The Phonecall

“You’ve reached Gilman-Perkins Psychiatry practice, and your call is valued. Currently our lines are busy, and you have been placed in the queue.” 

I sighed. Brilliant. This was the fifth time I’d heard this message in the last few minutes. I’d squeezed this call into my lunch break, because the practice wasn’t open after five, or on weekends.  

The stockroom was empty. I ate here often for this very reason. 

The music was that overly-loud energetic hold music, all strings and keys. And just when you thought you were getting into it, it was interrupted by a pre-recorded, upbeat voice. 

“Tired of waiting on the phone? You can visit our website at http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au to find mental health resources, along with a list of our helpful qualified mental health professionals who can be contacted there.”

I frowned. Yes, I was already tired of this call, but it was quicker than sending an email through the automated contact form, which probably wouldn’t be read for days, and certainly wouldn’t get me an immediate response. 

More music blared from my phone, on speaker.

I hate making phone calls. It gives me the worst anxiety. Ironically that’s why I was on this unending phone call – to talk to a therapist about my issues with anxiety and possible neurodivergence. 

“Hate making phone calls? Our licensed professionals can help you with anxiety and guide you through how to manage it day to day. Visit http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au for more resources.” 

Weird, I thought, and went back to aimlessly reading articles on my phone as the call ticked on. 

Ten minutes in and the recorded messages washed over me in a wave. The same upbeat voice of that woman telling me to visit their website – the tone of her saying it the exact same way every time – it was draining, having to listen to this. 

“Feeling apathetic? You won’t be for long. Visit us in our clinic or at http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au for more information and resources.” 

I paused reading. That was a weirdly-phrased one. I went back to reading a think-piece on the Barbie movie.

Again, the music washed over me. I was familiar with it now. 

“Worried? Everything will be ok when He comes. Visit http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au for more information and resources.” 

I wrinkled my nose. I’d gotten a recommendation from my GP about Gilman-Perkins, and I thought I’d researched them well enough – but if they were some kind of Christian clinic I wasn’t interested. There was a reason I left that behind.

“Do you feel a loneliness in your soul? A lack of belonging? A sense that modern life is wrong? The Great God will hold you and keep you safe. Go to http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au for more information and resources on this.” 

I blinked and stared at my phone, changing back to the call screen. That was weird. I’d never heard anyone refer to God like that. 

The voice was as cheery as ever, but I felt goosebumps rise on my skin. 

I didn’t know what to do, so I sat and waited for it to say something else. 

“Ever wonder why you’re so afraid of the everyday?” I jumped. For a moment I thought someone had answered and was speaking to me, but it was just the same woman’s voice. “Someone hurt you long ago and now you’re afraid to put a foot wrong, as if you’ll be executed otherwise.”

I frowned. What the fuck was this? This couldn’t be a good therapy practice.

“The Great God understands this and loves you. He loves all that you are. Come with us.” 

The woman’s tone was changing, becoming more serious. And there was a kind of – whispering at the edges of the call. Like people talking too low for me to hear. 

The music blasted back on, and I blinked, uncomprehending. 

I should’ve just hung up. But I was weirdly fascinated to see what it would say next. 

“Do you feel a lack of safety?” the woman asked, cutting the music off again. I shivered. There were definitely people talking, but it was louder now. I couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like they were repeating something. “We are protected by the Great God’s wings, and we band together as a community of believers beneath them. Don’t you miss believing? Don’t you miss your mother?” 

I gasped. How could they – was this some kind of sick prank? I had checked them out though, I had anxiously rechecked the number several times. 

The voices were getting louder. They were chanting something, like Latin or something. The woman’s voice was gentle but determined. 

I had a flash of the Church I went to as a kid, the smell of it, and then a flash of Mum in a hospital gown with a headscarf on. 

“She’s here with us, and she doesn’t feel any pain anymore. She lives in joy with the believers of the Great God. He can bring you to her, through us. We’ve been waiting for you, Kiara.” 

I let out a sob and dropped my phone. No one was around. 

I stared at it on the floor. Frozen, and breathing heavily, my heart beat like a jackhammer. 

The call seemed to get louder, impossibly so, filling the room. This must have disturbed the office, but no one came in. 

“The Great God loves you, Kiara!” The woman’s voice was manic, now, and I wondered if it was recorded at all. “He can take away all your fear and anxiety, shame and loss, you can be fixed; just say yes at the tone!” 

The chanters echoed her. SAYYESSAYESSAYYESSAYYESSAYYES

I curled in on myself, feeling an oncoming panic attack. I was so drained by it all, sick of trying, sick of grieving, sick of the day to day. 

SAYYESSAYESSAYYESSAYYESSAYYES

The tone sounded.

As I panicked, I remembered a line from a favourite podcast, cure-alls cure nothing. This great god certainly sounded like a cure-all. And I didn’t want it. 

“No!” 

The voices dispersed. The woman’s voice returned to its cheery, recorded affect. “You can book appointments online at http://www.gilmanperkinspsychiatry.com.au, and find more information and resources there.”

The music kicked back in. I unfroze, scrambling to hang up. I breathed heavily. 

I got a new GP after that.