The phone call was bad. One of my oldest friends (we've known each other nearly 30 years) tried to kill herself on Monday. She refused psychiatric treatment, so her family had to have her involuntarily committed. She told everyone that she is just going to try again as soon as they let her out.
She's had a really, really rough time the last several years, and she's been depressed, though I had no idea how badly.
Naturally, I'm turning this all around on myself right now. Maybe if I'd called more often. Maybe if I'd gone home to visit. Maybe if I'd just paid more attention to the signs. All that bullshit.
I found all this out yesterday afternoon. I went home after visiting Patrick and went to bed. Basically 3-4 hours early. That's how my body/mind copes with things . . . by shutting down.
Today, everything is an effort. Waking, dressing, being at work. Everything seems hazy and I'm so fucking tired.
I wish it were the weekend already.