Sitting in a vacant YMCA parking lot, close to midnight, and ugly crying into the steering wheel of my car. I only realized it was time to leave when a large grey pick-up backed into an empty space next to me and a stranger, with Hannibal Lecter vibes, looked directly at me with intentions I couldn’t quite read (and didn’t want to find out). What precipitated the outburst was a conversation I had earlier that night.
It had been a long, exhausting work day, then on to pick up my daughter, home for dinner, and finally preparation for an evening out that I had promised her. Two important notes — I have just started working in a public school this year in a K-2 class of children diagnosed with behavioral issues and/or Autism. I am the only original person in the room, five others have circulated in and out since September (thus, some of the exhaustion…). My daughter is on the Autistic Spectrum. She is 19. In her last year of high school. Most importantly, she has finally found a few friends that she feels connected to. Which is why I drove her on this night in question to a not so local theater to see “Footloose, the Musical”, starring one of her new friends in the lead role.
The tiny black room was bursting with young enthusiasm. I couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of hope and uplift when they sang their hearts out. But the herniated discs in my back were singing their own song after the long day, long drive, and then the small folded chairs of the theater. The screams from proud mothers behind me were just too strong in that claustrophobic space. I was glad to get in the cool air after the show. On the drive home, I was telling my daughter what a wonderful job her friend did and then began generally chatting away distractedly to ward off the exhaustion. I don’t know how the conversation turned, but I believe it was a lame attempt to joke about her friend meeting me in person after all he must have heard about me. Then my daughter burst out in tears. And because she has no filter, the truth bombs began to drop. I gave her the opening somehow and she took it (I couldn’t be more grateful).
She explained that, of course, she had to vent about me to her new friends. Then the full impact of her words began to hit. “You are the most insecure person I have ever met.” “You project your insecurities onto me.” “You care far too much what other people think of you.” “It is hard to live with a person who has mental health issues.” It was a slap. The kind of slap you see in movies followed by the line, “snap out of it.” When we finally got home, she just wanted to go to her room. I drove to the local YMCA parking lot to ugly cry. I knew she was right.
I let her know that she was brave and loving to say these things. Hurt people… well, they hurt people and that realization was heavy and also the reason I have been isolating for so long. I didn’t want to hurt anybody and maybe knew, on some level, I was doing just that. I have untreated depression and if that night wasn’t the loudest wake up call to seek help again, I don’t know what would be. I’ve been careless with words, been intrusive, and tried to hide from my reality by veering out of my lane and too far into hers.
I did try to get help last month with a therapist. Eager to use my new state health benefits, I found someone I was eager to get support from. The first session, however, I heard a lot about her personal losses and left feeling guilty that I wasn’t a better listener, instead of feeling hopeful that I finally found the help I needed. I did not return and haven’t found a replacement. This week I have a doctor appointment and will ask for an anti-depressant. This has been a lifelong battle. I think I’ve learned survival too well which leads to complacency. Just white knuckling it is not okay. And that a loved one has had to bear the brunt of this disease…I’ll do anything to get back up and fight again. But this time with surrender, assistance, and the ability to hear the truth sooner.
