***This is a fictitious account of a man named Danny who deals with Clinical Depression. Some content in this series may be triggering. If you are easily triggered, please do not read this***
Ugh, my suicide attempt failed yet again. I thought for sure that I succeeded this time. My plan was foolproof. Or, so I thought. I woke up in the emergency room and Skyler was right there hovering over me. He seems deeply concerned. But, how did he even know about my suicide attempt? I made sure that I did not tell a soul about my plans. Is he some kind of mind-reader or something? I straightened my back in my hospital bed. I need to sit up straight and look confident. He takes a seat right next to me and smiles.
"I am glad to see you still living, bud," He says with a joyful tone of voice. I do not feel joyful at all. As a matter of fact, I feel extremely depressed because I cannot even do the one thing I want to do so badly. I feel like such a failure.
"How did you know what I was doing?" I ask him meekly and he just smiles even wider. He tells me that after our last conversation, he just had this feeling that he needed to check on me. He says that when he came to my house, he noticed something was off when he saw the front door was wide open. Dang, I should have been more careful with making sure that the blasted door was shut and locked. Oh, well, I just know what mistake not to make again. The nurse comes in to tell me that I am going to be admitted into Memorial Hospital yet again for a mandatory 72-hour hold. This is horrible because I did not want to go back to the Psychiatric hospital. My life is in shambles. However, maybe this could be a good thing. The psychiatric hospital is not so bad after all. It has good food and I can possibly get on a medication that will straighten out my brain. I decide that I am actually looking forward to this.
Two Hours Later:
As I am being wheeled into Memorial Hospital, I am greeted by the same rotund nurse as before, except this time she seems very jovial. I tell her that I am looking forward to getting better and she just smiles at me right before taking control of my wheelchair to push me up to my unit. Once I am on the unit, something odd happens. My psychiatrist asks me to come into his office to speak with him. This never happens. I've never met with a psychiatrist this quickly before. But, I just assume that I must be a special case, so I quickly step into his office.
"Why are you here, Danny?" He politely asks me. As I am recounting everything that has gone on for the last 24 hours, I am beginning to feel a little foolish. I am not entirely sure why I wanted to die so badly. He asks me if I have been taking my Zoloft and I quickly tell him that I have been, but that it has not been helping anymore. That was a small lie. The truth is, I stopped taking it a while back when I noticed that I was still getting depressed. Why take something that is not helping with the very thing it is designed to help me with?
"I am going to discontinue the Zoloft and I try you on Prozac, ok?" He calmly says as he types something into his computer. I've never heard of Prozac before but am willing to try it. If it helps me overcome this depression, why would I not be willing to try it? After he makes the prescription for 50 mg every morning, we shake hands, and I head out to the Day Room. It is time for dinner and I get very excited because I am feeling famished. Dinner tonight is lasagna, garlic bread, a fruit cup, a chocolate chip cookie, and white 2% milk. As I am eating, I feel very hopeful about this new medication. I hope that it will restore my mental sanity. I silently praise the Lord for psychiatric hospitals.
STAY TUNED FOR THE PART 10 OF THIS SERIES...
-David Lee Chu Sarchet
Christian Mental Health Advocate
Check out the Christ-Centered Mental Health Ministry Website
Check out the other Christ-Centered Mental Health Ministry Website
"I am glad to see you still living, bud," He says with a joyful tone of voice. I do not feel joyful at all. As a matter of fact, I feel extremely depressed because I cannot even do the one thing I want to do so badly. I feel like such a failure.
"How did you know what I was doing?" I ask him meekly and he just smiles even wider. He tells me that after our last conversation, he just had this feeling that he needed to check on me. He says that when he came to my house, he noticed something was off when he saw the front door was wide open. Dang, I should have been more careful with making sure that the blasted door was shut and locked. Oh, well, I just know what mistake not to make again. The nurse comes in to tell me that I am going to be admitted into Memorial Hospital yet again for a mandatory 72-hour hold. This is horrible because I did not want to go back to the Psychiatric hospital. My life is in shambles. However, maybe this could be a good thing. The psychiatric hospital is not so bad after all. It has good food and I can possibly get on a medication that will straighten out my brain. I decide that I am actually looking forward to this.
Two Hours Later:
As I am being wheeled into Memorial Hospital, I am greeted by the same rotund nurse as before, except this time she seems very jovial. I tell her that I am looking forward to getting better and she just smiles at me right before taking control of my wheelchair to push me up to my unit. Once I am on the unit, something odd happens. My psychiatrist asks me to come into his office to speak with him. This never happens. I've never met with a psychiatrist this quickly before. But, I just assume that I must be a special case, so I quickly step into his office.
"Why are you here, Danny?" He politely asks me. As I am recounting everything that has gone on for the last 24 hours, I am beginning to feel a little foolish. I am not entirely sure why I wanted to die so badly. He asks me if I have been taking my Zoloft and I quickly tell him that I have been, but that it has not been helping anymore. That was a small lie. The truth is, I stopped taking it a while back when I noticed that I was still getting depressed. Why take something that is not helping with the very thing it is designed to help me with?
"I am going to discontinue the Zoloft and I try you on Prozac, ok?" He calmly says as he types something into his computer. I've never heard of Prozac before but am willing to try it. If it helps me overcome this depression, why would I not be willing to try it? After he makes the prescription for 50 mg every morning, we shake hands, and I head out to the Day Room. It is time for dinner and I get very excited because I am feeling famished. Dinner tonight is lasagna, garlic bread, a fruit cup, a chocolate chip cookie, and white 2% milk. As I am eating, I feel very hopeful about this new medication. I hope that it will restore my mental sanity. I silently praise the Lord for psychiatric hospitals.
STAY TUNED FOR THE PART 10 OF THIS SERIES...
-David Lee Chu Sarchet
Christian Mental Health Advocate
Check out the Christ-Centered Mental Health Ministry Website
Check out the other Christ-Centered Mental Health Ministry Website
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