How I Happy
Republished with permission from Cassandra Cardy, a student in Red River College Creative Communications program.
I dipped low this summer. I have dipped before in my life and usually justified the feelings of sadness and guilt with hormones or growing up.
I got up, left the house without saying goodbye to anyone like I was doing every day, and I got into my car.
I didn’t know where I was going but I had a phone number my friend gave me a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t live with myself another day. I don’t like saying “myself” because from February-August I was not myself. In fact, what I was experiencing was a deep longing for my old self. I missed her. I missed her like I missed a dead person, like she was never coming back. I don’t know how, when or why she left.
I drove down the highway toward town with nowhere to go. No desires. No wants. No purpose. Nothing was making me want to do this again tomorrow. There was no point to any of this.
I pulled into the truck stop I drive by every day for 20 years and parked in the foreign parking lot with semis and road-trippers using the bathroom.
I call the number for a mental health nurse my friend gave me. It rang and it rang and her friendly voice came on at the end and said to leave a message. I rested my head on the steering wheel.
Forty-five minutes later I was in Brandon putting a Toonie in a parking meter. I stepped around the smeared tent caterpillars on the sidewalk while walking to the downtown clinic.
I walked passed the brochures on suicide and abortion. I walked passed the pile of sticky Home Sense Magazine on the coffee table waiting room. A lady’s head stuck out from behind the admin counter and when she looked at me from over her glasses I began to sob.
“I need help.”









