You're not the one in crisis — but you're the one staying up at 3am wondering if you missed something, if you're saying the wrong thing, if today is the day to push or the day to wait. This page is for you.
Not the textbook list. The quieter, more easily-missed shifts that real people describe when they look back at the weeks before someone they loved stopped being okay.
Their sleep changes.
Either it disappears — they're awake at 3am every night, scrolling, pacing — or it takes over: they sleep 12 hours and still wake up exhausted. Both are signals.
They start dropping out of things they used to love.
The weekly run. The book club. The chat group they used to lead. They give vague reasons. They stop being the person who shows up.
Their language shifts toward "no point".
"What's the point." "Nothing's going to change." "I'm a burden." "Everyone would be better off." These sentences sound dramatic — but they are not figures of speech. Take them at face value.
They start giving things away.
A favourite jacket to a sibling. A guitar to a friend. Mailing back a book they borrowed. Tidying things up that don't usually get tidied. This is the one most often missed in hindsight.
A sudden calm after a long low patch.
If they've been visibly low for weeks and then one day they seem peaceful, relieved, "lighter" — this is sometimes the moment a decision has been made internally. Do not assume the storm has passed. Lean in.
They stop fighting back when you check in.
Before, they would brush you off, get irritated, tell you to leave it. Now they just nod. They don't argue. That isn't agreement — it's exhaustion.
There's no perfect sentence. But there are sentences that open the door — and sentences that quietly close it. Use the left column. Avoid the right.
You don't need their permission to ask for advice. You don't need their permission to call. The case manager will treat the conversation as confidential, and will help you figure out what comes next.
Open WhatsApp ListenUp first if you can.
It's quieter than a phone call, you can write it out in your own time, and the case manager has it in writing. Open WhatsApp. If it's urgent or you need a voice, call 072 565 9255.
Lead with what you've actually noticed.
Not your fears, not your interpretations — just what you've observed. "She hasn't slept properly in three weeks." "He's stopped answering his children." "She said yesterday she's a burden." Concrete observations are what the case manager works from.
Say whether they know you're reaching out.
Both are okay. If they do know, we can talk about how to bring them in. If they don't, we'll talk about whether and when that conversation should happen — and how to have it without breaking their trust in you.
Tell us if there's immediate danger.
If they've said something specific tonight, if you know they have access to means, if they're alone and unreachable — say so. We have a clinical escalation pathway, including armed and medical response when it's needed.
Ask what TTP can do, and what we can't.
Below is the honest version. The case manager will walk through it with you on the call.
Supporting someone in pain is its own kind of slow exhaustion. If you don't tend to yourself, you will not have anything left to give them. This is not selfish. This is the maths.
You are not their therapist.
You are their person. Those are not the same role, and trying to be both is one of the fastest paths to burnout. Let us be the therapist. You be the person.
Have one person you can tell the truth to.
Not a group chat. One person — a sibling, an old friend, your own counsellor, ListenUp. Someone who knows what you're carrying. You need a place to say the hard sentences out loud.
Notice when you're using their crisis as a way to avoid your own life.
It's easy to disappear into someone else's pain. Keep going to work. Keep showing up for your kids. Keep the small structures of your day. The structure protects them, too.
It's okay to step back.
If you've become the only person between them and the edge, that's not sustainable for either of you. Tell us. We will help widen the circle so you're not the single point of failure.
You will say something wrong at some point.
It will not be the thing that breaks them. Being there imperfectly is the work. Try, fail, apologise, stay.
If something they said today scared you. If they've gone quiet in a way that doesn't feel right. If you're sitting up reading this at 2am because you don't know what else to do — here's what to do next.
Stay with them, or get someone to. Don't leave them alone tonight if you can help it. Sit on the same couch. Make tea. The lights on. The TV on low. Don't try to fix anything tonight — just be in the room.
Quietly remove means of harm. Pills, ropes, knives, firearms. Lock them in the car. Give them to a neighbour. Just for tonight. You don't have to ask permission.
Open the tonight page with them, or open it for them. It was written for the person in crisis, not for you — but tonight, you are also the person it was written for.