I called my work's contracted hotline about getting back into therapy.

I've dealt with depression for basically my whole life, and last weekend (The World's Most Stressful Weekend) it reared its ugly head again and I realized that I never stopped hating myself and I should probably deal with it. I called the hotline and asked for help in finding a therapist available on weekends (they'll call me back tomorrow) and then asked to talk to someone tonight. I wasn't in crisis, but they transferred me over anyway, and a lovely woman with a Southern accent helped me talk out what I was feeling and gave me some tools for stopping my critical motormouth from running. She was very kind.

But asking for help is hard and I was scared to do it and I did it anyway so be proud of me, because I'm proud of me. It was hard. And scary.