The seats of the persons who seek professional help gradually
went empty. They were coming in and going out of the door. I heard a loud cry from
inside the room during those waiting moments. It was a constraint and painful
cry. I felt his pain. He was the guy who was in cue with his grandmother. I
even met a teacher while waiting for my turn. She was a teacher at the elementary
level. She was there with her son. It was game addiction that led them to
seek professional help. I was hesitant to engage in any conversation with
her because she might know someone in the high school where I was teaching. But
seemed to be unaffected by the danger it may cause to my situation. I had
thoughts that she might gossip about me with her co-teachers and I feared for
my reputation as a teacher even though I badly wanted to resign. My mother
freely continued her conversation with the teacher I had no intention of joining
them, yet my mother kept on talking with her until she asked whether I was
still a student or working. I didn't how I would respond, and I didn't want to
lie. My mother didn't answer for me, and the woman seemed to be anticipating an answer from me, so I gave in and told her the truth. I worked at school
and as a teacher. She was surprised and asked how I coped up with my
situation. I explained to her that I had an ST or student-teacher. I was very
thankful that I had an ST during those times. He saved me a lot.
My turn to see the doctor came up and I was feeling cold. I was
not sure if it was because I was nervous or it was the just air conditioner of
the hospital working on my body temperature. I was the last person in the line.
It was just I and my mother. I entered the room alone. I didn't ask my mother
to come with me since she didn't also volunteer. I thought entering the room
alone was a better option. The doctor sat on a chair behind her table. The
room's motif was all white. I sat on a chair in front of her table. There was a
little distance between us.
The doctor asked me how I felt. I couldn't talk properly, I kept
on stuttering due to the cold I felt from the air conditioner. I told her how I
felt sad, I didn't want my job, I always cried, I was very sensitive, that
there was a student who committed suicide at school and people kept on dying
around our area of residence, and I also told her about my father, how he used
to get drunk and hurt my mom, turn our house into chaos, then after doing that
he would just leave us at home. The doctor told me she understood me. She knew
that what I was going through was tough. She also asked me I was into drugs or
alcohol, I answered no right away. She prescribed a medicine for me, an
anti-depressant, and reminded me that I should eat or drink chocolate, coffee,
soda, or anything similar to these foods. But there was one thing that I didn't
tell the doctor. I wonder if I had told her about it, would I return for the
next appointment?
I took the prescribed medicine every day in the morning for two
weeks. It was making me feel better. My emotions were not overflowing whenever
I had taken the medicine. I was getting numb. I lost the desire to talk or
engage in any conversation.
Two weeks had passed since I started taking the anti-depressant, and I went back to school after my 10-day leave. I was calm and collected at home since my encounters were only with my family. Since I returned to school, I cooped up in the school's library as I try to refrain from any human interaction. I had a feeling that the medicine
would work best if I avoid any potential encounter with anyone.
I continued to take the anti-depressant. It was working perfectly fine. It was doing its job precisely. But I felt something unnatural about the effect of the medicine on my emotions. It felt like every stimulus that is responsible for my emotions was losing its function. I thought maybe it was enough. The medicine had helped me already, thoughts that I must take hold of my emotions with my own will and take captive of my every thought possessed me. But how? How would I do that? I couldn't even do it before the suicidal incident of the student what made me think I could.
I stopped taking the medicine regularly after that two weeks. I only took it when I felt uncollected and disconnected. I only took it when I was already crying and I couldn't control my emotions and tears just kept rushing on which was not even prescribed by the doctor. I took the risk of irregularly taking the medicine with consulting the professional, which I do not also advisable for anyone of you to do so.
~end of part 3~
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