When I first hear it I think of helping others. This is a good connotation. I mean seeing others actively helping other people is what makes me have renewed faith in the human race. There's also the closely related word "helpful" which can sometimes make people upset... by using it sarcastically and tacking an "un" onto the front of the word... but that's okay too... because usually the intent is good...
Then we have the true flip side of the word "help"... also known as asking for help. it is then that my reaction to the word drastically changes. I start to get a knot in my stomach... and get uncomfortable... and clearly I was already uncomfortable if the thought of asking for help was going through my mind.
The past couple of weeks I've been a wreck. I keep on typing that and erasing it... hitting the "delete" key on my Macbook's keyboard with a vengeance (as if the keyboard had done something to me, other than allow me to type that word in the first place)... but it's true. I've been battling demons I haven't dealt with in years it feels like... Reopening old wounds figuratively (and otherwise)... and having an emotional breakdown...
It's been awhile since it's happened to this degree... but I decided to try something different this time. Instead of communicating with my therapist after these things occurred I attempted to ask Laura for help before/during the periods of time when I was the most vulnerable... Sunday night I texted her and it was rough... cue instant panic after hitting the "send" key on my phone knowing that text had just went off into air space and could not be retracted. Knowing that she would be a firsthand witness to what I perceived as dramatics and weakness... a massive meltdown.
I didn't wind up continuing communication that night after a few texts... in fact, I vowed to end communication altogether. I ignored the check-in call time.. and subsequent texts the following week... I wound up feeling bad about this and finally returned her call.. and you know what? the second time I tried what I had Sunday night... it was slightly easier. I am thankful for her patience with me and her willingness to do coaching by texts rather than by phone... and am thankful for the feeling that maybe it does matter. maybe. that last point started the process of me thinking that while asking for help can be hard. sometimes it's necessary.
This point was cemented yesterday. I was sitting in my Sociology of Minorities class... taking my blue book exam - trying to recall minute details from Cosmopolitan Canopy and Getting Played. Trying to recall what the "playa ethos" was... why it's hard to be a girlfriend and how one obtains that status in a marginalized community... etc. It was a rough exam (it's a cross-listed graduate level course)... "Pick 7 of these 9 prompts to write on. For each prompt try to use as many of the ideas and themes from the bulleted list as possible" and the bulleted lists would then be "a-h"... erm?? oh and finish this test in 75 minutes.
about 30-45 minutes into the test a girl in the class had a medical emergency. Medics had to be called and beyond making me leary of ever having a medical emergency on campus (it took the medics about 20 minutes to show up) it shook me up. Incredibly. All I could think about as this was going on was how she probably had no idea she would wind up leaving the classroom on a stretcher after having what the medics deemed a heart attack.
It shook me to the core because it made me realize that could be me... almost that that should be me... I mean I am putting myself in a compromised position... a position that continues to become more compromised with each behavior I engage in. I've said it before... but I need to say it again, if only for my own benefit. There will come a point when your body says it's had enough. You don't know when this point will be. Eventually it turns into a game of Russian Roulette. Only it's your life at stake. Are you going to ask for help... or keep playing the game... that gets more and more risky as time goes on?
That night I wound up texting her in the midst of doing something dangerous. I wound up not continuing doing what I was... she had me draw a picture of my house (I have a feeling she knew my attention to detail would cause me to be occupied with that for awhile) and get rid of some of the things in my house that were contributing to the behaviors... Anyhoo, I think it's finally registered to me... that sometimes you've got to ask for help... in the moment. And that is okay. I'm not a superhero. I'm human. Besides... even Wonder Woman needed a cape... so text it. type it. scream it. whatever it takes to you know... get it... and of course be thankful.
(circa July 2011- Going through all my stuff prior to moving to my new house, besides finding Narnia in my closet I found this as well)
oh and because he's what made me want to watch baseball after seeing him play way back in 2009... I feel like I need to say <3 you Freese!
OTHER PHOTO CREDIT :: typewriter :: pinterest