When You Can't Afford Therapy, You Learn to Cope and Hope Real Fast

There are few occasions in this life where I don't freak out. My anxiety is used to taking the reigns in any given situation, and whether it be a missed exit in a largely unknown city or a bad review on a piece of writing I've tossed into the universe, I'm usually catastrophizing that shit within seconds of the event.

Therapy has helped me with the nature of fear, but the tools I've learned over the last couple of years only aid in stamping down the constant drone of doom. Under that pulse of worry, the fear remains.

I can do life things, like talk on the phone and complete tasks I'm afraid of, but the anxiety accompanying them is never truly gone.

Because these things worry me so much, I often go a little nutso bananas when faced with precarious situations.

Due to a series of unfortunate events recently, I've found myself jobless, moneyless, directionless, and hopeless.

I know I can control all these things if I really put my mind to it. In other words, if I could just cure this gawddamn mental health bullshit, I'd be fine!

Unfortunately, because of the moneyless part of my current plight, I can't afford to see my therapist at the moment, so here I am out in the wild west of brain illness, trying to survive on my own.

It's a bummer, but I am picking my way through.

I lost my mind yesterday. I'm not going to get into the deets because I don't want to relive all the shit I'm feeling sad about right now, but what I will say is that I haven't lost it like that for some time.

It's like all the stress of this current time, both personal and on a worldly scale, came crashing down on me, and I laid in bed, snottily sobbing for hours. The people around me were frightened. They tried to console me, tell me I was safe, and remind me that this was just a bad patch of time I was moving through and soon, things would get better.

The thing is, as true as all that sounds, when your head and heart have agreed that shit is terrible, there's no convincing them otherwise.

Head: Uh oh, I can't figure a way out of this bind we're in. You got any ideas, heart?

Heart: Shit man! I thought rational thinking was your department! I'm just over here, feeling sad. I got nothing helpful.

Head: Well, dang, we're in trouble then, my friend.

Heart: Don't say that! You're the brains of this operation!

Head: Soul? Are you still here? Got any suggestions?

Soul: Look, dudettes, I'm just over here crushing wine coolers and trying not to die.

I don't know about anyone else (because I'm too nervous and poor to participate in any group therapy sessions), but typically, when I find myself in a state of total fucking panic, that's when my best inspiration comes.

It's like a Hail Mary of mental health moments.

Just when I truly believe that all is lost, a tiny glimmer of hope starts sashaying around in the dark corners of Head and Heart and even Soul.

The hope does an awkward little jig, and that makes me laugh because it looks so much like me when I'm trapped in a dance circle at a wedding and just trying desperately to get out of the mix.

I've been having a lot of breakdowns these past few weeks. It's hard being unemployed and feeling so uncertain about the future. It's scary to think you might have to rely financially and emotionally on those around you.

But that's what we are here for! The people around you say. 

And yes, I get that. But for a gal who has been self-sufficient from the rip age of 16 years old, it's not an easy pill to swallow either.

I can't help but mull over the whys of it all. Why now? Why was it this specific series of events that broke the camel's back? Why couldn't I hold it together for just a little longer? Why am I so fucking tired all the time?

The great thing about Head, though (the starting of this sentence could be misconstrued, so please keep your mind out of the gutter and stay on topic here, people), is that she is always looking out for me. Even though she's got a piss poor way of showing it sometimes.

Why wait until I'm huddled in the fetal position, rocking myself while my face rests in a puddle of snot, to rummage up a little hope?

But that's how Head, Heart and Soul roll, so who am I to argue?

I woke up this morning with puffy bloodshot eyes, ashamed of my actions the day before. It's embarrassing to look back and see how inept I am at dealing with stress. I am humiliated by the strangeness I saw in myself.

But I am also hopeful.

I can see what I need to do to begin moving forward. While the hope is weirdly doing the can-can and simultaneously rocking the Shopping Cart in my mind's eye, ideas start to crop up all over Head and Heart.

I woke up wanting to write because I know how much writing feeds my soul. Not writing for money but writing for the sake of writing. I woke up with a plan for the day, with small goals I could achieve to make me feel like I'm actually a productive member of society. 

I woke up thinking about longer-term goals that will help me get out of this mess I'm currently in.

I can't afford therapy right now, but I also can't afford to forget that I have some pretty solid tools and humans at my disposal to help me through this difficult time.