Today I found myself parked on the side of the street, phoning a suicide hotline. Curled up in a reclined chair, sinking into the middle of it, I listen to the line ring. A woman picks up the phone, her name is Janice or Gina. Later on in the call, she asks me if I have any plans to commit. I list the three off the top of my head.
I spent about an hour and three minutes talking to her. She asked me if I had friends to talk to. I said yeah, but I don’t always talk about it. She told me it could be helpful to talk in general, even if it’s just a distraction.
So I called and talked to some people after that. I was laughing, ranting, listening, relating, arguing, and understanding. It felt really good. I felt better.
You have to trick the depression. Cheat on it, go and be happy without it knowing (which is easier said than done). What I mean is that these conversations are not distractions from my mental illness, they are alleviations. Depression is talented at becoming your best friend. It’s hard to sabotage the relationship because it feels so comfortable.
Today, instead of doing nothing in bed, I did nothing in the sun.
Pajolo Cam 
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