The number of times I've half jokingly looked at my wrist for the comunicator device, so I can shout,
"Beam me up, Scotty!"
Only half jokingly, as the other half is in desperation, a cry for help, support, an escape from a situation so tied up, complicated and interwoven with emotions, considerations, duty, and despair that it's unbearable. Literally unbearable. It's funny how words can get overused, hackneyed, and lose their impact. But the words are still correct in the right context - literally too much to bear, cope with, endure.
And where was Scotty all those times? Nowhere of course, he's not real, a fictional saviour.
She doesn't want to talk to me, to burden me when I have so much to do. She doesn't feel she can talk to her dad - he won't understand, over-react, get the wrong end of the stick, hear only part of the tale and focus on that, missing the whole point. Or he'll get upset, hurt, turn it on himself. Her sisters will worry, get anxious, and she doesn't want to hurt them either. But the crisis team don't know her, don't have her history. She doesn't want to go over it all, how long will that take, and she needs help now, this minute. Not after a long and exhausting updating session from her, to put them in the picture. She needs just constructive, useful, thoughtful suggestions, tips, a hand. But the crisis team can't do that. And her team are off having their Saturday family barbeques, off for the weekend, work can wait till Monday. For them at least. For them.
So she does talk to me, in the end. She knows I need it too, to help stop the concern that she can see behind my weak attempt at relaxed calm. But she can't say it all, just tries to say enough, so we go round the houses again and again. For hours. Back round again. What does she want? What could they do? What if it wasn't like this? What if they weren't going to react like that? If she could have anything, what would it be? How can we "put a pin in it" so that she can have a break? How is it they can't see how she'd be affected like this? How could they have had a meeting like that on a Friday, knowing she'd be hanging all weekend? How can they think it's ok?
Round and round again.
Where is Scotty?
Now I'm frustrated that the dog barks loudly in her presence. And my youngest compliments my bad singing to my mp3 player. And suddenly she's off to her room - is she ok? Is she worse? Will she actually start throwing stuff about, like she thinks she needs to do to get the help she wants? Will she harm herself again? Will she be under the covers again, as she was at the start - 7 hours ago?
I sneak upstairs and hear crashing around. When I go in, she's wearing a floaty dress, a cosy jumper, is grabbing a net curtain and a box of candles, and heading for the garden.
Her patient boyfriend tells me later, that she said,
"They must think I've had an idea, a plan." But she's just lighting candles in the garden, sitting on the curtain. He's with her now, and I can turn back to my work for the moment. She's decided not to go to the party, and that's as far as it's got. Not sure if she's planning to take her meds tonight, but she's here, and calmer. But I can't work yet. So I write this instead. Trying desperately to get my head back onto the task of catching up on my work.
That's when I realise. Only she can really help herself. Mental problems can't be solved or fixed by others. They can only guide us in a direction that you might find helpful, like putting a rope in your way in the dark, knowing that if you grab it, you can pull yourself up. We are all our own Scotty.
That might fill us with despair, when things feel impossible and we feel small and unable to achieve anything. But on the other hand, it can be empowering, knowing we already have all that we need. We just need to latch on to the right mind set, and pull ourselves up.
