For once, I am truly out of words. Which, as you can see from all the stereotypical-crazy-person scribbling I did in the psych ward last week, literally never happens.
(I wrote everything using the same kind of tiny eraser-less pencils you get at IKEA. I find that beautifully poetic, in a way.)
I am out of words because you, the Internets, the peoples, the friends in both real and online life, said so many words. Kind, loving, caring and kick-ass words. Which I was not expecting. I don't know what I was expecting. (WHO READS BLOBS ANYMORE, RIGHT?)
I suppose more warped depression-think led me to believe that I would hit the publish button and get either 1) crickets, 2) a couple head-pats from one or two people, or 3) a bunch of comments accusing me of Being Dramatic or Attention Seeking or Dooce Did It First or something.
(Fun fact! A few weeks ago I talked myself out of calling the Suicide Prevention Hotline in the middle of the night because I worried I was just being super dramatic. Plus Jason had a really early work meeting the next morning and someone had to get to get the kids to school and like, GOD AMY, NOBODY HAS TIME FOR YOUR SHIT RIGHT NOW.)
I am aware this thinking is warped! And wrong! It is good to speak up and ask for help! And apparently lots of people have lots of time for my shit!
Anyway, thank you to those people, and all of the people who took a moment to comment/post/share/email/text/smoke signal yesterday. If you haven't heard from me yet, you will. It's all just a tad overwhelming right now. (Especially since at the time I handed my phone over to hospital security, the number of unread/unanswered text messages were already approaching the triple digits.) And re-entry syndrome is definitely a thing, since while I know on some level that I'm not alone out here with the depression and anxiety, it's not as easy to identify the People Like You out in a world where everybody is allowed to wear shoes and clothing with drawstrings.
I wrote a lot of stuff last week that I plan to go through and piece together and publish, so I guess this will turn into a mental health blog for a few weeks. (Presented with minimal commercial interruption by Blue Apron and thredUP, because let's be honest, the out-of-pocket doctor bills came home before I did.) I definitely recognize my unique privilege to just lay it all out there and talk openly about it, plus just a few days ago I was begging for permission to borrow the community electric razor so I could shave my legs while another adult supervised. That's a pretty good experience for killing the ol' ego.
In the meantime, look! I took Beau to get a haircut yesterday. His ears are way too big for his head now and I can't stop laughing at him.
He clearly feels faaaaaaabulous, though.
(I made the appointment myself! I had to call them on the phone.)