off. I know they are. Or they're insufficient, or just plain wrong for what my grey matter needs right now. manic manic manic and oh, yes, manic. can't be depressed if you can't slow down long enough to wallow in it. the physical effects are starting to show, and the financial ramifications are blindingly clear week after week when I get the e-notices from my bank.
A friend recently told me the tale of her now-adult (how?!) daughter's "grippy socks vacation" and how it came about. my unspoken, knee-jerk, response was "oh, how lovely to have the freedom to spend two+ months focusing on mental health!". There's been half a dozen times this year alone that I wanted to scream "UNCLE!" and do whatever it takes to get whatever help I need, but then I look at my calendar, and realize "nope, that's not a good time for me." Hotels are non-refundable, and the trips are too tied to my happiness, that missing seeing my friends might do more damage than just letting this all go unchecked. I find myself getting hopeful over ND (among others), and then pull back, knowing I have no right to foist this level of crazy on him, especially without his express consent.
Driving down here, I cried no fewer than six times. Three for sure on the first leg, and at least on the second leg, believing for sure that Show #1 would add to the count. Last night it snuck up on me, pain being the catalyst, along with a jolt of nostalgia of seeing Darren, Holden remembering me, that full-circle moment of this journey. Today, I'm mostly OK, but starting to tense up knowing that tomorrow I must head home.
Am I delusional? perhaps. Am I separating realities in a possibly unhealthy way? signs point to yes. will I get to the point that my reality, and actual reality, become a Venn Diagram of two circles on opposite sides of a chart?
Historically, asking for help has not gone well. Asked for help with my flowerbeds once, only for the helpers to show up to take me to dinner, after which it was too dark to do anything outside. "oh, ha ha, sorry, we were hungry and wanted to treat you" was the wildly troubling response. Other requests were met with "oh, well, first we must take this trip, and then that trip, and see these people and then those, and how does the second Tuesday of never work for you?" My failure to pair-bond and spawn held against me with the most saccharine smile.
Asking friends for help at my rock-bottom lowest also backfired. I was in constant, unmanaged pain, my house was a wreck, but I was too [whatever the words are] to articulate what I needed. So the day was spent with a few friends helping with what ended up being mostly cosmetic things: removing wallpaper border from bathrooms, moving some other things around. one friend (since dropped) chastised me for my request not being "serious" enough, that she had given up a day with her husband & family for this, and how dare I ..... The entire day I was a hair's breadth away from losing my shit, having put myself out there so far to even ASK, then to be met with this.
I'm not sure I've asked for help from friends since. A single friend, maybe, if I'd keep an eye on her littles, her assistance also providing an escape from the confines of her house in the dead of winter.
more recently, friends have helped, in the form of readying my house for a roommate, moving and building furniture, appliances, hauling unwanted things off. Their kindness given freely, readily, if only I know what I want.
Since The Wreck (always capitalized, and usually assumed that others know what I mean, five years on), very few people have been to my house, tapering off as I got better and then the arrival of Covid restrictions. D has been the only one to see the horror of what it has become, The opening scenes of a Bravo TV Series. Those issues are fueled and compounded by the mental and physical issues, and the growing disconnect from reality. I am too embarrassed to list the things that need to be dealt with, but the cat tree in the corner might give you an idea.
Meds are off. I know they are. Or they're insufficient, or just plain wrong for what my grey matter needs right now. manic manic manic and oh, yes, manic. can't be depressed if you can't slow down long enough to wallow in it. the physical effects are starting to show, and the financial ramifications are blindingly clear week after week when I get the e-notices from my bank.
A friend recently told me the tale of her now-adult (how?!) daughter's "grippy socks vacation" and how it came about. my unspoken, knee-jerk, response was "oh, how lovely to have the freedom to spend two+ months focusing on mental health!". There's been half a dozen times this year alone that I wanted to scream "UNCLE!" and do whatever it takes to get whatever help I need, but then I look at my calendar, and realize "nope, that's not a good time for me." Hotels are non-refundable, and the trips are too tied to my happiness, that missing seeing my friends might do more damage than just letting this all go unchecked. I find myself getting hopeful over ND (among others), and then pull back, knowing I have no right to foist this level of crazy on him, especially without his express consent.
Driving down here, I cried no fewer than six times. Three for sure on the first leg, and at least on the second leg, believing for sure that Show #1 would add to the count. Last night it snuck up on me, pain being the catalyst, along with a jolt of nostalgia of seeing Darren, Holden remembering me, that full-circle moment of this journey. Today, I'm mostly OK, but starting to tense up knowing that tomorrow I must head home.
Am I delusional? perhaps. Am I separating realities in a possibly unhealthy way? signs point to yes. will I get to the point that my reality, and actual reality, become a Venn Diagram of two circles on opposite sides of a chart?
