When the Quicksand Has a Grip: Mental Illness, Misunderstandings, and the Power of Connection

How would you explain severe mental illness to someone who has never experienced it? Are there words that can come close to capturing what it feels like?

In the research, people have described it as black sludge running through their lives. Others have called it a very real hell they live with. Some describe emotional darkness, while others talk about feeling empty and heavy even as their mind feels completely full, crowded, and “screaming.”

None of those descriptions is the experience of severe mental illness. But together, they begin to give us a picture of how consuming it can feel.

I have my own metaphor. At times, I have said it feels like being in a pit of quicksand. Every time I try to move, it feels as though the sand grips tighter and pulls me farther down.

Funny thing, as I write this, I find myself wondering what that has to do with the story I am about to tell. Sometimes I start writing in one direction, take a turn, and later realize I need to edit half of it out. But in this case, I think the connection matters.

This is certainly not unique to people struggling with mental illness, but the way we experience ourselves and the world around us affects how we interpret what happens to us. And those interpretations can shape how we respond.

For me, the frustration of that quicksand can make my interactions with the world more complicated and, at times, a little prickly. I am not suggesting that people should simply accept being treated poorly. I am suggesting that sometimes what looks like prickliness on the outside may be connected to a very real struggle happening on the inside.

It is also important for me to remember that my internal experience does not mean everyone around me is experiencing things the same way.

I have a friend who is on a cross-country trip with his dog, taking a looooong drive. Early Monday morning, I texted him to ask how the trip was going, how the driving was, and, most importantly, how his pup was handling the trip. By the end of the day, I still had not heard back from him.

My initial reaction, my very first thought, was something like, “Well, I guess he isn’t my friend after all.”

Then I caught the thought.

I remembered that he was driving across the country. He had a dog with him who may or may not have been handling the trip well. There was traffic, unfamiliar roads, and any number of things that could have been stressful or simply taking his attention.

If I had acted on my first thought, I might have sent another text, and it probably would not have been a friendly one. Then I might have become prickly with the people around me. I could have damaged a friendship, created a whole lot of stress for myself, and annoyed everyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.

This, by the way, is NOT a win-win situation.

My reaction also could have become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I had decided he did not care about me, acted from that belief, and treated him poorly, I could have created the very distance I was afraid was already there.

I have learned to slow things down and ask myself, “What other possible explanations are there?” Usually, there are plenty. So I chilled out.

Tuesday morning, he texted me. He had turned his phone off. He is self-employed, customers contact him by phone, and while driving across the country he simply wanted some silence.

Nothing about his silence had anything to do with me. My first interpretation did.

So, what do I want us to do differently with all of this?

Maybe there are three things.

First, if you struggle with mental illness, let the people you trust know when things are especially difficult. Tell them what it feels like. I might say to someone, “You know, today I feel like the quicksand has a grip on me.”

That gives me a way to express what is happening internally. It gives the other person information they otherwise would not have. It can also invite support, as much or as little as I want at that moment. And, perhaps, it gives some context if I am a little more prickly than usual.

By the way, even when we tell people what is going on, they still do not deserve our snark. We can work on that in another post.

Second, telling someone what is going on can change something in us internally. Hearing myself say, “The quicksand has a grip on me today,” helps me recognize that I may need to be a little more careful about how I interpret things and how I interact with the world.

It creates a pause.

That pause may be enough for me to catch the thought, ask myself what other explanations might exist, and avoid sending the flaming text that could damage a friendship.

And third, but definitely not last, allowing people in creates an opportunity for connection with the people we love.

We can tell them ahead of time what we might need when things get difficult. Maybe I need someone to listen. Maybe I need some space. Maybe I need someone to check in with me, go for a walk with me, sit with me, or simply remind me that they are there.

Knowing what helps also gives the people around us a kind of guidewire. Instead of guessing, fixing, pushing, or backing away because they are afraid of doing the wrong thing, they have some idea of how to stay in the “helpful zone.”

That does not mean they will always get it right. It does not mean we will always know exactly what we need. Relationships are considerably less tidy than that.

But it gives both people something to work with.

And maybe that is part of the point.

We cannot always pull someone out of the quicksand. Sometimes we cannot even fully understand what the quicksand feels like for them.

But we can let people know when it has a grip on us.

And we can give the people who care about us a better idea of how to stand beside us while we find our footing.