Coping with a moment of crisis

I am physically shaking, and trying to down more sugary tea than it is humanly possible to drink. The one-two step of my body’s natural reaction to absolute fear and panic, and my loved one’s response to trying to fix it. They will battle it out for the next few hours, eventually the combination of hot milk and muscles exhausted from being so on edge sending me to a deep but unsatisfying sleep.

Some of you might wonder why I would choose to write in a crisis moment, some of you might think ‘well, if you’ve sat down to a nice desk with a warm cuppa, it’s probably not that bad’. And the truth is probably somewhere in between.

My fear in this moment, and the speed of my heart rate, and the weariness in my eyes from crying angrily for the last 15-20 minutes, tells me it is as bad and as scary as an other time we have been here, and indeed still the scariest thing I have known to happen to me. Just because this is 4 or 5th time we’ve been here, it doesn’t get any less ~real~.

But, what it has also started to have is a flow, and a process. Because unfortunately these moments are too common now to throw the babies out with the bathwater everytime. I have  things that need doing which I can’t put off till later, because I don’t always know that later isn’t going to be worse.  And so, in these little moments that are actually big moments, I’m making it up as I go along, trying to find easier ways to deal with it.

If any of you are wondering to yourselves how a mental health crisis might play out, let me tell you how it sometimes goes at this end. It always starts with a call. Sometimes, there’s no answer, and then you have a terrible feeling in your gut that something has happened which you need to do something about. Sometimes, instead, it’s a call to say, from someone very scared and panicked on the other end of the line, ‘she’s bad again’. I rarely need more words than that, but sometimes I get embellishment. Then my sensible adult self kicks in and leaves the shaking wreck over in the corner, while I take details: ‘what’s been said, any harm yet, any threats, where is she now, what’s she taken, are you ok?’ delete as appropriate.

Then it’s phone numbers. It’s looking for files and folders and paperwork you knew was important but you hoped you wouldn’t need again so you purposefully buried it. Then it’s some fairly strong curse words because what a f*cking stupid thing to do.

Breathe.

Then it’s trying to not sound absolutely furious that you can’t get the help you need and that despite always being told ‘if you need anything, just call’, you can never actually call. The person you need is always one more phone call away. Not trying to let on that you are as terrified as the person phoning you, both of you trying to make the other one feel better.

Then it’s trying not to hear your mum sobbing in the background, saying ‘I just don’t want to do this anymore’. It is that over and over for the next few hours and days, trying to banish that sound and phrase from your head. 

So I try to write it out, thought by thought, as they fire into my head like rockets. No plans yet, just unfiltered thoughts ranging from the ‘yes, that’s fair to think/say that’ to ‘ok, this seems slightly ridiculous…’. It’s an increasingly important process in the hours that follow because my brain isn’t reliable, and being able to ‘show my working’ is helpful to understand what’s a real problem and what’s one I’ve made up. Then at least I can focus down on what help we need to get.

Then I move. I HAVE to move. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through me that I have to stretch, so I put a bit of music on (nothing inappropriately cheerful ofcourse) and move my arms and legs. Not rhythmically, but enough to start moving all the ‘beans’ round my body. It feels weird, like if you’ve ever gone for a run or a walk when you’re deeply anxious, and your limbs feel both like lead and jelly all at once. But we move it on and it starts to ease slightly, so I’ve got a better chance of being able to concentrate on my work and other things that need doing.

At this point, you can almost guarantee the phone rings again. A sharp intake of breath. Someone on the line who might be able to help. A bit of relief.

Make more tea. 

Sit down, go back to my list. Does it look different now? Has my brain started processing the situation a bit more clearly. I made a table/grid (yes, I really am that cool…) when I first started having to do things like this, to help focus my mind. It’s roughly split into 3 columns which say ‘next hour, next 24 hours, next 5 days’.

My rule is simple. The first column gets filled in with a cup of tea and all the information I currently have, and gives me instructions for where I need to be at the end of the next hour - who I need to have spoken to (my colleagues, my family etc) and what I need to have done for myself to allow me to fill in the next column. It’s not perfect but it’s my process. And the more I learn about mental health crisis points the more I understand that as scary as they feel, there are basics you can cover to make them less scary.

There are people who can give much better advice than me because it’s their job, and these pages are all linked on the resources page, but my general rule now is to prioritise safety. There can be so many horrible and stressful things to cope with at the point of crisis, but my first goal is just safety. Are people safe, am I safe, and how do I keep myself calm to make sure we get the help we need? It’s these situations that I think of now when people ask me about times I’ve managed competing priorities or difficult conversations…

Then, if I’m being honest, I probably cry again. The tears are slightly different this time, less hot and raw, and more sadness and overwhelm. Some relief in a strange way too - that we’ve hit rock bottom again so there’s only one way out at this point. There’s no nasty surprise waiting for me tomorrow morning at least. 

So you see how this process is exhausting. And the cycle of doing it every 6-8 weeks for almost 9 months, knowing that even if things are going well, this might be something that is waiting around every corner, and always, always knowing that it could be worse. Always being aware that there might be one call that ends differently, and the cycle breaks for good.

In these moments of crisis, and the muddle of hours and days that follow, I try to pick up the pieces. It’s a balancing act I haven’t quite got right yet, but I’m learning every time and have little doubt sadly that I’ll get at least one more opportunity to test them out.

But I wanted to share a little of what it’s like. Maybe you recognise it, maybe you’ve had similar moments in your own experience, and you try and work through them just the same. Or maybe you have no idea this is the reality of it and are curious to know. Either way, I hope it’s helpful to understand how these things unfold, and what really happens in those moments of crisis.