He was severely depressed.
He saw no point in living.
He promised he wouldn’t hurt himself.
He was being honest on 2 out of the 3.
He had tried countless medicines, had been to counseling, had been in the psychiatric hospital multiple times. Nothing worked. He continued to spiral into the darkness of depression. And now, here he was talking to me. I thought we had a good plan and had made progress over the last few months. I thought he was getting better. I was wrong.
When I heard he had committed suicide, I was shocked. I felt defeated. I felt I had let him down. I went to his chart and looked over our last visit. He had promised to come back if he felt overwhelmed or hopeless. What happened?
I am not a therapist. But most of the time, my patients won’t see a therapist. So I learn to listen, watch for worrisome cues, ask open questions. I am slow to give advice. Slow to speak. Slow to grab my prescription pad. Slow to end the conversation. Because you never know when the “real” conversation begins.
People want to portray themselves a certain way. It’s why Instagram is popular. They want to edit their life. They want you to see the unblemished version and believe it’s the real one. Then they can believe it’s the real version as well. The fiction becomes their reality.
But, if you are patient, you let them talk, you give them a safe place, they will open up. You will get the no-filter picture. But the truth is, even then you can’t always help them. At least not in the sense that you would like. You can still be a help, but you won’t always get the outcome you are looking for.
There’s no way to know what leads some down a road of despair. To find yourself empty. To battle the demons alone. We can only pray to provide some source of hope to those that we encounter.
To give in is to give up. And that is unacceptable. We won’t win every battle. And some losses are more costly. But the battle is worth fighting.
I have treated homeless addicts on a mountain in Nicaragua. I have seen the poorest of the poor in Haiti. I have held the hand of the mentally disabled. And all I can say is, hope is all around us.
If I could tell my patient one more thing it would be this: I am sorry. Maybe I failed you, maybe I didn’t. Maybe we failed each other. But the world is less without you in it.
Had a simlar experience years ago on that mountain top. Always wonder if I could have done something different. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I stay. Missing you.
Thanks Rick. I miss you guys as well. Welch and I were just talking about how we were depressed that we couldn’t get down there this year. Will be thinking about y’all
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I have been reading your posts all afternoon. All I can say is that I am so happy that my daughter is your patient. She has struggled with addiction for about 10 years and has been to numerous doctors.
Reading your posts I can see what she means when she tells me you are different than all the others she has seen. You understand her…… You have compassion for the addicted. People who have never been touched by addiction, either personally or through the addiction of a friend or loved one, just do not understand. They judge and make comments that “the only good addict is a dead one….”.and it hurts so badly to hear that. No one ever wishes to be addicted.
I can only say that the world would certainly be less without my daughter in it….
Thank you Dr Park for being the person that she can open up to. Thank you for being there for her.
Thank you for that. I hope to spread the message that we are all human, all struggling, all connected, and all….in need of redemption.
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