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How Low Can You Go* (before Seeking Help)

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Anarchy

Diamond Member
In one of the recent threads it was pointed out that we often have to reach rock bottom before we start to make efforts to heal, and that preventing the crisis that is coming, others can prolong the denial.

I had already been making recovery efforts for a few months when ended up sleeping in an old mine building and eventually in a friend's spare room, back in october. I didn't end up self medicating on smack or meths, or sleeping in a shop doorway, though I know that plenty do.

How far did others have to go before they managed to begin to pull out of the dive?
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* I can't resist a quote from a John McKenna play "How low can you go?" asked Judge Kearney in his sentencing speech "Please your honour, sir, a Jack russell" replied Feck-the-Dog.
 
Basically at the point I start on seriously contemplating harming people / removing myself from life so I can't do any of that? I seek help. Because it's always some sort of PTSD crap linked with new traumas that I wouldn't admit to being traumatic. So it's more of a risk assesment than anything else, keeping myself from slipping hard into mindset that just isn't healthy & never led to anything good in my life.
 
I had smashed my whole apartment to bits and was being kicked out by the landlords with three months (at first they gave me one month) time to get my stuff out and find something else, plus I was out of control, self harming and suicidal.

So yeah it has to go pretty far before I finally decide to do something about it. This year though I am doing better at reaching out before things escalate.

Also glad you are still here, Solara!
 
How far did others have to go before they managed to begin to pull out of the dive?

I did it for my kid. I wanted to protect him from what I went through. I sobered up and while the mental health experts were tinkering with our acronym...I decided it may be as good as it gets, so the F what...I was his Mom.

There was never any denial in my PTSD... I jumped an officer that pulled a gun on my son when he was 8 years old.(My son was holding a orange nerf gun with 1 foot yellow sponge bullets) in his own yard: I jumped over a 5 foot counter when an Airline Employee said, "She didn't know where my son was, that was my problem." (He was 6 yrs. old and I paid for a service on the jet- they freakin' lost him put him on the wrong connecting flight.). I was never arrested for many similar feats...maybe God takes care of stupid.

So put a part of the "rock bottom":hug: in your pocket...and keep on, keeping on. Outside doorways have been my friend since 11...you are now officially part of my family @Anarchy.
 
I can only get help in secret. Doesn't matter how bad shit gets, if there's a chance of somebody figuring out I need help it ain't happening. Hence why the first time round I got pushed into it by a friend. The second time? 10 years slowly descending into dementia hell wasn't enough, but the removal of my father into a home was (just).
 
What spurned me to get help: I really should have died and almost did.

What I consider rock bottom happened months later when I reached a level of hating myself so much death was no longer an option as it would be too merciful. I think I consider this more rock bottom because I broke my own bones and majorly screwed up my life.

This might actually say a lot.
 
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