I signed the lease for my new apartment last night. I was 100% confident that I wanted to live in the building almost immediately after meeting the live-in manager and stepping into the apartment unit itself.
I’d been looking for four days and every place I stepped foot in had me close to tears. I just couldn’t imagine myself lying down and sleeping in any of the places I was seeing. I imagined being panic filled in the middle of the night, driving to a hotel and leaving my apartment empty.
But this place was different. The manager, Surren, exuded a warmth you rarely encounter and it was the first place I toured where I could picture myself actually coming home to everyday. I told him I’d come back the next day and sign the lease. He ran my application and called me the next morning to tell me that I was approved.
I arrived at the rental office a bit after 8pm. We were both exhausted from the day and when I mispronounced his name he corrected me saying, “It’s sir-in, like Surrender.”
“Oh wow. What a beautiful name,” I said. And I meant it. What a perfect name for a human being.
That was last night. Today it was overcast and rained all day. It felt comforting in a numbing sort of way. I was able to talk about my ex and the situation without crying for the first time today. 8 days.
That felt good and bad at the same time. Good – because it feels mature and stable and strong. Bad – because I don’t want to waste this gift. I don’t want to wait too long and forget all the things I’m feeling. I want to stay in the shadows for a bit and fix the shit that’s been fucking with me for my entire life. I’m anxious to find a mental health doctor to work with.
I’ve called between 20-25 therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists over the last 4 days. These people aren’t too great about calling back. I guess they probably have more patients than they know what to do with. Only two of the offices actually picked up the phone, the rest went to voicemail. I left messages for all of them.
I only called women doctors. For some reason, I have this idea in my mind that male doctors won’t be able to get me to the places I need to go.
A really amazing seeming woman called back but she cost $175 per session and wasn’t part of my insurance. I was pretty disappointed. Another one called back and had a sort of bitchy voice and made me feel like a task. I reluctantly made an appointment, but prayed that someone else would call me back.
No one did.
I was getting pretty desperate today and decided to call the first three men on my list of insurance-approved providers. I sat in my car out in the rain and dialed the numbers one after the next, leaving the same pathetic feeling voicemail over and over again.
The rain began to fall with more intensity and I closed my eyes.
A few minutes later a woman called back. She said her name was Patience. I looked down at my list and smiled. Her first and last name had been transposed in my list of doctors. I thought the last name was Patience, and assumed because of her other name that she was male.
I told her Patience was a good name for someone in her line of work and made an appointment to see her on Monday.
Surrender and Patience.
What are the odds?
The rain felt lucky right at that moment.