Asking for help

...

Sigh.

Asking the internet for help, I know, is one of the biggest double-edged swords of this here, new-fangled and technologically advanced world of ours.

On one hand, I've seen some really intelligent and compassionate people come forward for others with advice on how to cope with everything from job problems, marital stress, mental illness and infertility. I've seen (read) bloggers weep sloppy tears of (e)joy over the outpouring of empathetic support they've received from their readers.

On the other hand, 'tis a world full of assvice out there. And even if most assvicers are well-meaning, there's a host of people behind them waiting to tear the questioning blogger in question a new asshole. These days, over a keyboard and through a monitor especially, it's easy to forget that - though the words appear on the screen with no face or voice behind them - they were typed, and thought, by a REAL, LIVE, PERSON. One who hurts, and bruises and does, occassionally, care about the things (mean or nice) that people say about her.

Be that as it may, I still find myself looking hopefully, albeit hesitantly also, toward the scary cyber-space out there in search of advice.

I love the people in my life. My "knitting circle," as it were, is small. I speak to 3 people on a regular basis, and all of them I love more than cheese. However, because of their proximity, emotionally and otherwise, to my life, they aren't the most objective bunch.

There is no more neutrality in my world. There is no one to whom I can speak to, reach to, to find guidance for issues that are consuming my life. To everyone involved, however peripherally, there is too much at stake to gain what I think would be an honest opinion.

I have the option to check myself into partial inpatient care next week. This would entail of two weeks of intense therapy and medication monitoring from 9AM to 3PM. I would use up my vacation time at work so a paycheck would still come. It would mean that I can finally enter the therapy that I know I so desperately need and have otherwise denied or been denied, and it would give the good doctors the ability to start more intensive rounds of medication, and actually be present to monitor the effects. A big, hopeful part of me believes that this could be the beginning of the end of feeling like this. I'm real, real tired of feeling like this.

I would like - nay! - I would LOVE to attribute my problems to the environment around me. My job can be stressful. My finances are tight, my family is struggling. My future goals and current needs are almost constantly at war with each other. These things are enough to stress anyone out, right? But for a few weeks, maybe months, I've had to begin to acknowledge that even these problems twice-over shouldn't make me feel the way I feel. Small. Broken. Lonely. Paranoid, alone, scared, and hopeless. Your regular Zoloft commercial.

Except, in the Zoloft commercial, the sad little ball rolling around is just that - sad. He's not suicidal. He's not hateful. He doesn't think his friends are colluding behind his back. He doesn't leave work for the specific intention of catching his boyfriend at home cheating on him. (I'm sorry, Nik.) He's just sad. You know, I think right now, I could deal with "just sad." It's the other things that scare me. At times, frequent times lately, I feel bursts of hatred for everyone around me, including the people I love. Outside of these moments, I know it's my illness. I know that paranoia and fear grip me and make me think things that I, Kate, the Real Kate, would never think. But inside those dark moments, I hate my family. I hate my friends. I blame them for my sickness. I feel an anger and fear so profound that I can't figure out what is directed towards myself, and what's directed towards the people around me. In the seconds of lucidity (if you can call it that) I have, if I have them, I am terrified that my mind and soul is breaking in half.

It used to be that I would have weeks of stability, and then a few bad days. During those days, thoughts of suicide would flit in and out of my conciousness, never solid, never tangible. Then, when winter set in and the days became shorter, so did those weeks. I could still count on at least a week between episodes, though. As December passed, along with the holidays, the "in between" times, the "good" time stopped altogether. Now, the "in between" times are not the presence of stability, they're just the absence of rage. The "in between" times are spent in fear of when the next breakdown will be. The "in between" times are just dark and colorless, as opposed to the violent, bright reds of the "episodes." Suicide is no longer as a passing thought. At best, at moments like these, it's a fear. At worst, it's an option.

Since early December, I have tried to rally my psyche, give it pep talks. "It's the winter, dude! Dark days make a dark girl! Seriously, just get to spring, and see where you are then."

And I was ok with this. Logic, and a desperate need for everything to work out without intervention, divine or otherwise, made me wonder and hope if sunnier days and cheerier air wouldn't pull me through again. Now, I wonder several times a day if I will make it until spring.

