Do I need validation, advice, a pity party, or a good time? Why not all.

Relapse: A deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement.

It felt too click-baity to use the term "relapse" regarding my condition, but that's exactly what happened. The worst part is, I knew it was happening, and I did little to prevent it.

It always starts with me losing motivation/inspiration at work. Showing up late. Leaving early. Doing the bare minimum. All things that are not characteristic of me.

Then the poor eating, drinking and sleeping habits begin. I won't eat for an entire day and then binge eat all night.

Then I start isolating myself as to not be a burden to others. So, what was rock bottom this time? Laying in bed for three days straight, in the same clothes, not showering or eating. Three days off work. A mild anxiety attack, that I worked very hard to prevent from turning into a panic attack. Throwing up in a pan by my bed, because I didn't feel able to kneel over the toilet. Calling my boss, crying, begging him to tell me my job is not at risk. Promising myself, "I will force myself to be healthy tomorrow." And then watching the time fade and panicking when I realize my brain isn't just going to accept, "Oh! It's 7:00 on a Tuesday. I will be functional now."

I was talking to a random coworker about my struggles, and she asked if I had someone to talk to. I informed her I was in therapy, and I "brain dump" to my best friend all the time, but I was so worried my friend was becoming sick of hearing about my problems. The coworker replied,

"Diversifying the ears available can be helpful too. Friends and family are like water tanks. You can go to them for support, but if you always go to the same person, their tank will eventually run low. So, for me, it has helped to have different talk dates with different people."

I replied, "That's truly brilliant."

She continued, "I am also learning to understand what I need so that I know who to call. Validation = someone who can tell me what I am feeling is normal. Advice = someone who can tell me how they've gotten over what I am going through. Find answers myself = someone who can ask the right questions. Need to stop thinking = someone who knows how to have a good time. Managing my symptoms = I call the therapist."

I explained to her that I would have to find a "new" friend to play the "someone who knows how to have a good time" role because my best friend is *just* like me—an introverted homebody who hates being social.

Today, I had three friends play three very different roles, equally important.

Brooke said, "I am coming over today. I will be there at noon." She didn't give me time or space to argue. She came with Hot Pockets (she knew I wasn't eating, and this is a comfort food that takes no effort to make), Sprite (I requested), tissues, ChapStick, a journal, and an adult coloring book. She let me vent for an hour, we both cried, and she was on her way. I felt so unbelievably loved and touched and supported.

I don't know if I can count my therapist as my friend, considering I pay her, but she squeezed me in when I reached out and said I was desperate. Just talking to her for an hour provided so much peace and clarity (and some tough questions I was forced to answer). I was so inspired after, I decided to take a bath, one I promised myself I would not cry in. I did not realize I actually STUNK until I took off the shirt that I had been in for days.

While in the bath, I reached out to my friend Ben who had earlier suggested a happy hour. I later said, "Did you find someone to grab drinks with?" He said he was going over to a friend's house later, but he could grab a drink first if I wanted. I said, "No, I don't. That's how quickly I changed my mind." Just getting dressed after the bath seemed like an impossible task. He said, "See you at 5:o0. I will come get you." It was then I realized that he also was not going to take 'no' for an answer. My only option was to get dressed. So, I did. Just 10 minutes of brushing my hair and putting on makeup made me feel like a human for the first time in DAYS. It was wonderful.

I texted Brooke the screenshot of my interaction with Ben with the caption, "I don't think I have a choice to NOT go to happy hour," and she replied, "BAHAHAHA GO. Ben is good for you. You have to have that person, and it sure as shit ain't going to be me."

That, Brooke, I know. And I love you all the more for it.

Sometimes, you need a friend who brings you tissues and a coloring book and lets you cry it out. Sometimes, you need a friend who says, "Get dressed, bitch. See you in 15." And some days, you feel so low, you need them both. And you thank God you have them.