Lost in the Sauce
I'm not an expert on any mental health issue. I'm not an expert on the need for mental health care reform in the country. I'm not even an expert on MY OWN mental health issue. What I am is way tired of trying ever so hard to get the help that I need only to get the run around way too often to be comfortable with.
In the Spring of last year, I wanted to die. Not a figurative death. I wanted to no longer be on this side of the dirt. I was lonely. I was overwhelmed. I felt like no one wanted me around. I felt worthless and a whole host of other things. I didn't even want to leave the house. The thought of just sitting on the porch caused me great anxiety. It was one of the lowest points in my life. It was difficult. I had a plan and everything. I knew how I was going to go and when I would do it.
I was screaming for help. It's nothing but the grace of God that I have people in my life that held my hand, literally and figuratively, encouraging me to seek professional help. The idea of going for help was scary all by itself. I'm a Black woman. I'm supposed to have an S on my chest. I'm supposed to be superwoman in every aspect of my life: wife, mother, daughter, sister, working woman, etc. That's what I thought I was supposed to be. That's what society tells me I'm supposed to be. Let's not even talk about the fact that growing up, I was always told "what goes on in the house, stays in the house." I was not supposed to go air my proverbial dirty laundry out to some stranger. Besides, so I heard all too often, "therapy is White people stuff." Yeah, like they have a monopoly on mental health issues. I was also bombarded with the whole notion that if I had faith in God (which I have plenty) then I should just pray away my feelings of worthlessness. If I still felt the way that I felt then not only did I not have enough faith but I must not have been praying hard enough. Thanks, like I need to feel faithfully inept along with everything else I was dealing with.
I finally sought the help that I drastically needed. I went to my first intake appointment full of anxiety and trepidation. As the hour went by, I became a bit less anxious (a BIT). I was supposed to hear back from the program within the week to be matched with a therapist. A month went by. Then another. And another. I honestly had forgotten about it because I had gone out of town a couple of times and also as the summer was ending, I had to go into full on mommy mode to get the girls ready for school (JJ was starting Kindergarten which is a BIG deal). Finally one day after having at least four anxiety attacks in less than 48 hours, I decided to call the program that had never call me back. After about two weeks of back and forth, I finally was placed with someone.
It was NOT a good fit....Because of her professional concentration she swore I needed a treatment that I did not feel comfortable with and caused me even MORE anxiety.
In the winter of the first part of this year I get to talk with the supervisor of the person I had been working with who told me that he would reassign me. The person that he reassign me with had a conflict of interest and could not be my therapist. So again, I waited. I was told that someone else would be my therapist and she would give me a call. I'm still waiting on that call. Finally, last week when I went to my primary care physician, with the help of the social worker I got a call telling me just how sorry they were (again) and they now have a person that I can see. I went today. Guess what!!!!! I wasn't on the list. I have to go back Thursday.
I know, I know. Why don't I just go somewhere else. There are other therapist. There are other programs. Well I get Medicaid which means my options are very limited. I don't have a job so my out of pocket expense has to be zero dollars and zero cents. This is not the point of this story. I'm very concerned about the amount of people who may have actually had a very similar situations. If this post is this long, think about how long my REAL LIFE situation took (over a year). What if they just gave up? Where are they now? Are they still with us? Who's advocating on their behalf? Who's speaking up for them? Do they have people in their corner who have their back? If I can get lost in the sauce, they can too. Who will help them get out?
Be blessed. Be bold. Be beautiful.
In the Spring of last year, I wanted to die. Not a figurative death. I wanted to no longer be on this side of the dirt. I was lonely. I was overwhelmed. I felt like no one wanted me around. I felt worthless and a whole host of other things. I didn't even want to leave the house. The thought of just sitting on the porch caused me great anxiety. It was one of the lowest points in my life. It was difficult. I had a plan and everything. I knew how I was going to go and when I would do it.
I was screaming for help. It's nothing but the grace of God that I have people in my life that held my hand, literally and figuratively, encouraging me to seek professional help. The idea of going for help was scary all by itself. I'm a Black woman. I'm supposed to have an S on my chest. I'm supposed to be superwoman in every aspect of my life: wife, mother, daughter, sister, working woman, etc. That's what I thought I was supposed to be. That's what society tells me I'm supposed to be. Let's not even talk about the fact that growing up, I was always told "what goes on in the house, stays in the house." I was not supposed to go air my proverbial dirty laundry out to some stranger. Besides, so I heard all too often, "therapy is White people stuff." Yeah, like they have a monopoly on mental health issues. I was also bombarded with the whole notion that if I had faith in God (which I have plenty) then I should just pray away my feelings of worthlessness. If I still felt the way that I felt then not only did I not have enough faith but I must not have been praying hard enough. Thanks, like I need to feel faithfully inept along with everything else I was dealing with.
I finally sought the help that I drastically needed. I went to my first intake appointment full of anxiety and trepidation. As the hour went by, I became a bit less anxious (a BIT). I was supposed to hear back from the program within the week to be matched with a therapist. A month went by. Then another. And another. I honestly had forgotten about it because I had gone out of town a couple of times and also as the summer was ending, I had to go into full on mommy mode to get the girls ready for school (JJ was starting Kindergarten which is a BIG deal). Finally one day after having at least four anxiety attacks in less than 48 hours, I decided to call the program that had never call me back. After about two weeks of back and forth, I finally was placed with someone.
It was NOT a good fit....Because of her professional concentration she swore I needed a treatment that I did not feel comfortable with and caused me even MORE anxiety.
In the winter of the first part of this year I get to talk with the supervisor of the person I had been working with who told me that he would reassign me. The person that he reassign me with had a conflict of interest and could not be my therapist. So again, I waited. I was told that someone else would be my therapist and she would give me a call. I'm still waiting on that call. Finally, last week when I went to my primary care physician, with the help of the social worker I got a call telling me just how sorry they were (again) and they now have a person that I can see. I went today. Guess what!!!!! I wasn't on the list. I have to go back Thursday.
I know, I know. Why don't I just go somewhere else. There are other therapist. There are other programs. Well I get Medicaid which means my options are very limited. I don't have a job so my out of pocket expense has to be zero dollars and zero cents. This is not the point of this story. I'm very concerned about the amount of people who may have actually had a very similar situations. If this post is this long, think about how long my REAL LIFE situation took (over a year). What if they just gave up? Where are they now? Are they still with us? Who's advocating on their behalf? Who's speaking up for them? Do they have people in their corner who have their back? If I can get lost in the sauce, they can too. Who will help them get out?
Be blessed. Be bold. Be beautiful.
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