I hit “publish” on that last post, proceeded to mope for a bit while texting meaningless time/place drivel with my ESL student about picking up payment for our last lesson, and had just re-started my computer when my phone rang.
The area code was familiar (I have numbers from people all over the country – it’s what happens when you’re a formerly-chipper-and-personable blogger), but I didn’t have the number in my phone.
Because it wasn’t a number I recognized as a debtor (lulz…except not really, because holy shit, DEBT), I answered it.
On the other line was Jennifer, who was waiting for her church choir practice to begin, and had decided to check up on me.
I’ve been avoiding reading other blogs like they were plague-ridden, because I hate missing everything that’s going on, and I hate missing people. I haven’t logged into the IRC because I’m basically a stranger, now, unaware of what’s going on (seriously, I don’t follow the news, either, because it depresses me), and I’ve been avoiding logging into my various instant-messaging programs because I don’t have anything to say other than, “well, my life sucks, how are you?”
Having someone who is (in the traditional sense) a stranger call me and check on me meant so much that I basically spent the whole time blubbering.
Something I told Jennifer that I need to tell you guys – as someone who’s trained in Counseling for PTSD, being on THIS side of “the table” sucks especially hard for me, because I know the platitudes and the procedures and everything else that’s “supposed” to be done to deal with it, but I can’t apply it to myself, because I don’t have an objective viewpoint. Add to that the fact that Lyme is basically eating my brain, and that traditional methods of dealing with PTSD and depression don’t work…and you have a recipe for epic fail.
What did Jennifer do? She listened. She admitted that she didn’t know what to say, but that she wanted me to know that someone cared, and she wanted to make sure I knew she cared by actually calling after saying she would.
That little bit of outreach meant the world to me on a day when, after everything that’s happened, I just wanted to crawl into bed, take my meds (and an extra of a couple of pills, to knock my ass out), and just sleep until I have to get up and go back to Hell tomorrow.
I’m still crying, but it felt good to be able to verbalize what’s going on to someone.
Thank you, Jennifer. Sincerely, and truly, I appreciate you.