Reaching out

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post

I send a text to my therapist, while lying in bed.

“What’s going on?” is her reply.

I tell her how I can’t keep living in this body of mine, how I can’t keep going and struggling like this, how I can’t keep fighting against myself.

She asks me, “Why?”

I tell her all of the reasons I wrote out yesterday, words flying off my fingers as quickly as the tears run down my face.

I never reach out to her. I’m not sure why it’s different this time.

She thanks me for reaching out. We talk, we come up with a plan to keep me safe. Some ideas to help me take care of myself. I tell her I can be safe. She asks if she can check in later.

I ask Wonder Woman for more support because I’m struggling.

I reach out. It’s hard to find that line between asking for support and asking for too much. I always worry about depending on someone else again.

I fight myself the rest of the day but I win. I get out of the house and get a hair cut, I color my hair, I make healthier food choices. Little things that make me feel better about myself.

I end the day feeling proud of myself. I fought my own brain, but I had support. I reached out and that, itself, is a victory.

I didn’t let the suicidal thoughts ruin my whole day. I didn’t let the voice in the back of my head take over when it was threatening to. I reached out early when the thoughts told me I shouldn’t.

I did what I tell everyone else to do.

And I won.

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