And so here we are. On eve of a major life choice. Don't get me wrong. I'm not afraid of psychiatric help. (Much.) Entering intensive treatment wouldn't be so difficult for me save for one little snag. My job.

If I enter this program, I have no choice but to face my boss tomorrow morning and tell him what is happening. My job doesn't know that I have a mental illness. I think I've done a relatively decent job thus far, considering the circumstances, of hiding it.

I know that under the provisions of the ADA and the FMLA, etc. etc. etc. that I can't be discriminated against because of a 'disability.' But discrimination, as I'm sure you know, comes in all forms. I've been granted leniency for some things in this job because I'm considered a valuable employee. What if, because of my illness, I'm no longer valuable? What if they use things such as late arrivals or internet use, things usually forgiven, as an excuse to boot my crazy ass out of the company? What then? I'm scared for my family.

Unfortunately, though, the situation has reached a level of severity that makes the question not "Can I compromise my family's well-being?" but "Which will compromise my family's well-being MORE?"

Because if I tell my company, and they find a reason to let me go - I compromise my family's financial security, precarious though it already is.

If I don't tell my company, and I don't get help, I am afraid I'm running the risk of compromising not only the well-being, but the safety of my family and myself.

I feel so wishy-washy. At times today my resolve has felt like steel. I am sick, I need help. Nothing and no one will get better until I get help. At others, I weaken under the scrutiny that I imagine is coming from others. Why can't I just do it myself? Why can't I just take the medicine and shut my mouth and get through it? Why am I so goddamn selfish? For what am I jeopardizing my family's income?

At what cost will either decision come? Is there a right choice? A wrong one? Is there any way to tell?

Comments

[Jenny]

I'm sad that you are in this difficult place! Your health has to come first - without it, your family, your job, everything - including you - can suffer. Sounds like the inpatient program would be a great option.

Please take care of yourself! I'll keep you in my thoughts.

[rachel]

you gotta take care of yourself before you can take care of your family.

[marni]

Jobs come and go -- your family and your health should be your primary responsibility.

Take care of yourself and let me know if I can do ANYTHING.

[leslie]

I don't know you, I'm here from the BlogHerAds blogroll, but my only assvice would be not to tell your company. Just quietly take emergency vacation time and take care of yourself. There is no law that says your employer has to know your private business. :) Hang in there.

[Michele]

I don't know you- came here from the smackdown, but I do understand what you are going through. (I am also glad to see that things are getting better.) The internet and blogging have helped me deal with my own mental illness and I've found some kindred spirits. My point is, if this helps, then do it. If it doesn't and you don't want to share, that's fine as well. But please never be afraid to ask for help. I'll keep you in my thoughts.

[merry]

Came here through Amalah, who I just started reading yesterday. I don't know you or what you're going through. Just want to say that I am not a stranger to depression as I suffer from it, and my mom has for years. Several years ago, she went to a partial inpatient program for several weeks, and it really, truly was a great thing. Hoping for the same for you.

[jessica]

I also found your post through the advice smackdown and this is the first time I have ever commented on a stranger's blog...because I feel that you need to hear it as many times as possible: go seek help. Your family is the most important thing and you need to get better not only for yourself, but for them. As for the job...you are not under any obligation to explain why you are taking your vacation time. Just tell them you're having a family emergency and be done with it. It's none of their business.

[Wide Lawns]

Go get help, don't tell your boss. It's no one's business what you do on your vacation time. You will be ok and I will try to write you funny stories to make you feel better. Good luck and email me to let me know when you come back so I can come and read your stories of great triumph. A few weeks ago Dooce wrote something about her time inpatient and how it was important to be under the care of doctors where they could monitor her medication every minute. Her husband also wrote a piece about mental illness and I found them both to be so profound and eloquent and beautifully written. You should read them if you haven't already. Take care. Lots of love.

[Kat]

It sounds like losing your job will be the least of your worries if you don't choose inpatient care. This may sound flippant but it's not meant in a flip way at all. This is an extreme situation and you need to take care of yourself.

[kr]

Please get the help you need and deserve, and think of yourself as a tresure -- a beautiful shiney piece of jewelery that is going in for a small repair. I wish you well, and hope you find that peace you so rightly deserve.