Kiki's Meltdown

The call I received from Yuta several months ago warning me about Kiki not only resulted in me going off on him, it cooled off our relationship for several weeks.  The "Kiki's wild," and "Kiki doesn't take care of her kids properly, going out with her friends at night instead" irked me and I told Yuta as much.  Pitting woman against woman is never a good idea.  He knows that now.  Never mind she was only doing what men in Japan do without being questioned--out late drinking, partying, letting off steam--when women do this, they're stigmatized as being irresponsible.  I lashed out at Yuta for having double standards and for not backing Kiki up.  Our chat ended badly.

Kiki and I hadn't seen each other in several months.  Both busy (such a terrible word), we'd wave at each other as we passed in our cars.  Facebook was our mode of communication, with a lot of "How are you" and "I haven't seen you in such a long time" messages flying back and forth.

Which is why when she called and said, "I have to see you" I dropped everything and made the time.  Something was up. 

I never thought I'd be celebrating the acknowledgement of a borderline breakdown.  On this particular Friday night, however, I find myself doing just that.  This woman sitting across from me is recounting her days, openly telling me of her emotional collapse.  I try not to show how happy I am for her while looking for the words to help her realize this was in the making.

Kiki starts out by telling me how difficult the second memorial of the tsunami was for her this year.  "Last year was tough, yeah.  This year, though....I cried for days.  I didn't know what was happening to me."  Through sips of beer she continues.  "Here," and she points to her face, "I was all smiles.  But, here," pointing to her heart, "I was screaming.  I couldn't take it any more.  All this pressure to be 'up' and 'perky' and 'positive.'  It was eating away at me.  I couldn't fake it.  It all came out around the memorial."

I choose to let her do the talking tonight.  There will likely come a point where I can inject my opinion, but for now, I know this is therapeutic for her.  I've been trying for years to get people to talk out their post-tsunami pain with little success.  Especially true for women, that Kiki, a local leader of young women and one many here look up to, that she broke now allows for others to follow suit.  I wonder if she knows this.

"Then in April, I finally collapsed.  I couldn't get out of bed.  I didn't want to.  I didn't care any more.  I stayed in my futon, bawling, crying, hyperventilating.  I didn't want to see my husband or kids.  I felt like everything around me was broken.  I felt broken.  I just wanted to be alone."

Kiki goes on to tell me she spent the whole week in bed, getting out for the occasional bath and for bathroom breaks.  Her husband brought her food and kept the kids away.  She ignored the calls, e-mails, and Facebook messages asking if she was alright.

"Clearly I needed it," she laughs uncomfortably.  There's nothing funny about fighting to keep a mental breakdown at bay.  "I knew I was in bad shape.  I mean, I really didn't care anymore.  I really couldn't get out of bed."

I listen and say very little, asking only a question here and there.  "I knew I needed help when I saw a poster somewhere about a suicide hotline and thought to myself, 'I actually know how they feel.  It would be really easy to die right now.'"  Here, I decide to speak.  "Did you call the hotline?"
"No.  I decided I wasn't suicidal.  I didn't actually want to die.  I just realized I knew how these people felt."  I nod.

"But, realizing I understood that feeling was a wake-up call.  It was several days after that I didn't and couldn't get out of bed.  Scary."
I agree with her that it's scary.  An hour or so has passed since she's been talking, Kiki recounting her various emotions, her analysis of how and why she let herself get this "out of whack."

Understanding the position she holds among young women in this community, I ask what is to me, the obvious question.  "Have other women followed your example?"
"Yes!"  Suddenly Kiki is really excited.
"How did you know?"

For the first time tonight I add my opinion in full.  "Your breakdown, if I can call it that, gave other women permission to follow your example.  You're a leader.  If you can break, if it's okay for you to break, then other women know it's okay for them to break as well.  You're lucky you're solid enough to work through it on your own.  Now you can help other women who might not have that network--a supportive husband like you have--so they can come out safely on the other side."
"Yes!  I've had so many women say that to me.  That they also stayed in bed for days after they heard about my little breakdown.  I didn't realize I was keeping everyone from releasing all this pain."
"Think of it as giving permission, and not that you were keeping people bottled up.  The important part is that you let it out."

While Kiki is indeed lucky, to have had the skills necessary to work her way through her grief, there's now a buzz through town about how "all these women are dropping like flies."  The men in town don't know what's going on.  There are suggestions the women are faking it, asking for attention.  Some recognize it's the women who have had to remain strong for the past two years with no outlet.  Alcohol helps the men by giving them a space where they can spout off, let out their complaints, cry, and in general cut loose.  The women in Tohoku don't have that option.  The kids look to mama to see if today is a good day.  Grandpa and grandma rely on the daughter-in-law for stability in the household.  With no source by which they can let out their pain, grief, stress, and trauma, it's no wonder Kiki and her friends started collapsing.  This breaking point has been long overdue.

The good news is with Kiki's self-imposed hibernation and reemergence comes permission for other women to say, "Me, too."  Kiki and I agree we must take care of ourselves first, cliche or not, because no one else will do that for us.  We talk about how to safely allow for these "breakdowns" as each woman's case is unique.  We acknowledge we aren't experts and that some women may require hospitalization.  We talk about the consequences and stigma of what it means to break.

Ultimately, this is good news--if a nervous breakdown can be considered good.  I will participate when asked in helping with the long walk back to being whole, and I will also watch from the sidelines, cheering my friends on if that's what they prefer.  A night out with Kiki left me with a mixture of hope, relief, sadness, and happiness.  Do I dare hope for more breakdowns to come along?  Do I dare ask for such a thing?