I ran away, horrified at the conjecture I’d made. My perfect life… Not only did I burn it down but also I doused it with kerosene and lit the match! What kind of person does that?? I wanted to fall apart and wallow in pity for the rest of the day, but my eyes fell on Luca’s toy on the coffee table. If I ever want to keep my kids again, I didn’t have time for those antics. Instead, I hastened toward my balcony and called the Sadness Hotline as Billie suggested. What kind of person does that? It’s a brilliant question, and they can help me figure it out.
My hands shook as I dialed the number I’d see on TV and heard on the radio a thousand times. I don’t know why I was so nervous. I should have been excited to get help and get my life on track. But baring my ugly soul to a stranger? Even though they are paid professionals who shouldn’t judge, what if my story is the worst they’ve ever heard? What if they aren’t able to remain professional? Or what if I get someone on their first day? Will this work? Can they really help me?
“Sadness Hotline,” a feminine voice answered. “Please, take your time.”
Here goes nothing. I figured because it is the Sadness Hotline, I’d start by sharing the loss of my dear mother and four-legged best friend. The counselor was sympathetic, as I expected. Recanting my worst moments was not my idea of fun, but I kind of enjoyed having her undivided attention.
Now and then she asked about Mommy and our relationship. She probably needed that information for future calls, but also it helped to ease me and bring about pieces of happiness. Maybe that’s how people get relief after just one call. I thought she’d want me to tell my entire life story on the first call, but after 30 minutes, she wrapped up by asking if I felt the need to speak with her again. I confirmed, and she put me on her calendar for next week. Hopefully, the next time will be as easy as this. Probably not, though.
