I can’t put my phone down

this has nothing to do with social media, nor my addiction to it

When I was eighteen I found out that, at an age when I was too young to even realize what was going on in the world around me and mom had told me that dad was on a work trip in Mexico, my dad was actually in jail wrapping a shoelace around his esophagus in attempt to escape the misery of living as a failure in the eyes of no one but himself.

And then, once I was old enough to know what had happened, I spent every day checking my phone just in case a call came in to tell me dad had wrapped his neck again, or pressed the barrel of a loaded shotgun to his temple, and despite tried attemps, this time he had been successful.

I don’t think I’ve set my phone down since that day. And now, dad doesn’t hurt himself anymore, but we haven’t spoken in years, and where he is is somewhere I never want to go, somewhere where someone other than himself might hurt him, and now I sit waiting for the call that someone else has done his work for him. And if not, them, nor him, he’s getting older now, too; and the fear that his body might one day give him that soft release he had been searching for all those years ago is creeping in.

Before I close my eyes to sleep, I check my phone on repeat to be sure no one needs me.

And even though I live a world away, I worry about what might happen if my mom hurts her ankle again, like that time I came home from school and set my bag down at the front door, wondering what to do with the silence. That day, unlike any I’d experienced before, there was no movement in the house, and so I took my shoes off and tiptoed through the dark, quiet hallway of the home, which didn’t feel much like a home at all. It was a small apartment we were living in at the time, and mom was raising us on her own and could barely afford to pay rent each month and our water was always cold because she couldn’t pay the water bill and I came home to the dark house as mom lay on the couch with an ice pack on her ankle which she had broken. She told me she spent the entire morning in the hospital, and now, how were the bills going to get paid when our sole provider was out of work for three weeks with a broken ankle?

I haven’t put the phone down since mom called me that one time when I was on vacation in Marseille and we had just checked into our Airbnb. We were meeting the host, and she was really lovely, and the place was beautiful, and the city was everything I had imagined to be, except for the wake-up call that grandma had passed away while I was asleep the night before, dreaming of croissants and cappuccinos. Marseille was her favourite place in the world, and so I felt closest to her there, like somehow she knew that I had seen it too, like her favourite place was in good hands, and she could rest easy knowing it would remain loved by someone long after her passing.

I haven’t put my phone down since the time my brother texted me asking if I was free for a call. We hadn’t spoken in months and I had nearly forgotten the subtle raspiness that sat at the edge of his throat when he spoke and his silly little boyish remarks he used to make and his ability to protect me from the world around me that was constantly trying to hurt me and I missed him but he never called because I’m terrified of phone calls. I’m terrified of phone calls because they have always come with bad news, and I don’t know if I can take much more bad news. My heart began to race, and my fingers began to shake, and the world around me fell silent except for the faint buzzing of the fluorescent overhead lighting, which made everything feel like a movie. I paced the room and awaited his call, biting the skin around my fingertips in anticipation. And then the sound of his voice uttered those words that I never wanted to hear again, and I fell to my knees on the kitchen floor and held my chest to make sure I was still breathing. It was in this moment that I was reminded of why I never took phone calls, and also why I have never put my phone down since.

And now I check and check and I check again and nothing ever shows up and no one ever needs me bad enough and I wish so desperately to be able to set down my phone before my fingers mold into place forming shape of where it lay in between my fingers as they swipe and swipe and swipe away, checking with each passing moment whether this be the one someone needs me.

I tell myself that I just want to be ready in case someone ever really needs me, be prepared in case of emergency, but is it really the idea that someone needs me, or do I simply need someone?

I am an emergency contact to everyone whom I have ever loved, and no one at all, because I am not living; I am on the floor, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face, hands shaking, stuck, awaiting another call.

I can’t take another call.

Can I please put the fucking phone down?

Can I breathe again?

Can I set the phone down?

Please, why can’t I put the phone down?

I can’t put the phone down because I’m afraid that the moment I do, the world will stop needing me, and it’ll all come crashing down, and I’ll lose everyone and everything I have ever loved, if I just put the phone down.

Should you not have the means to commit to a subscription, but would still like to show your support, a tip is never expected, but always welcomed and greatly appreciated.

As always, thanks for reading

Xx

Gigi