[WP] A depressed person falls in love with a suicide hotline operator.

“Hello, this is Lawrence with Hopeline Suicide Prevention, is this an emergency?” Emergency. I had to think for a moment what that word meant. It seemed this was happening more frequently everyday. It was becoming harder to attach the way words came out of people’s mouth with a definition. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Okay, well how about you tell me a bit about what’s going on. Can you tell me your name and if anyone is hurt?” “My name’s Kyle,” I said. I paused for a moment, I ran my fingers over my eyelids and felt the small creases of skin. “I’m hurt.” “Okay, Kyle. When you say hurt, are you physically hurt, do you need me to call 9-11?” Her voice was even, without urgency. At least, it seemed to be “her.” “Am I talking to a man or a woman?” I asked. “Your name. Lawrence was it... that sounds like a man’s name.” “Yes, Kyle. I’m female. It was my grandmother’s maiden name,” she said. “But, let’s get back to you. You said you were hurt.” “I am. But I don’t need an ambulance. It’s just—it’s just that it’s not going away” “What’s not going away?” she asked. I can’t remember before this. I don’t remember how I got to this place where words lost meaning or if I ever remembered the way my body was supposed to move through the day… How do legs work? How is it that I am still breathing, in and out? Sometimes I would look at people’s faces and question my ability at recognizing them for what they were. I would wonder if someone’s nose was supposed to be there, in the middle of the face, much like we sometimes question if “i” goes before “e” in one instance or the other. Once I called a sex line. When the woman got on the phone, she said, “Hey, there, darling.” She sounded like a cowgirl, but I couldn’t picture a face. I just imagined a lot of blonde hair and thin ankles inside of boots. She started asking me what I wanted to know, I couldn’t think of any of the normal things that you should ask when you call for sex. I started with her name (it was Kathleen) but then couldn’t seem to find anything else to ask because I began to wonder the purpose of sex. The mechanics of it seems so odd suddenly and I couldn’t imagine who would ever take off clothes and try to fit body parts together. It seemed like so much work, the mashing of sweaty pieces of skin to produce just a few seconds of optimal blood flow. Eventually, I was silent long enough that she must have thought we’d been disconnected and hung up. “Kyle, are you still there?” Lawrence asked. “Yes, I’m here.” “Do you mean the hurt is not going away?” “I think I wish I felt hurt,” I said. “Feeling pain sometimes seems better than feeling nothing” she said. “I don’t remember what anything feels like, anymore. I can’t remember the difference between when things feel good and when things feel bad,” I told her. “For instance I am touching my eyelids now and I wonder why I have them. I know they are supposed to protect my eyes. But I feel like if you could reach through the phone right now a poke them out, I wouldn't feel a thing. But that’s not normal, right?” “Let me tell you the good news,” she said. “ It feels everything is wrong, or maybe you’re wondering if everything is right, and you’re walking around with the wrong switches flipped, but you remember Kyle, that’s why we’re talking right now. You know do remember, I promise.” “What’s your last name Lawrence?” I asked. “Well, Kyle, that’s not something I’m able to share, but I can tell you what my favorite flavor of ice cream is… it’s cookie dough. What about yours?” “Can you tell me the last initial at least?” I asked. She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ll tell you the initial, but then you’ll have to do something for me,” she said. “Ok.” “You’re going to have to work with me to make a plan for the rest of your day and for tomorrow. Will you agree to that?” “Yes” I said. “E.” “Lawrence E.,” I said into the receiver. R-e-c-e-i-v-e-r. “E” before “I” this time. Lawrence E. I continued to rub my eyelids. I pressed in and felt the resisting bulge of eyeball, then pulled out so the skin stretched away. “Okay, Kyle. Now we have to make a plan. We have to start with what you’re going to do when we get off the phone. I’m going to give you a few resources.” I let her talk. I said, “yes,” and “no,” and maybe a few other things. I’m not sure. I arranged my pulled lashes, which slide out surprisingly easy from the skin that closes over my eyes for things like blinking and sleeping and winking, which I can’t remember why we do. I pulled them out one, by two, by three and laid them in front of me. I didn’t know if anyone else would be able to read it. To me it formed “L.E.”

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