And survived them, at any rate,” I said. It was an important clarification.
“Try me,” he said. He looked at me, and I looked at him.
“OK, if not me, then try someone else. A counselor, a therapist...”
I snorted—a most inelegant sound. “A counselor!” I said.
“‘Let’s sit around and talk about our feelings and that’ll magically make everything better.
I don’t think so, Raymond.He smiled.
How will you know until you try, though? What have you got to lose?
There’s no shame, you know, no shame at all in being... depressed, or having a mental illness or whatever...
I almost choked on my tea. “Mental illness? What are you talking about, Raymond?”
I shook my head. He held up both hands in a placatory movement.
“Look, I’m not a doctor. It’s just... well...
I don’t think that someone who gives themselves alcohol poisoning while they plan their suicide is, you know, in a very good place?”
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