The arduous path to psychotherapy

My doctor handed me a list of local therapists – five pages long. Apparently, there was plenty of demand. Fortunately, my doctor had marked a few recommendations. Otherwise, where would I have started? Just call every name from the top? If only it were that easy. Even picking up the phone to call the first number felt like a monumental task. What do I say? How will they react? What do I even want from this? So I prepared a little – came up with a few phrases, tried to anticipate the conversation.

After an hour, I felt ready. I finally typed the number into my phone and hit the green call icon. My heart was pounding in my throat as the phone rang – once – twice. Then a voice said, “Welcome to the psychotherapist Dr. ABC. We are currently on vacation. Please contact us after...” I hung up. A wave of emotions hit me. On the one hand, I was relieved I didn’t have to explain myself. But that didn’t get me anywhere. I still had to try again.

Once I calmed down, I pulled out the list and found the next number. My hands were shaking, and I misdialed. Again. This time, I got it right, but I put the phone down and went to the bathroom. The situation was stressing me out, making me feel physically sick. "It’s just a phone call," I told myself. But it wasn’t just a phone call.

Back at my desk, I tried again, still shaky, but I dialed correctly and hit the green icon after a moment’s hesitation. "Toooot." Please don’t pick up. "Toooot." Please don’t pick up. "Toooot." On the fourth ring, I was about to hang up when I heard, “Dr. XYZ – how can I help you?” Help? Damn, would I call if I knew how to get help? I said, “Hello, this is Christian Wendt. My doctor recommended you, and I’d like to make an appointment.” “Oh Mr. Wendt, I’m sorry, but we can’t offer anything for the next six months.” “Okay, thanks anyway. I’ll try somewhere else. Goodbye.” “Goodbye and good luck.”

The conversation was over. For someone like me, where each new attempt felt like a huge effort, this was deeply frustrating. Six months? I’d have to wait half a year for an appointment? How are people supposed to get help like that? What about those who are acutely suicidal? The system felt broken – sick, in the truest sense of the word. I needed a break – to calm down, sort my thoughts, and regain my strength for the next calls. There were still a few numbers left.

Amazingly, I found the motivation to try a third number. But that call didn’t last long either – the therapist wasn’t accepting new patients. Somehow, I managed to push myself to try again. This time, I succeeded. A kind woman on the other end of the line offered me an appointment in two weeks. Was that real? Yes, I had an appointment in two weeks. My heart sank with relief, a sense of calm spreading through me.

In the end, it was just a phone call – but for me, it felt like so much more.