Page 23 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
I had a spectacular time with you the other night and love our runs together. I am poorly trying to show you appreciation for who you are as a person. Selfishly, I wanted to make sure you were safe getting to and from work, especially with the impending winter weather. I find it difficult to concentrate when I know your safety is at risk. I also understand that this is my problem, not yours. I will adjust my behaviors accordingly.
I look forward to our continued work together and hope to spend more time with you, on a personal level. We do have a friendship to establish. ?
Sincerely,
Nick
I sit back in my chair, with my stomach in knots. I do want to be her friend, even if it’s all she ever lets me have. Hell, I would be her shoeshine boy at this point if that’s all she wanted to give me. This bizarre new headspace is clouding my judgment and identifying insecurities I forgot existed. That fear of rejection that I have done so much to avoid. The lack of control I feel in this moment has the floor feeling like its melting below my feet.
It’s about ten o’clock now, and I am sure Marcy is out seeing patients at this point in the morning, so I resolve to the fact that I likely will not get another response from her right away. I should relax, focus on all the work I need to get done for the hospital, and pretend that I don’t deeply desire control over every facet of my life. Simple.
Not simple, she responds within five minutes, and I nearly fall out of my desk chair as I lunge at my computer.
To:Nicholas Anderson
From:Marcy Murphy
Subject:Friendship
Hello again,
You are right. We did discuss establishing our friendship, and I am still hopeful we make that work.
Thank you for the concern about my safety.
In the interest of friendship, here is my phone number: 507-555-1242. Please feel free to reach out if you have any friendly matters to discuss, want to plan another run, or are planning a midnight overhaul of my bike.
Warmly,
Marcy
I stare at my screen. A phone number. Warmly. Several mentions of the word “friend” but I can address that part another time. Relief rolls in waves over my fried nervous system. I have gotten hundreds of phone numbers over the years, but this feels like I have been handed the holy grail. Could I have asked her and gotten in sooner? Probably, but she gave it to me without asking. It feels like I just won a medal. Every tiny bit of forward movement in our relationship feels like that.
The excitement quickly gives way to panic that I must now use said number to make my next move.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marcy
Friendship. I could be friends with a hot man who fixes my car, wears perfectly fitting clothing, supports my dreams, is easy to talk to, and makes my stomach flip. Now he runs with me, and I like it. No problem, this will be easy. Just clear skies and smooth sailing, right?
In a moment of what may have been considered questionable judgment, but my loved ones would consider a necessary step to avoid dying alone, I sent Nick my phone number. I can’t decide if I am ready for him to use it, but here goes nothing. I was nauseous as I sent that last email, vacillating between my anxiety induced leg shaking and the twinge of hopefulness that giving an attractive man your number can cause. Not that I have had much experience, but I am learning.
I am also now learning that just because you give someone your number, doesn’t mean that they will text you right away. Unclear why I assumed that would be the case. Thankfully, I had a full day’s worth of work to distract me from the torture that would be staring at my phone and willing it to vibrate. I busied myself with two patients in the birth center that were interested in resources for postpartum mental health support.That was followed by educating a mother about the warning signs of her son relapsing on pain pills again, and reviewing how to establish some boundaries with him. I then completed several biopsychosocial assessments in the emergency department.
By the end of the day, I am fried and ready to drive home. I have almost forgotten about giving out my number until my phone starts vibrating in the pocket of my soft, yellow, knit hoodie. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s a Minnesota area code, so I decide to take my life in my hands and answer.
“Hello, this is Marcy.”
“Hi Marcy, this is Nick. Nick Anderson.” My stomach drops like I am on a roller coaster. He called? Don’t normal people text first? He is older than I am, but still, he is safely in millennial territory, and therefore texting should be his preferred method of contact if he isn’t a serial killer. Thumb ring is activated.
“Oh, hi Nick. I didn’t expect you to call.” My anxiety is having a field day.
“You didn’t? I must have misread the situation. I thought you sent me this number, but maybe it was someone else?” I can hear his smile through the phone, and now I can’t help but smile back as I make it to my car and get in.
“I’m sorry, I assumed you would text me is all. Isn’t that what normal people do? Test the waters with some texts before committing to the call?”
“Hm…you make a good point. I like the phone call. Maybe it’s old fashioned but I like to hear the other person’s voice. Leaves less chance of a misunderstanding of tone over text.”
