For the Catalyst

I’m sitting here falling apart again, desperately trying to stop the tears. Clinging to the spreadsheets on my screen & begging them to help me stop the chaos. The numbers & products just dance in an unfocused blur. I’m here because I don’t have to focus. I just have to let the words go. Forgive me if this gets messy but I’m using OD to keep myself together once again.

A few minutes ago, with trembling fingers I finally called & made an appointment with the mental health department. I’ve never done that before. I don’t have faith in the industry. It’s my last hope really. If something doesn’t help me fix my head soon, I don’t think I’ll be here for much longer. I apologize to anyone who has been helped by medication & psychiatry. I lost my faith as a young girl.

There was a counselor who worked for the city I grew up in. He pretended to care. He pretended to be sympathetic to all of us troubled youth. He also paid to help all us young, cute girls go to all the city functions especially the overnight trips. He never did anything prosecutable, not with me anyway. I just happen to know a pervert when I deal with one. I had to learn how to spot em, or I’d be in a lot of trouble with the late night drunks that stayed over after the parties at my house. As the grown-up woman I am currently, I am hoping with every fiber in my being that he was just a sick man. I am hoping that there are truly people out there who will listen & try to help because of genuine concern & a respect for their profession. The appointment is made regardless but I have always doubted that anyone in that capacity can overcome my mistrust of the profession. If I go in to this with this mind frame how could it possibly be of any help?

I just can’t do this anymore. I need help. My usual techniques & mental strength are crumbling one by one. It keeps getting worse each time. Is this old age? Has the gray matter in my skull already started to spoil? I’ve been telling myself for so long that things will get better. I go to sleep every night telling myself that it will all look better in the light of day. I fool myself & charge into life when the sun comes up because it’s what I do. I put one foot in front of the other, ignoring all the pain & the chaos because I got too much shit to do. Then, on days like this the pain doubles over with fresh wounds & I can’t seem to focus on the shit that needs to be done. Days like today, when my husband calls me at work so that we can fight about my . . . our son it all becomes too much to absorb. The sponge is full to capacity, no more pain can be taken in. It all leaks out, leaving a bloody mess on everything.

The ugliness of feeling like I’m being forced to choose between the both of them weighs down far too heavy. It’s all so heavy that I can no longer breathe. The shaking starts in my hands, then the trembling starts in my stomach. After that, there’s no stopping the eruption. I called the mental health department, after calling member services to check my coverage. I had hoped that trying to be proactive would calm the oncoming panic attack. Instead, I started crying as I was talking to the appointment operator. I wonder if every caller gets an appointment for the very next morning. I laughed despite the oncoming tears at the mechanical voice that answered the phone when she told me "If you are having a psychiatric or medical emergency, please hang-up & call 9-1-1". I thought about it for a few seconds. Should I call 9-1-1? I’m not sitting here with a razor in my hands or a stomach full of pain meds so I don’t think so but I can’t seem to stop crying & it’s making breathing nearly impossible. That is probably much too morbid to be funny to anyone but me.

Tomorrow at 730a I will finally let a professional try to help me. I will gather my most open-minded self & try to put a little faith in something I’ve never been able to believe in before. I really just don’t know where else to turn. My husband is furious with the idea. He doesn’t trust pharmaceutical companies, prescription medications are poison. He only believes in self-medicating with natural medications, ounces & ounces, pipeful after pipeful, his ever faithful herb fixes everything. I’m just "weird" because I don’t like the stuff. I’m "far too uptight" & that’s why I’m so fucked up in the head.

When I called him after making my appointment, I was still having trouble keeping it together. I told him what I had done & what I will be doing tomorrow. I was still hiccupping & telling him that I couldn’t talk about it right at that moment because I was desperately trying to reign it all back in so I could get back to work. I just needed him to know what I had decided to do. Before the recent walking out on him fiasco, he would’ve completely forbid me to do this but I got a bit more control over me from that fight. Instead of forbidding me, his reaction was to accuse me of "having extracurricular activities". Seriously?! Are you fucking kidding me? I’m emotionally falling apart, making an appointment to help me keep my sanity & you’re worried that I’m off fucking someone. That’s your main concern? Yeah, that just pushed me right back to complete overload.

Thanks again, OD for being here when I really needed you to be. My hands are more stable, the computer has come back into focus, & my eyes are finally dry. I’m gonna go get distracted by what these people pay me for now. To anyone who is still reading, be well. That’s all I’m trying to be, is well.