On being at crisis point

and clawing my way back

The night before, I had a tightness in my chest. I couldn’t get my mind to slow down at all. Tears were streaming.

The next morning, I tried to walk Biggie, but I was fighting the tears back with every step.

I got home and called my parents. In what must’ve been an unintelligible 20-minute tear-filled rant, I detailed the panicked feeling, how my thoughts were racing, how it was all too much, how I just wanted to end it all.

My heart sinks as I write this, imagining what it must’ve been like for them, as my parents, to be on the receiving end of that call. They looked up resources as they tried to calm me down. It was agreed that I should hang up and call a suicide crisis line.

I did.