Smith: After months of covering the pandemic, I finally needed help

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My fingers trembled as I dialled, deleted and redialled the number to Distress Centre Calgary three times over. The first time I finally pressed the call button, I hung up just as the ringing began. It felt overwhelming to have to explain my feelings to a stranger and to be honest with myself how serious the despair had become.

I opened the online crisis chat instead. I thought it might be easier to talk to someone through a messaging service than have to piece together words through tears. I didn’t wait for someone to answer. What I’m sure was less than a minute felt like hours waiting for a response.

I dialled the distress centre’s line again.

This time I forced myself to stay on the line until someone picked up. She was friendly and easy to talk to. She listened to me explain, in no concise way, that I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t sure if I was in a place where I might hurt myself. I had done so before when I was younger.

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I told her, that as a journalist, a particular story — and maybe, retrospectively, the culmination of many stories — I was reporting on took a heavy toll on my mental health. It was about overdose deaths and family members who were left to grieve their loved ones.

I’ve had several significant deaths in my family, including my dad. Many of my own traumatic memories flooded into the mind, pooling in every space in my scattered brain. I told the crisis line volunteer I could barely breathe sometimes when I felt anxiety rise from the depth of my stomach into my throat. I told her I couldn’t sleep because uncomfortable thoughts held me captive at night.

We talked for about 20 minutes, the conversation growing longer every time she asked me if I was feeling better, only for me to collapse into tears again.

You see, depression fools you into isolation and a pandemic only intensifies it.

U.S. journalist Olivia Messer captured it best in a Study Hall Digest article: “It had been clear for months that many (journalists) were struggling. Still, the isolation of the pandemic had me convinced that my experience of drowning was unique.”

I felt like I had been treading water for months, covering story after story about death, despair and fear while COVID-19 devastated Alberta. I was intimately connected to the suffering of others while attempting to manage my own.

Messer explained it simply: it’s “trauma reporting” and many journalists are facing the fallout from it. While these feelings remain isolating, it’s clear I’m not alone.

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The global health crisis has challenged every single person in unique ways and has placed an especially heavy burden on front-line workers and those who have been forced to confront life and death.

In 2020, Distress Centre Calgary recorded a 41 per cent increase in suicide-related calls, the highest amount in its 50-year history.

It’s no exaggeration to say they save lives every single day.

“The power of distress centre, as a service, is being able to be open and honest,” says crisis program manager Mike Velthuis Kroeze. “Talking about what’s really going on can help to alleviate or mitigate those really deep negative feelings.”

Calls to the crisis line have become more intense during the pandemic, with the average conversation spiking from about 15 minutes to over an hour.

That’s because people are typically struggling with more than one concern, as the pandemic affects employment opportunities, social connections and home life.

“Those areas just kind of combine and build off of each other, which just makes it that much more difficult,” says Kroeze. It’s isolation, hopelessness and uncertainty.

Calgary’s distress centre doesn’t define crisis. You can call for any reason, day or night.

I don’t know who answered my call, but if she remembers me and reads this, I hope she knows how thankful I am for having her on the other end of the line. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t called.

It can be scary to pick up the phone, but I urge anyone who needs support to stay on the line.

All you have to do is say “hello.” They’ll take it from there.

If you or someone you know is at risk of suicide, help is available. Call Distress Centre Calgary at 211 or 403-266-4357 (HELP) any time of the day or night. Suicide is preventable.

Alanna Smith is a reporter for Postmedia in Calgary.

alsmith@postmedia.com

Twitter: alanna_smithh