The dream is Dead

Why Distressed People Stop Asking For Help

This is something I know the experience of all too well. It’s because I’ve been through it for countless years at this point on various levels. Not just with my emotional health but physical as well. There’s also the problem of me always being the “helper” and wanting to do whatever I can to help my friends through their problem. The idea that if I can’t be helped or fixed then the best I can do is help other people because this same luxury was never granted to me. I’ve bent over backwards to help people who didn’t deserve it or who ended up betraying my trust and using me. Helping someone out of the goodness of your own heart only to be burned for doing it time and time again makes a person very, very tired.

We can start with the fact that I’ve been living with a chronic pain issue since 2017 when I injured my back at work. Though I’ve gone through physical therapy multiple times it’s done little to nothing to help. If anything, the problem has only gotten worse. I’m referred back and forth between doctors and pain management all of them never wanting to listen to me or give me the help that I suggest or need. Just recently, I was (once again) referred to pain management. This woman didn’t listen to a word I said, accused me outright of being a drug addict several times within the first ten minutes of speaking to her, asked if I would be interested in several therapies I was interested in (then ignored me when I asked for a referral) and in general didn’t believe a word I said.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had this experience with a pain management doctor either. No, I had another one, who also immediately treated me as a drug addict, accused me of trying to get drugs, and then told me to quit my job to get physical therapy because you know…I totally had the luxury of doing that. When I explained to him that some people live pay check to pay check and can’t just quit their jobs for 6-8 weeks to do intensive physical rehab he wrote me off as a drug seeker and dismissed me from his office without any other suggestions on what to do.

Since I cannot take NSAIDs (such as Advil, Alieve, or Motrin) due to digestive issues and stomach bleeding, those are not an option for me. Doctors already know this and I’ve already been told several times by several professionals to stop taking them. That I can only take Tylenol. However, the amount of Tylenol I have to take to stay on top of this pain, daily, is also hazardous to my liver. When I tell doctors how much Tylenol I take per day they tell me that I shouldn’t do that because it could cause liver failure. Yet, these are the same doctors who told me to take Tylenol for the pain in the first place and the same doctors who insist nothing will treat my pain better than that. Since they also seem to think I’m stupid, I’ve never had Percocet, and I don’t know that one pill of Percocet controls my pain better for 8 hours than 6-8 pills of Tylenol do.

No, none of that matters, also my pain can’t possibly be that bad, and obviously I have no ability to use a controlled substance for pain responsibly. Even though none of them have any reason to believe I would abuse it and I’ve always used it as directed. I’m being punished for something that might happen and that I’ve never done. None of them want to listen to me and even when I suggest other things like aqua therapy or acupuncture they don’t want to give me a referral because fuck me, right? I do everything they tell me to do, yoga, stretches, all of that but it doesn’t work. So in their minds I have to be lying or drug seeking. No, I’m just in pain. If any of this fucking worked why would I keep going to doctors and complaining about it?

This is why I don’t see doctors anymore. Ever. Until it’s a fucking emergency. Then I get yelled at for not seeing doctors. For not keeping regular appointments. For not having screenings for this, that, and the other. Why would I though? When every single doctor I’ve encountered in the past 20 years for any reason hasn’t listened to me or taken me seriously, what the fuck reason would I have to ask any of them for help? I would say zero. Even when I explain this to them, because lord help me, I’ve tried and they claim they are “different” and they will listen to me, eventually they fucking don’t. Then I stop going and the cycle repeats.

This pales in comparison to my emotional distress issues. Ignoring the part that at least 85% of my anxiety is caused by situational problems that I have no control over, the rest of it is not responsive to drug treatment. I’ve been on every SSRI you can possibly name and they’ve either made me a completely emotionless and sexless robot or they’ve had such severe side effects that I’ve ended up in the ER. I have no reason to believe they ever will help so I’m not going to take them any more. Explaining this to a psychiatrist doesn’t work because they write me off as “difficult” and not willing to attempt treatment. Failing to realize that I’ve already attempted that treatment in 40 different ways and it didn’t fucking work.

I’m at a point where I’m stuck in a house where I don’t feel safe, and even worse, the people who are supposed to be my support system act like I’m insane for feeling this way. Last month, there was someone who was shot right in front of my house. This isn’t hyperbole. There’s my front door, the walkway down to my car, and right behind that was the crime scene. That’s how close it was. No exaggeration. I even have a video to prove it. This is something that I believe would make anyone feel unsafe but it’s not just that incident. It’s the fact that once a week someone in my general neighborhood is shot. It’s the fact that there’s constant reports of break-ins and theft. It’s the fact that people have their pets stolen. This has been the neighborhood I’ve lived in for over a year now and I hardly made a peep about not feeling safe until someone was shot outside of my door. Still, even still, my parents could not give a shit about that.

When I tried to get my father to at least agree that living in an area like this would make anyone feel unsafe (especially after an event like that) he got fucking mad at me. He said that I was causing him stress by complaining too much because it wasn’t a big deal. He keeps repeating over and over that my house and neighborhood is safe and I’m fine and I’m blowing this out of proportion. That bringing it up over and over again is causing him stress and that I need to stop it. When I ask other people, literally anyone other than him if they think I’m being ridiculous the answer is no. Yet, somehow he’s not only acting like I’m insane he’s blaming me for upsetting him. It reminds me of a song called St. John about an abusive father. In fact, my entire life and emotional state could be summed up by that one song. It’s almost as if they wrote it about him, to be honest.

So close I almost could taste my own grave
My moment of selfishness caused by your pain

So ashamed of waking
All my life you failed to keep me safe

I mean, this song resonates with me so much that I have a stanza from it tattooed on my shoulder:

Forgive me, with wings adorn me
So I can fly.

Though he doesn’t know this song and I doubt he’s ever paid that much attention to the tattoo…if only he knew what he’s done to me. What he continues to do. The fact of the matter is because of my financial situation and my physical injuries I can’t work. I’m on disability. I’m trapped here, he knows it, he’s even admitted to it, and he’s rubbed it in my face several times. He could help me, but he won’t. He won’t because he doesn’t want to. I’m his daughter and he loves me, allegedly, but I’m also not his problem. Which is weird because he absolutely doesn’t have the same mentality when it comes to my sisters. No, he’s more than willing to help them when any issue arises, small or large.

This is why I don’t ask for help. This is why I don’t talk to people. This is why I don’t do anything other than sit in miserable anxiety night after night trying to cope with the physical pain of my back. Check my security cameras every time I hear any little noise. I’m in a cage, I’m not getting out, and I have a monster poking at me with a stick. So please, if you are reading this, could you consider supporting me in some way. Buying one of my books. Making a donation. Purchasing a service from my services page. All I want to do is get out of this city and away from him but I’m never going to be able to do that without people helping. I’m even willing to work for it. But, I’m at the end of my rope so for the love of God, consider helping out in any way you can. You’d never understand how grateful I’d be.

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