I am not perfect – far from it. Sometimes I go to dark places. Sometimes I don’t know how to turn to friends and family because I don’t want to burden them with my all-consuming sadness. I don’t want them knocking on my door while I am in my pajamas. I don’t want my mom coming to stay and having to take care of her while I want to die. (As usual, no offense, Mom. Sorry.)
So. Not long ago I called a national suicide hotline because I was alone – boyfriend had broken up with me and wasn’t in the house, I had no “real” place to call home after I left his house. It was dismal. So, I called and hoped that the voice on the other end of the line would hear past my excuses and light-heartedness. I wanted her to hear the fear, the sadness, the loss of all hope, the danger.
That is not what happened. I talked to some young girl – she sounded younger than me. She listened to my reasons for being sad. Then she asked what my plan was for the night.
Then she said there were more calls she needed to respond to.
I HATE to hate on suicide hotlines. I know they save lives. I am still alive, but it is not because of the compassion of a hotline operator. I think I would have been better off talking to a friend or family member – someone who knew, and CARED about ME.
Know that there are people who care about you at any hour of the day or night. Trust in their hope in you. And if you have no one else and you call a national suicide hotline (or local), know that you are important, however quickly they try to turn you over. If I was on the other end of that line, I’d talk to you for hours, ’til you were out of that dark, scary place. I guess, if we learn anything from my experience, there are a lot of people who need help. You gotta share.
Be strong, love.
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net