Trigger warning: depression, anxiety, suicide. Please be advised.
Last Monday morning, everyone was either preparing for work or school or at their respective environments already. Meanwhile, I was wearing my work clothes… and was rushed to an emergency room because of something stupid.
Before I went in, I saw one old male being carried to the ICU. It was life or death; his wife and children were crying; the oxygen tank was on the ready. I hope he gets to live soon.
I, on the other hand, have no idea and don’t care what is going to happen to me.
And when I was brought inside, I noticed more old patients either being evaluated or resting. I think I am the only young gun trying to have a nap despite the shivers.
Speaking of naps, it was interrupted by two doctors – both are taking notes, but only one is asking the questions.
“Good morning, sir. My name is Dr. Tiu. I will be asking a few questions, if that’s OK with you?”
“What is your full name?”
“My name is [redacted].”
“Date of birth?”
“December 5, 1990.”
“Do you drink your medicine regularly?”
“Not regularly. There are weeks that I don’t drink because I can’t afford it or I don’t have my prescription with me.”
“Do you know what’s the reason for you being here?”
I looked down in shame, and said, “overdose.”
Dr. Tiu bit her lip and asked, “I’m sorry about the next question but…”
For some strange reason, I felt the normally busy emergency room going quiet—like you can hear a pin drop.
“What were you trying to achieve when you drank 4 times of your prescribed medication?”
I don’t know how to respond honestly.
She calmly followed up, “Do you want to end your life… or do you want to uplift your mood?”
I finally came up with an answer, albeit confirming or denying.