Courage
I lived in a camper solo for a while. I had a job working at the campground. I was home alone most of the time. I slept little and stared at a screen a lot. I would go for nightly walks along the river, blasting my tunes for company. I think I was content, but lonely. Sometimes I was on enough medication, but mostly not. I don’t know what the catalyst was, but I started thinking about my kitchen knives a lot. I didn’t open the drawer often, but it pulled in my thoughts like a magnet. I felt uneasy, then scared. One night it had gotten very late, and I couldn’t settle down. I paced and debated with myself.
“It’s too late at night.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s not even a big deal.”
“I’m just scared, nothing has actually happened yet.”
“I can’t call into work tomorrow, they need me.”
Fear overwhelmed me, completely drowning my objections. I don’t recall the tipping point, but I knew it was time to go. Unsure if I was safe to drive, I got into my car anyway and headed to the crisis center. Once I was sitting across from the intake worker answering her questions, I knew I had done the right thing. Confirmation comes after you ask for help.