Less Human, More Crisis

CONTENT WARNING: mention of depression and minor suggestion of suicide

I love a good Netflix comedy special, I love a good chuckle. But never have I been compelled to go back to therapy from watching one before. Taylor Tomlinson released a Netflix special, Look at You, where she spoke candidly about her own mental health issues and experiences. But I want to share one of her bits that really stood out to me:

“Being bipolar is like not knowing how to swim. It might be embarrassing to tell people and it might be hard to take you certain places. But they have arm floaties. And if you just take your arm floaties, you can go wherever the hell you want. And… I know some of you are, like, ‘But Taylor, what if people judge me for taking arm floaties?’ Well, those people don’t care if you live or die, so maybe who cares? Maybe fuck those people a little. I don’t know. That being said, you have to take your arm floaties because it’s not cool to know you can’t swim, go to the public pool anyway, and jump into the deep end, making it everyone else’s problem.”

“Making it everyone else’s problem.” That hit me. It made me ask myself, was my refusal to do the work to get better causing issues for other people? The answer was, unfortunately, yes. Is it a bit sad that I couldn’t bring myself to return to therapy simply for my own good and I had to wait until I came to the realization that it may be hurting other people before I did anything about it? Also unfortunately yes. But hey, it got me back to where I needed to be.

I wish I could have started therapy again simply for myself. I wish that had been enough. But at least I can thank my people-pleasing tendencies for something, right? It’s been a couple of months now since I’ve started therapy–since I’ve entered into my healing era if you will–and I’m just thankful that I got here, regardless of my motives. When my therapist asked me what brought me back to therapy, I told her that I felt like a sinking ship–one that had passengers that I care far too much about to let drown with me.

“And I don’t think anybody should feel bad if they get diagnosed with a mental illness ’cause it’s just information about you that helps you know how to take better care of yourself.” —Taylor Tomlinson

Photo by Matt Hardy

“It’s just one crisis after another with you,” someone said to me with frustration the other day. In other words, I was coming off as a series of crises. It’s what I’ve had repeating in my head since that was said to me, at least. God that hurt to hear. In a period of my life where I can truly say that I am trying my best, to be told that I was still lighting fires everywhere I went, cut deep. I know my best isn’t enough right now, but doesn’t it count for something?

I’ve always struggled to voice when I was in a season of depression. I’ve never had it negatively affect so many areas of my life at once until this past year, though. In the past, from where I stood, I was always good at preventing it from leaking too deeply into my work, social, or love life. Recently though, it’s been flooding it all–tainting it all. So now, I’m waving the warning flag: I am a series of crises. Jump ship while you still can.

Because of course, I’m just a series of crises right now. I’m depressed.

Every small fire turns into an inferno. I’m dry flint, ready to burn fast and quickly at the first sign of a spark.

Every shallow cut is turning into a gaping wound because nothing has had time to heal before infection could set in.

Every small wave transforms into a tsunami before I get a chance to realize the water is even moving. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I am a sinking ship–I’m not ready to withstand any storms.

I don’t want to make my depression anyone else's problem–and I’m working on it. But for now, I may have to accept that I can’t contain it. I can’t ball it up and tuck it away. Maybe I need to feel it. I don’t want there to be casualties because of me, but I also don’t want to become a casualty.

Healing is long, slow, and ugly. Just when I think I'm coming out the other side of it, I’m dumped back into the thick of it all. I was expecting things to be looking up by now, but what I have found is inconsistency. But then again, maybe I’m trying to rush the process.

Maybe healing, for me, means being a bit more selfish. Maybe, with as much kindness and respect as I can muster, healing needs to look like making sure I’m taking care of my own wounds instead of worrying about not hurting others. There’s a balance there, I’m sure. Too bad I’ve always been so all-or-nothing.

“If you desire healing,

let yourself fall ill

let yourself fall ill.” ― Rumi