Spent half a day today trying to find a psychiatrist for a man who believes he needs one badly. I could hear his shallow breathing on the phone, a quiver in his voice, his panic rising. Very few are taking new referrals. This Covid, man, he said. It really fucked everything up. My whole life has unraveled in three months. Everything that used to be routine is now impossible.
The man I met in turbulence over Texas last year - survivor of cancer, a cheating spouse, a divorce, and now the loss of his father's generation of the family to Covid announces that he has been wrestling with suicide lately. That dark place where everyone believes they are the only one. What saved him was an old friend coming to him for help with his own suicidal thoughts. It's not so strange.
My son called me tonight - of his own volition. He let me know he's feeling better today. I think I've just had too much winter, he said. We talked about how it's going to warm up this week. About how it'll be important to get outside and let the sun shine on your face.
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