This morning, very early, I called a suicide hotline. And then I hung up. Because what would they tell me to do? Get help. Go to a hospital. Call a friend. Talk to someone. But there's really no one around at 4 a.m. And if I get help or go to a hospital, someone has to pay for that. I'm fairly certain I won't be released from the hospital for rehearsals, nor will I be able to work online while I'm there getting help, and I don't have insurance, so I don't really know how that bill would be paid. It's sort of a stupid system, if you think about it. Probably I feel this way because I'm working lots and lots of hours so we have money to live. But it makes me want to die. But if I get help for that, I have to work lots and lots of hours to pay for it. Which sort of defeats the purpose, right?
Talk to someone.
About what? There's nothing to say. And everyone will just walk away from that conversation feeling worse. I am not really in the business of making other people's lives miserable.
So why did I call the hotline in the first place?
I'm not sure. I was in a bad place. It seemed a logical step. It felt less logical after the number was dialed. Maybe I just wanted to tell someone I'm having a hard time right now. But it's not like that can change right away anyway. And telling someone just makes me feel stupid.
So calling was a bad idea.
I got a haircut on Saturday. That was fun.