Aftermath

I’ve been dealing with a great personal struggle as of late. I haven’t shared any details of this personal struggle, though, because it’s not my struggle to share. Recently a loved one of mine went through a significant mental health crisis. It’s been a month since the peak of that crisis, and I’m finding that my emotions lagged well behind after really sitting with the reality of things. I spent the first few weeks after the crisis constantly worrying about their well being and safety. It felt like getting hit by a bus every single day. I would get up, go to work, exercise when I felt able to, and then collapse into bed. The shock has worn off at last, and now I’m left with a quiet anxiety that is my constant shadow. I’m always waiting for the next crisis. I was under the impression before this event that everything with this person was okay. I felt at peace with how my life was going and I felt like I could trust my gut. I can’t shake the feeling that I missed some major warning signs that someone close to me was struggling so significantly with mental health challenges.
I’ve seen interviews with the loved ones of suicide victims, and often they’ve recounted that they had no idea how much their loved one was struggling. I don’t like to admit it, but I always thought that I would be able to pick up on the clues that others would miss. Those loved ones hadn’t gone through the experiences I had and weren’t as in tune with their loved one as I was with mine. I have long prided myself on being able to tell when someone is struggling and being able to offer a helping hand. This was a scenario where I definitely didn’t understand the severity of what was occurring until it was right in my face. I am now aware that anyone can miss the warning signs of a loved one struggling with paralyzing anxiety, depression, etc.
There have been many upsetting consequences from these recent events. Besides seeing someone you love struggling with mental illness, there’s been reliving the trauma I have from my hospitalizations. Going back to the hospital I was last receiving inpatient treatment at felt like a far too realistic nightmare. I recognized the exterior of the building, the wing of the hospital, the waiting room we sat in with the uncomfortable chairs surrounded by beige walls that haven’t changed in the four years since I was there last. Such eerie familiarity made the situation far more difficult for me. To be clear, that hospitalization and hospital was the best care I have ever received in an inpatient setting, and I will forever be grateful to the individuals that kept me safe when I couldn’t keep myself safe. My mom once said that being in such a mental state that requires inpatient psychiatric hospitalization is in and of itself traumatic, which I agree with.
Something that I struggled with for a long time post-hospitalization was keeping my living space clean. Plates with food stuck on them would litter my car and my bedroom. I didn’t end up attracting cockroaches thankfully because my dad patiently and lovingly cleaned up after me when I was so severely overmedicated that even sleeping 12 hours a day wasn’t enough. Wandering into my loved ones’ spaces and seeing the filth felt like a punch to the gut. How had I missed such an obvious sign of depression? Realizing how painful it must’ve been for my parents to see me in such pain as an outsider in this situation was also extremely painful. Whenever I tell anyone about my experience with my mental health struggles and hospitalizations, I always mention that while I was going through a terrible time my family was as well. They suffered along with me in so many ways.
I was not expecting to be on the other side of this experience. When one person is ill, be it with a mental or physical illness or the like, the whole family and support system is in pain. Anyone and everyone who loves that person suffers. Since I was so worried about this person, I wasn’t focused on what I was feeling at that moment. I just wanted them to be safe and stable.
In the immediate aftermath, I was worried they would hurt themselves and I would maybe find them after a suicide or self-harm attempt. After the fear dissipated, the anger flowed freely. It was harder to be angry with myself than it was to be with said person. I have dealt with emotional regulation issues since I was a child. At one point when I was younger I viewed anger as a symbol of power. Now that I’m an adult, though, there’s not an emotion I dislike feeling more in excess than anger. When I am excessively angry, it feels like painful vibrations are coursing through my body, and I would do anything to get rid of that. This kind of anger coursed through my body for at least a week off and on. I am grateful that emotion has faded into the background.
The hardest truth to accept in the aftermath is that I have lost a bit of faith in myself. I now wonder if I can trust my intuition. With things looking brighter with this person and how they are doing, though, I believe time can heal me to where I can trust my intuition once more..