The Therapist Friend

If I was dying on my knees..

The call came at 2:00 a.m., or more accurately, early morning.

As I picked up the phone, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, squinting at the bright screen. I had no idea that I would soon be wide awake.

"Hello?" I mumbled sleepily.

Through the phone, all I heard was sobbing and rapid breathing. Clearly, something was terribly wrong.

"Jo, where are you?" I asked, struggling to escape the confines of my duvet. Her response was fractured, barely intelligible.

"Jo, take a deep breath and tell me your location. I can't help if I don't know where you are."

"The group hangout," she managed to say between gasps.

"I'm on my way."

Next, I informed Jo's boyfriend about the situation. He promised to get there as quickly as possible. His voice carried a panic that mirrored Jo's.

Anxiety gnawed at me. Would I make it in time? It was uncertain.

We had faced similar situations before, but none this severe. There were moments when I feared Jo might give up entirely. Thankfully, she hadn't. It was a relief, yet heart-breaking that she had been battling for so long.

I threw on my jacket, grabbed my car keys, and scribbled a hasty note for my parents, unsure of when I'd return.

I dashed to the car, flinging the door open, starting the engine in one fluid motion. There was no time to change the ironically named playlist, "2024 Hits to put you in a good mood," which did little to ease the tension.

Usually, driving makes time pass quickly, but now, a mere five-minute drive felt endless. Even the trees seemed to crawl by.

I glanced at the speedometer countless times before I arrived; 30 mph seemed to crawl by at 5 mph.

Upon reaching the hideout, I fought the wave of nausea rising within me.

Is she still here? Did she hold on?

I didn't wait to find out. I sprinted to the hangout as quickly as I could, my thoughts racing at a thousand miles an hour.

Once I arrived, I hurried to find Jo. I spotted her sitting in the corner, beneath an oak tree. It seemed she had stopped crying, but in the mere moonlight, it was hard to know.

"Jo?" I asked cautiously.

She jumped, then visibly relaxed when she saw me.

"Hi Harley. Sorry for dragging you out here. I didn't expect you to come," she said, her gaze fixed on the ground.

"Don't be stupid, you know I would come regardless of how serious the problem is."

She gave a faint laugh, barely audible. "Yes, I suppose I was being a bit dramatic, so I apologize for overdoing it."

I knew that she was just fragile at the moment and wouldn't open up to me. So we just existed for a moment. I didn't want to push her too far.

My phone chimed and I checked the message.

It was a message from her boyfriend, Aiden. "I'm here, where are you?" he asked.

I responded, informing him that we would be on our way to meet him turned to coax my friend from the darkness where she had terrifyingly blended in.

"Jo, I've texted Aiden, and he's waiting for us at his car. Do you think you can manage the walk up there?"

She sighed. "I assumed you would have texted him. I suppose I can," she said, slowly rising to her feet.

She approached me with a distant look in her eyes. I had hoped she would be more present, but there was little improvement, except she wasn't crying.

The most frightening aspect of mental illness isn't the anger or the sadness, not the tears or the outbursts. It's the silence. It's knowing that person is burdened with distressing thoughts, and you're unable to shield them from it.

Arm in arm, we made our way back to the cars. The return walk felt much longer than the journey I had experienced just 20 minutes earlier. About 10 minutes in, we spotted Aiden casting his phone's light into the woods. We waved, and he promptly switched off the light. He then opened his car, retrieving a pack of cookies and some hot chocolate.

He called out into the darkness, "I thought you might be hungry and cold, so I brought some things as I left."

Jo approached and hugged him. I might have found it endearing if I weren't still shocked and numb from the night's frightening events.

I let them enjoy the moment until I grew uncomfortable.

I ensured that they were all right and that Jo was fine with me leaving. I waved goodbye, reminding them to text or call if they needed anything.

Then, I returned to my car and sat for a moment, attempting to process the events that had unfolded in just 45 minutes. After a brief pause, I started the car, waved to my friends, and headed home.

I didn't change the playlist; I needed the music to lift my spirits after the night's events.

The journey home felt much faster this time, and before I knew it, I was back. Glancing at the clock, it read 3am. Thankfully, it was the summer break. Having to wake up for college the next day would have been shit if it weren't for the holidays.

I hung up my coat, grabbed a glass of water, and discarded the note, noticing my parents hadn't moved at all. Then, I tiptoed upstairs to my bedroom, eager for some sleep. Once ready for bed again, I collapsed into it with a contented sigh.

I lay there, just lying there, unable to fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. After what felt like an eternity, I turned to look at my blinking clock.

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I wasn't seeing it correctly. But the time remained unchanged.

I reached for my phone to confirm it. The time was still the same.

I had been in this bed, feeling like hours had passed. Yet it was only 4 a.m.

I sighed and turned over, attempting to sleep. Yet, the events of the previous night replayed in my mind. The horror of the phone call. The desperate hope that my best friend hadn't gone through with it. Followed by an overwhelming numbness.

Nothing compared to it.

The absence of emotion, neither sadness nor relief, even knowing my friend was alive.

Sometimes, it led me to question if I was a psychopath, because it seemed inhuman to feel nothing in such a situation.

Eventually, my mind became weary of these emotions and, I believe, turned off. Then, I merely existed.

Lying there in agony. Void of thoughts. Void of fears. Simply nothing.

And somehow, that was far worse.