Ada’s Place
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Ada’s Place

When Someone Says You Need Help

They’re actually talking to the mirror.

Photo by George Pagan III on Unsplash

Let’s say you just put an article out there that goes against the grind. Medium has throttled your traffic, making sure only those who truly seek out your work, will find it. Followers are rising and the reads are dropping. Doesn’t seem to add up. Doesn’t feel fair at all, right?

And to make matters worse, comments come in slamming the article you’ve posted. These folks in most cases have less than 15 followers, no articles published or a profile photo indicating who they are, and the comments fired at you are laden with accusations of character.

You can choose to entertain this back and forth, which opens up more windows for being judged. If you happen to make a move on the chessboard that pushes them into the corner, and your mind is sharp, well then, it’s likely you will receive the coveted comment that narcissists use when they are pinned:

You need help.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

The person isn’t saying you need help with communication. You’ve handled that just fine. Nor are they saying you need help with bringing in the groceries. Or help with wrapping a gift for a friend. They are insinuating that you are mentally ill, and in need of psychiatric evaluation and medication.

Beyond the fact that only a psychiatrist can be the one to determine this, and they would never say this directly to someone in such a way — it raises the question: How is this supposed to make me feel?

You take the time to entertain a troll, after putting your heart out there, addressing real concerns in your article that aren’t comfortable to address, against all odds and trends, writing something that would be considered unsavory for the sake of saving our souls, you get this in return.

You need help.

In most cases, such a comment comes as a shock. And this is why someone who is suffering will use it.

You see, when someone suffers, it is a form of frustrated love, being projected at someone. Because it hurts too much to keep it in, or the skill just isn’t there to process it any other way.

What this does is it creates a false separation between people. The fact of the matter is: we are all frequency, dancing and mixing together, trying to make better sense of this construct called life, to validate our perfection and alignment with God.

Say something like this and most of the time you will get the response:

You need help.

Yes, sometimes I do need help. Often I need help with my words.

For if my words were to come from William Vincent Carleton, they would be lacking in elements of truth. So I surrender, all the time. So I may communicate how I feel, truthfully.

I float just above the keyboard and watch how some element that is flowing through me, expresses the words for me. It is, without a doubt, an out-of-body experience, every time I write. It is the most liberating, freeing expression that I have found. It breaks through all barriers of life, sharpens your intellect, and surrounds you with protection.

Beyond that, you won’t experience writer’s block. Your highest self possesses an infinite reservoir of words on tap. It’s impossible to get stuck. The words always flow. That’s why I say, sometimes I need help. And all I need to do is ask.

I ask for help on behalf of humanity.

I am able to write the way I do because I’ve had intimate conversations with God, for years.

Oh William, you really need help.

Yes — anytime I pickup the guitar and play, I help myself through melody. Anytime I sit down at the typewriter, I experience catharsis. Anytime I prepare a meal with love for those I care about, I know I’m giving the best of me. When I tell someone that I love them, they can expect to feel something different. It’s called truth.

I am experiencing in that moment, a complete and satisfying conversation with the source of all creation. I do, in effect, experience something that is completely out-of-body when I love and serve others. The songs always come. So do the pages, and the illustrations. And the perfect meals. I have complete faith in my creative process, and I’ve never been let down. Not once.

I put in the practice. A good 20 years with my highest-self before I started writing. Playing music for 8–12 hours a day, without stopping. Experiencing blissful contact with God.

By the time my hands started typing, my handshake with God was already firm and I needed not worry about anything. The words flowed.

You definitely need to seek professional help, William. You know this to be true. You know that you have never achieved anything. And that you are sick. Very ill.

I can’t tell you how many times my ex-wife told me this. Over and over again, as I kept pleading with her, telling her to please stop sending me these messages, saying these things. They would come in a pack of a dozen messages, all within a cluster of minutes, firing out accusations about my character, including this notorious message that I need to get help.

The thing is: I never asked for her opinion. I only wished she would pass the phone to my children so I could maintain contact with them. This is not a good place to be as a parent.

I did get help for this.

I went to a total of three therapists over the course of two years, and received a number of suggestions, and techniques I could use. Most of it was planned ignoring, knowing that eventually my children would be adults and be able to choose where they wanted to live, and then they would be with me.

All three of the therapists agreed that I was being abused, and as far as being a parent goes, I was in the worst possible situation, because my children were living internationally, and anytime I wished to see them, I had to go through my ex-wife, who would use this as an opportunity to belittle, abuse, and mock me.

Obviously William is overreacting.

She tells everyone in my circle the same thing, to where family members who I truly love no longer speak with me.

I let it all go. If someone chooses not to love me, they are a phantom of my past. I am good, through and through. No one will ever convince me otherwise, even if it hurts to let go of the phantoms. I do this for my well-being. I help myself. And there’s a reason for this, that will likely label me as crazy, and that’s fine:

I believe my ex-wife is my mirror. I believe that the way she treats me, is a result of the collective fears I have had of Mexico, and my ex betraying me, over and over. I have placed the feeling of being betrayed, abused, hurt, misled, and mocked, as a priority over all else, for nearly a decade.

Now I’m working on accepting that I have created this monster, and am working on offering love to her.

Anytime the feeling comes in that she will prevent me from seeing my children, I take a deep breath in, and remind myself that this is illusion. It’s not happening until it does. So until it does, it’s not real. I have control over that. Just as I can choose to offer her love. I imagine her being in a place where she is completely happy. Whatever that is for her, I wish for her to have it, so long as my children are safe and good, and I can access them without interference.

Then I tackle the fear of not having access to my children. I treat that fear the same way. I tell myself that this is not real, and I refuse to accept it. The feeling of not having access is no longer a priority in my life, and instead, I focus my attention on being with my children, and that feeling takes priority over all else, and life changes.

It does. I promise you. For you are my mirror as well. Therefore, I offer you love in the same way. For I wish to receive love in return. As selfish as that may sound, I know. I’m tired of feeling sad. I wish for goodness, for everyone.

“Fear has to do with not realizing you are safe at all times. The mind becomes silent with the realization that you are absolutely safe.” — Sir David R. Hawkins

I recall someone on Medium, a complete stranger, once said I needed to get help. It stung. I didn’t like it. And it’s because I’ve heard my ex-wife tell me this numerous times.

I remind myself this stinging feeling is a prompter from the past. Trying to get me to go through the same cycles of self-doubt, and insecurity. I don’t even go that far in defining this anymore, though I’m defining it for you, so that you can help yourself in similar situations when you are accused of being something that you know you’re not.

You know you’re better. You know you’re perfect. Beyond any inherent flaws.

I wish for my ex-wife to know that she is perfect. If she knew this, she wouldn’t have to be so hateful toward her mirror.

A mirror shatters, and there’s nothing you can do at that point to fix it. The cracks always show. Everything looks distorted. You have to sweep up the pieces and throw them out for the sake of saving your feet. It’s ugly.

And then another mirror shows up. Life experience is like walking through a hall of mirrors. The images distort themselves depending on the eye of the beholder. Based on the stance we take. Close your eyes now, offer yourself the peace of knowing you are loved. Take a deep breath, as you let everything else go.

Remind yourself that if your mirror says you are sick, and in need of help, then the person who is saying this is in fact sick, and in need of help. And the best you can do at that point, is to offer love to this person. Tap into that infinite source, so that you’re safe and protected, embraced by the arms of the divine. This is the surest way to love yourself. And generate a feeling of safety.

There is no help quite like it. I suggest giving it a try.

With love,




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