Asking For Help

Being ‘mad’ creates many problems, obviously. Possibly the one that gripes me the most happens when people don’t take me seriously. Ok, so I’m a fully-fledged certified ‘mental patient’ – it doesn’t necessarily follow that you can’t take what I say as read OR that the only way you’ll get any sense out of me is to ‘read between the lines’. Admittedly, when my psychosis is in full flow you probably won’t get most of what I’m rabbitting on about (even if it makes real sense if you know me, my history and my experiences). However, one thing I generally am quite sure on is my own limits and when I’m fast approaching them. If I ask for help – you can pretty much be sure that I really do need it.

I’m not seeking attention, falling into familiar crisis behaviours or any other of that psycho-twaddle that tends to fly about. I’m not testing the boundaries (been there, done that) and I’m not ‘playing a game’. I’m in pain. I’m in need. I want your help, and by asking you for it I am beginning to help myself.

In my psychiatric ‘career’ I’ve been told time and time again to let people in and to get assistance before things get totally out of hand (instead of being given it post A&E, for example). The problem is that back then I felt both unworthy of help and unhelpable. I figured that if I couldn’t save me, no one could. There was also a bit of shame and embarrassment lurking around – a whole mix of emotions, actually. I was also afraid. I was afraid of people seeing me as a fake – an attention seeker. Underneath it was the thought that I wasn’t depressed at all – just a selfish, manipulative bitch who was to weak to just get on with it. Me? Hard on myself? Apparently I used to be a perfectionist!!

Despite my own misgivings I became more acquainted with myself, and with my illness, as time went on. I can usually tell, now, when I’m heading for a downer. I also have honed my early warning systems in the areas of becoming ‘high’ and/or ‘psychotic’ (although these are a little more shaky). Sometimes I leave getting help till the last minute as I’m still loath to admit I’m not handling things – but at least I ask for it eventually.

The problem? It seems that (in my experience, anyway) if I ask for help it is interpreted that I don’t really need it that urgently. It goes something like this – if I was truly in desperate need (suicidal, or just very ‘ill’) I wouldn’t sitting there asking for some intervention. I would be to ‘down’ to care or too set on self-destruct to tell anyone about it. Not that all professionals take this view, thankfully, but I still run into it far too often. Body-slamming brick walls doesn’t exactly fill me with the warm and fuzzies. I’m getting used to it though, x number of years in the mental health system has given me plenty of practice.

This all adds up to the nasty idea that the way to get help is to go completely off the rails, resist the urge to help myself and wait dutifully to be rescued. Of course the rescuing would probably entail sectioning, medication and a lengthy stay in a psychiatric unit … but hey. This is most definitely not what I’m after, and I’m pretty sure it’s not what the ‘professionals’ want either.

I don’t want much, really. I don’t want massive wealth, immortality or world domination (though the last one sounds interesting!?!).

I just want to be safe in the knowledge that when I ask for help I’ll get it.

Rachel Waddingham © 2003