The importance of support networks for a struggling author

The first thing I did when I got home was look up the number of a local therapist. No one answered. I didn’t even get a voicemail. Only endless ringing. Same with all of the contacts in my phone. I finally sent a text message to my brother. It seemed to go through, but I got no response.

At least, I got no response until an hour later. My brother texted back, “Who is this?”

When I pressed further, I was shocked to find out my brother thought I was dead. He thought the person texting him was some psycho hacker who’d been using my number to spam him messages. It was only when I recalled to him a memory from our childhood that he started to believe it might be me. But I still can’t speak to him, over the phone or in person. I don’t know what’s going on, but I warned him to be on the lookout for any strangers wearing a fedora and trench coat.