This is the eleventh part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, and Part X before continuing.
Once I was safely inside my apartment, I heaved a sigh, took out my phone, and scrolled through my messages and missed calls.
Most of them I could ignore. The ones that had to do with the fire hazard outside my front door made me feel guilty, but that was Randy’s problem now and he was taking care of it.
The messages I hovered over were the ones from Ashley. In addition to the one she sent first thing in the morning checking on me, she had sent another one about an hour ago just to check in, and another one about midday asking if I had had any luck setting up an appointment with my GP.
I kind of resented her for reminding me to make an appointment with my GP like I was a child who needed to be nagged into doing her chores. I resented it even more because I did need these nudges.
For some reason, I didn’t want to make this appointment. I knew it was 2024 and we should have evolved beyond our preconceived notions of mental health and the people who take medications to help them with their mental health, but apparently I hadn’t made as much progress in that area as I had thought.
So I called Jessica.
“You OK?” she asked by way of answering.
“I’m fine. I just need you to talk me into making this appointment with my GP.”
“Why?”
“Apparently because I’m a big baby who’s incapable of acting in her own best interests.”
She laughed. “No, I meant, what’s holding you back? And don’t say it’s you being a baby, because you are anything but. Why don’t you want to make this appointment?”
I sighed. My first reaction was to say, “I don’t know,” but I quickly realized that was a lie. I did know. I just didn’t want to admit it.
“What if she judges me?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Sage.”
“It’s not her job to judge you. It’s her job to help you stay alive and healthy, and right now, you need medication to help you with that.”
I sighed again, even more heavily this time. “That’s so … logical.”
Jessica laughed again. “I know. Doctors are people, but to you, she should be a professional first and foremost. Also, I guarantee you’re not the first person to ask her for a prescription for an antidepressant. You’re probably not even the fiftieth. Or the hundredth.”
“The thousandth?”
“Maybe. How long has she been in business?”
“Just a few years.”
“OK, so you’re probably in the hundreds, but not the thousandth yet. Either way, she’s already stopped counting, and this will be just one more prescription for her to write.”
Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better. I had tried to kill myself. How could this possibly be routine?
It astonished me how quickly I went from not wanting to tell my GP about this to being offended at the possibility that she might not take it seriously.
Fortunately, that conflict of emotions turned out to be just what I needed to break through the indecision and make the call. Or, at least, make a note in my calendar to make the call when the office was open.
“Thanks, Jessica. I needed that.”
“Anytime. You want to come up?”
I had every intention of declining the offer, but before I had the chance, my mouth was already saying, “Sure. I’ll just change out of my work clothes and be up in a few minutes.”
To be continued…