I’d rather not talk about it.

Insert four letter words here. Actually, go ahead and use whatever colorful language you care to use. I’m not picky, in fact, I’ve found that lately my vocabulary has melted into this jibberish of about four different languages all being used in the same sentence, such as me saying “Only a little bit more” but using german, spanish and a little bit of swedish. Didn’t work out so well.

That’s the problem though, being able to express exactly what’s going on in your mind and having people help you out isn’t as simple as just blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind – especially those of us that suffer from disordered thinking. It used to be easy enough when I was drinking, many things would come blurting out of my mouth and things would happen. Some bad, mostly, but every once in a while a nugget of truth would stream out. That nugget of truth is something that perhaps I’d never come to terms with without having drinks in me. Sometimes I could drink again just to vent.

It’s a claustrophobia living arrangement when you feel like you’re full of stuff you want to talk about but at the same time you don’t want to talk about it. So many things around you will clutter up your thoughts until you realize that your entire life is starting to resemble your brain. Cluttered desk, cluttered mind, cluttered relationships, cluttered life. It seems some find comfort in chaos, but at the same time being able to tackle a problem but having to sort through the shit first is a pain in the ass.

Take for example my awesome blown out tire of yesterday. I knew what happened, although I didn’t know why, and limped myself to the shoulder of the road. Without hesitating my mind was able to take inventory of exactly what was going on. Was I hurt, was the car hurt, did anything else get harmed? No, No, and no, thankfully, but I did have one very dead tire. This was fine, but not fine. The black and white mentality was being played out in the form of a tire and all I could do was go with the organized approach to the situation. Who can help, how can they help, and who do I actually¬†want to help me.

I really wanted a super dreamy tow truck driver to come abduct me…but that’s another story.

I didn’t really want anybody to help me, fact of the matter was that I felt like it was my problem and I should tackle it myself. It was my tire, it was very torn up, and it was my car. It was my problem, but I couldn’t do it on my own – or I should say – it’d be damn hard and expensive to try to do it on my own. I reached out and there wasn’t a single person that didn’t want to help from all the people I contacted, but still, I didn’t want any of them. I wanted to fix it myself, damn it. Let me do it. Reality check time, there are certain things that I cannot do, teleport across town to get a replacement wheel wasn’t one of them. I swallowed my pride and asked for help.

Of course, the tire mentality bleeds into other aspects of life. Think of your mind not like an organ, but of a machine with tires. Every once in a while you might experience a flat in your brain and it’s up to you whether you want to continue to limp along the shoulder and make little to no progress – and in all actuality doing more harm than good. Or call in the help, even if you don’t want to. I’m faced with one of the worst bouts of depression I’ve had since my crash, which I’ve identified and am trying to work through. I’m calling for help, it’s not helping. I’m not going to give up though, I know it’s out there, I just have to turn the right screws and it’ll happen.

I could have had a trunk full of shit which made it difficult for me to get a spare wheel in, i could have left well enough alone and kept the run flat tires on it, I could have had at least a donut ¬†in the trunk in case of emergency, I could have paid the extra couple of bucks and gotten roadside assistance. I did none of those things, and I paid the price in the end, I had to swallow my pride and my independence and ask for help. It was demeaning, I felt low, but I knew it wasn’t going to get better on it’s own. The only thing I can do now is look at what happened and make alterations for the future so that I don’t have to be so needy and helpless. I can spend the extra few dollars for roadside assistance, I can get a donut for the trunk, I’m not getting runflats. Period.

I hate feeling like a helpless female. It makes me depressed.

2013-02-02 13.22.58


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