Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
anada490
, ____, ( 15/12/01 anada490 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "One Year Ago Today..." `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by Airman Opus ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
I called in to work to say that I wouldn't be coming in, that I was
feeling ill. I doubt they believed me, but they didn't have too much
choice. somehow, and I'm not sure how, I managed to get dressed and
ready to go visit the local veteran's administration hospital. I stepped
out onto the driveway, among the leaves and cold fall breeze, and huddled
myself against the cold as I turned to walk down my street. I remember
looking at other people passing by in cars, wondering if they were having
as hard a time as I was, or if they could somehow tell by looking at me that
I was close to going completely crazy. the sound of the harsh metal being
fed from my cd player helped buffer me from the rest of the world, and kept
my mind off what I was actually doing.
what I was actually doing was waiting for a bus that would take me to
a new chapter in my life, and I didn't know what that meant. I only knew
that something had to be done; getting a new, "better" job didn't help. I
was in the midst of a serious failure to perform. I didn't want to work at
all, especially on a boring project that no one seemed to be really
concerned about. instead, I'd sit and stare at the screen doing nothing,
but keeping an interesting looking window open just in case someone came
into the closet that passed as my office. I'd show up late and leave
early, in between taking too-long lunches.
the bus finally arrived, and I found a seat near the back corner,
again worrying silently that people were looking at me and seeing how I felt
inside. I cried a little to myself, tried to tell myself that I was doing
the right thing, that all would be all right, I just had to get some help
and I'd be back being successful in no time at all. I was forgetting that
it had actually been months since I had done anything really successful, but
I did what I could to repress that thought. simply being on the way to ask
for help, to become one of those people that can't get through life on their
own, was pretty well hard enough to think about.
eventually, I managed to get to the veterans's administration
(hereafter shortened to va) hospital. I had been to va hospitals before,
immediately after becoming a civilian again. nothing like this though. I
reported to the registration desk, and asked to see someone in the mental
health clinic that could help with serious depression. the worker's
response gave me two feelings; one, that I was going to be safe here, and
that was a comforting feeling. two, that this was serious, because she
immediately started making arrangements for me to get the necessary
paperwork to get me in front of a doctor. (you need to know that it often
takes months to get a doctor's appointment at a va hospital; a person
doesn't just stroll into the walk-in clinic and get taken care of unless
they suffer from something life-threatening.)
after doing the necessary paperwork, I talked to the duty nurse, who
asked me questions that began to scare me a little... she was assessing
my situation, performing triage, trying to determine how I was feeling in
case I needed to have someone assigned to watch me until they could fit me
into the mental health clinic upstairs. the realization that I was now a
mentally unstable person in the eyes of someone else went through my veins
like cold steel. this was suddenly very real, and I had to admit that I
wasn't sure just how bad I felt. I didn't know if I was really in control,
and now I was scared of myself.
soon after that (very soon, I realized, as I sat in a waiting room
where I'm sure I was under observation), I went upstairs to talk to a nurse;
the doctor wasn't available, but she was able to run me through the standard
tests that answer the question "is this person suffering from depression?"
after three or four questions, she was convinced, and I was scheduled to see
the doctor two days later. I promised I'd call if I felt the need to do
anything serious before that, and I held the card holding the mental health
clinic's phone number tightly, wanting to keep it close.
I left the va hospital that day, feeling somehow better that I had
taken the step to get help with a life that was way out of my control, but
by the time I was riding the bus home, I didn't know quite what to think.
being unhappy inside your own consciousness is one thing; being diagnosed as
clinically depressed is another. I was scared and frightened, even more
than I had been before that day, and looking into the future, I could see
nothing, not even blackness, and I could feel nothing besides the cold.
/\___/\ ____________________________________________________________ /\___/\
\ -.- / \ -.- /
`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Airman Opus `-.^.-'
/"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\
