Forced Stop (6.18.06)

Several weeks ago I was forced to stop. Stop everything. I simply climbed into my sweats and hoodie and remain there for the days that followed. Somewhere in my agony the only cry I could make was crushing, “Fuck.” It wasn’t pretty but in my clouded mind that was about the only thing that could come close to a prayer.
The weeks that lead up that moment didn’t seem to out of the norm. Things were as they were. I was trying to doing my careful (sometimes careless) balance of working and pursuing my degree, along with trying to reenter the church and maintain relationships. Somehow I was able to do it, but as weeks progressed the battle got harder. It was as if the depression was winning, and I was being suffocated in the process. I grew hopeless. My cries seem to be unanswered and my friends were falling away. All I wanted was to feel was the hand of God through a caring friend--but that never came.
What came was the despair and loneliness and I in the end my cries for help grew soft. They remained that way as I withdrew from the people around me. I would talk less with coworkers, I would leave classes early, but mostly I stepped back from the community of God. My friend’s, God’s people, were no longer able to hear me—so help and comfort rarely came.
Like a traffic light changing from green to red, I had found myself stuck trying to turn the amber light back to green. Even though it felt as if I was drowning. It was around this time that a friend said I needed to get some help, so I tried. I never expected that would be where I would find the most resistance.
It was in this process I learned several things about myself. 1. I made too much money to be placed on many sliding scale/ fee programs. 2. That I didn’t make enough to afford my own insurance. What I also learned is that if I wanted to receive any care I could afford I would need to work with an intern, someone still learning, or admit myself to a county hospital. It is about at this time that the hopelessness took root in me.
It was if no one was there.
That night I retreated to a friends house several hours away. I stayed there two days resting, sleeping, crying and trying to regain what I could of myself. I left thinking for the first time that I was finally being heard. I now had the support of some real close friends and for the first time in a long while, my mother.
I return to work at the end of the long weekend and continued with things the best I could. I tried to cover up as much as I could from the people I worked with, by remaining quiet, but simply ate me apart inside. I was starting to fall apart it felt like and the continual defeats I encountered I as I tried to reach out for help only took me further into my despair.
Public Health had referred me to several faith-based counseling services, others referred to people they had worked with in the past. Either way it was an uphill battle with many obstacles in the way—many that seemed to too big to tackle on my own—yet that was where I was, alone. It was about then that I started to slow down.
Then one afternoon I found myself being assigned a new set of obstacles to conquer and my newly discovered family support was being disregarded. I had reached a place where my financial situation should have made no difference and the doors where closed. It seemed as if the loving arms of Christ were crossed.
I tried to continue with my day. I went to class, and when the professor arrived he approved my incomplete. It was then that things stopped. I couldn’t go on. I returned home to the unknown…