Helpless

Originally posted 26 Mar, 2008.

I know that at least part of my inability to ask for help can be traced to my childhood. I used to get upset stomachs all the time when i was a kid. I would often spend nights crying in the bathroom doubled over from nausea & stomach cramps. It's not an ailment that I was ever actually taken to the doctor for & I still have similar intestinal issues from time to time. Whatever the root cause, the physical manifestations were very real, & interfered with both sleep & school. I distinctly remember one of my elementary school teachers snapping at me one day when I asked to go to the nurse's office, "You can't be sick every day!" So, I began to notice that my problem was interfering with class, irritating others, & drawing unwanted attention to myself. Eventually, I just stopped mentioning it.

My revelation took longer at home. When I would be curled up in the bathroom at night, tears streaming down my face, I would often find myself calling for my "mommy." Then, one night, I really looked at her as she came into the bathroom looking tired & worn, set a glass of water on the counter, & then went back to her room. I realized the futility of my cry for help. There was never anything she could do that would ease the pain. My plea was selfish, merely depriving her of sleep as well. I never called for her again.

I received similar reactions of irritation & frustration from others in response to my depression & anxiety issues. So, I learned to suffer in silence. Pain was to be overcome or endured alone. Drawing people into it just placed a burden on them as well, & there was rarely anything anyone could do to help. This is something I still believe today, backed up by the continued evidence that revealing my problems merely causes discomfort & frustration in those around me.