September 9, 2018

I called. Out of frustration, despair, as the tears were showing up at the corner of my eyes, I took my phone and made that call.

It wasn’t the first. Another log in my phone, another bottle tossed into the sea. I had first tried, again, to reach my doctor’s office to move my appointment. On that day, the end of September felt like it would never come. I waited patiently to keep my call priority, until after 20 minutes I finally resigned to leave a message. I bumped up against a full voice mail.

The next in line was my therapist, borrowed from the EAP for a tiny 4-session intensive. I only got to hear her soft accent in a pre-recorded note.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I desperately needed a lifebuoy, someone to help me get my head out of water. I reached out to friends and family, but I knew the weight of my sorrow could bring them down, and I didn’t want them to drown too.

I like my friends alive and happy. Already, showing up that vulnerable, in a moment of crisis, was something I wasn’t used to. Knowing they were somewhere on the receiving end was more than enough. Friends will be there for the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, they will listen to your broken heart stories and cheer with you when getting your graduate degree, but they can’t do much about the massive issues. Wine and icecream can’t do much against depression and anxiety. This stuff is yours to deal with.

But don’t worry, you are not alone. You simply sometimes need to get out the heavy artillery, the kind you can’t lift all by yourself. You have to call for back up. The toughest army, the heartfelt soldiers, the life warriors.

Blessed are we to have those accessible 24/7. I called, and an angel answered my prayer. God in disguise. Her soothing voice walked me home, helped me calm down and bring some clarity to my foggy mind , guiding my distraught soul through threads of conflicting thoughts. She couldn’t do much, yet she did it all.

I called, and someone picked up the phone. For many years, it used to be my mom, my dad, my sister who would answer. I deloaded all my pain and misery on them. I’m glad I did, because I desperately needed help, but I also wish I hadn’t, because that’s not their job.

There are pros out there who fight mental health issues, the little beasts inside we learn to accept and love, that nevertheless become sometimes too savage to manage.

If you ever are suffering too, please, please, call. There are free resources out there. Even if they are not specifically-tailored for your particular issue, call anyway. Just like I did.

I have to admit : I felt a bit foolish waking up the next day, thinking about how I had make such a big fuss about not much. Vulnerability hangover all the way. My life is pretty amazing, I have fun on most days, I’m one of the lucky gals. However, if I was able to feel better the next morning, hell even in the next few hours, it’s probably because I made that call. Because I had dropped the heavy weight, I was lighthearted and blissful again.

You don’t have to carry your load alone. I feel how rough times are these days for some of us, for lots of us, and I’m here to tell you there is another way. A way where we do go through pains and hickups, but never alone. Life is tough. Being a human is not easy. Yet we’re all in this hot mess together. Take that thing that never leaves the comfort of your palm and use it for some good ol’ self-care. Dial one of those precious numbers, and let the bell on the way to your real, honest, liberated self ring.

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