You may think yourself magnanimous in the ways you supported me over the years — but I protected you from my illness, I was very careful to never ask for too much, never lean too hard, to be cognizant of your limits…
When I was burglarized and being bullied at work and relapsed badly and began self-harming, you couldn’t sacrifice more than 30 minutes to see me, and only after fights and tears, and disappointment.
When I relapsed a year later, and thought my father’s home would be a safe space and he unfurled his insults and torture, I quietly endured it— as my therapist started explaining to me the hard truth for me to swallow – my family hurts me more than helps me.
When my boss who was making my life a living hell, let me go without any notice the Friday before thanksgiving, my biggest anxiety was not losing health insurance and my treatment, my income, finding a new job, it was the fear of telling my family, who I anticipated would blame me for the situation, I feared their anger – what did you do to make this happen?
My therapist begged me not to lean on my family, don’t stay with them, it’s not good for you – but I said they need an easy pragmatic way to help me, because they don’t offer emotional support, I must let them feel like they help in the easiest way possible for them. My mom never stops reminding me that my pain causes her pain, that I am the only source of pain in her life. I was ashamed by my loss of employment, I internalized shame my money-minded family had for my loss of income — so any other solution of trying to stay on my own, spending money I didn’t have, seemed more shameful.
I hid myself in the basement, I hid my depression, I hid my self harm, trying my best to help with child care and make myself as invisible as possible.
When my new psychiatrist told me he would call the police on me unless I called a family member to pick me up to check me into the hospital, I was more worried about how mad you’d be to have to drive to pick me up and begged him to let me go on my own, to please let me go… I was not suicidal I protested, please don’t make me reveal my pain to my family, they’ll be angry.
When after 5 days in an out-patient program, me and my providers agreed it was beneficial for me to stay another 5 days – the true minimum requirement, I lied and said they were forcing me to stay again and wouldn’t approve my release. I couldn’t reveal how bad I was, that I actually needed the treatment. I didn’t want you to be angry at me for being sick, angry I was out of work, angry i was jeopardizing another job.
I lied, I lied about going to therapy, I lied about taking medication, because I learned telling the truth would lead to admonishments – mom telling me the medicine was the real culprit of the pain and asking me over and over to stop taking it, father telling me yoga was a better use of money than therapy.
I only inched towards being more honest, when I felt safe enough to ignore or withstand any potential backlash.
When I got really suicidal, when I spent over a month planning my suicide and a group of my friends kept me on suicide watch, didn’t let me out of their sight, — and the family was dealing with your illness, a real physical illness, I stayed silent, I didn’t utter a peep. My friends took care of me, they checked me in the hospital, they are the ones who I listed as my emergency contact, they called you because I couldn’t handle the potential backlash. When we had a family session in the hospital, you and mom put on a great performance trying to convince the doctors, that you were ready and willing to help and you wished I had just said something earlier. It was my fault for staying silent. Mom was the real victim in this situation after all. After 10 days of in-patient care, I took a taxi home and I took care of myself.
After I was discharged, when I came over to try to help and offer my support in your recovery, I tried to speak authentically of my suicidal moment, saying that it was thoughts of my nephew that kept me alive and it wasn’t the traditional thought of hurting my own mother, someone who has been a source of so much pain for me. You decided that this was a good opportunity to scream at me, to scream at me, that I was wrong to not feel the love of my parents, that I was illogical, demanding to know why my therapist wasn’t working hard enough to to fix me – to teach me how to properly exercise logic. The two of you hovered over me as I curled into a ball in a fetal position and wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t back down, when I said my illness makes me emotional… and begged you to stop b/c it hurt, it hurt. It hurt so bad I stole your oxycontin to try to numb the pain.
And the next day when you triggered me with your words, when you got angry and I lied in a room and cried for hours upon hours, you didn’t apologize or offer any support – a cup of tea or hug, didn’t acknowledge the articles I tried to send you about my illness, you just let me cry, feeling justified that you had done nothing wrong and my reaction was out of line. My 3 year old niece offered me a balloon and stuffed animal, more aware of how to show loving support to someone in pain.
When I got into another bad work situation, and a boss was coming after me, and I spent 7 days locked in my house, not showering, not eating, and mounting a defense without the help of anyone in my life, advocating for myself even as I was in excruciating pain, I told you nothing. For the next six months, I was fighting, I was on medical leave, I was having manic episodes in reaction to my medication, I was navigating the terrain at work even after getting my boss out…. I didn’t tell you a thing. I came and spent time with your daughters to heal myself without ever uttering a word of what was going on in my life. It was too risky, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for a backlash.
Only, after I wasn’t getting better, only after me and my friends spent hours desperately trying to find another day program, and there wasn’t a single one in the city I lived in that would let me in, and after my doctor told me to check in to a hospital ten minutes from you, only after it was the last resort – did one of my friends, call you, b/c I was too scared, to see if you’d be okay with me staying with you to go to the hospital. I was trying to protect you at all costs, even as I descended into a worse state. I left the day after the program ended, knowing not to overstay my welcome.
I thought things had improved. I thought after taking care of everything on my own for so long, I could be honest, I could ask for the help directly, straightforward. My friend asked, are you sure you don’t want me to call her? are you sure you don’t want me to be on a call? I said no. Things had changed.
You didn’t even have the courage to just say no. You brought in a team so you could ambush me and yell at me and make me feel like it was all my fault, you needed backing to justify your inability to help, you told me that you’ve helped me so many times in the past, but this time the risk is too high, you can’t be as magnanimous as you had been before. You can’t sacrifice your own life, and harm your children to save me.
How stupid could I have been to even ask. I should have never asked for something you would have never agreed to. I should have protected you like I’ve always had. I should have known that help, is only what is given when there’s no risk or cost or anything to lose.
And because I didn’t protect you, I failed to protect myself, because you two unleashed the anger, you did exactly what you had done five years prior, yelling at me, for not exercising the logic you possess as to how to resolve my issues, to consider a long-term solution. You offered infeasible solutions and claim that you’ve done research when a 2 minute google search would show that it wouldn’t work, you try to tell me to do things that are things I alone have done and figure out my whole life, like securing employment and housing and understanding immigration controls. Under the pretense of offering help, you shoved my own responsibilities back on me -making it seem like I had somehow been neglectful because I dared to ask for help.
You unleashed your anger, and you yelled, and my trauma was triggered and all I’ve been able to do in response to is to start planning again, obsessed with the right method to tie a noose, obsessed with the right lethal combination for poison — slicing my arm in to pieces, unable to eat, unable to move.
I protected you. I protected you to also protect myself, and now I don’t know how I go back. I don’t know how I keep up the charade of making my family feel like they love and care for me, when I know they don’t – when they tell me to lean on my friends, friends with their own families and lives and same risks, or to lean on my abusive parents who threaten my well-being over and over again, who have called me a bloody bitch and screamed at me that I am a bad person and my depression is inconsiderate to their feelings, or that they’re going to call the police to report that I’m abusing them.
Maybe I’ve lost all perspective. And of course I hear your voices, all of you, telling me that I’m to blame, that I expect too much, that life is hard, and that I just have to come to terms with it. That I’m too dumb, and deaf, irrational, rude, and awful to see and feel and acknowledge your love.
Inside My Madness 