C & S Mommy

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Don't worry this will only hurt for a second.

I have always had the hardest time asking for help, especially when it involves my mental stability/health. Actually, I don’t often share that side of my life to many people. I also know that nobody but a professional can really help in the way I need it. The actual seeking of help instills such a deep, crippling fear in me. Not that I haven’t had therapy before (my mom divorced when I was young; my whole childhood was spent in therapy) but it is different now. My fear is not of the help but more about being exposed as the fraud I am. I pride myself for presenting my mentally healthy façade to everyone I come in contact with (including my family). Keith is the only one who really knows but it is so clearly out of his realm that I feel more that it was a mistake to reveal so much than relief that I finally have someone who shares the whole secret and still loves me. Some people may think that it would have been impossible to hide this from him but to a large degree that would underestimate that ability to hide that I have honed for years. Faking normalcy is not that big of a deal in and of itself, it is what it represents to other people that makes me feel so...well, fraudulent. It is a mystery to me why but I often get the opportunity to give advice to other people; I dare say pretty decent advice sometimes. To my ears it is so rational sounding and I realize the impression I give people – the impression that I am so normal, so together. It makes me wonder if most counselors, therapists, head shrinkers are actually crazy people masquerading as sane harbors in their patient’s turbulent sea of madness. Handing out these sensible solutions, advice they themselves can’t follow or implement in their own lives, to needy people just looking for something or someone to grasp onto. Does it ring as false in their heads as it does in mine when I do it? The few times I have lost my composure (to my mom or sister mostly) I have made them feel so uncomfortable that I struggle to get myself together to satisfy their need to not believe I am crazy. And with a sheepish “Sorry I don’t know what happened there” apology from me we continue on the comfortable path of “what we don’t talk about doesn’t exist.” So what happens if I stop faking? What will everyone think? What will they do? What will I do? Who will I be if I am not the person I built for the outside world?