Page 14 of Puck Me

Chester’s eyes come back to meet mine. “That sucks. And you enjoy this stuff?”

“I never enjoy seeing people suffer. It’s seeing people come out of their suffering that really makes this job worthwhile.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“Oh, you will.” I can tell Chester doesn’t believe me, so I quickly change the subject. “It reminds me of my past, dealing with patients in this kind of state. There were times when I wanted to end it, too.”

“Why didn’t you?” Chester sounds openly curious now, the dead tone almost gone from his voice.

“Fear, I guess. I didn’t want to live like I was, but I was also afraid for death. Eventually, I realized that I had never really wanted to die. I had just not wanted to continue living in the hell I was going through.”

“Join the club,” Chester mutters.

“This club doesn’t have to be one with a permanent membership. There’s more than one way out. Sure, death would be quicker, but living through this and finding joy in life again is so much more satisfying.”

“Why?” Chester challenges. “How do you know what happens after death and whether it’s better or worse than this?”

“I don’t,” I admit. “However, I do know that I love my life, and many of the patients I helped feel the same. I truly believe that you can be one of them.”

“How?”

“Well, for starters, how about you tell me more about the thoughts you’ve been having?”

“I… Well, I guess it’s like you said. I don’t want to live like this. It feels like there’s only one way out and it… I mean, I just want this to end.”

I can tell he’s walking around words, being careful what he says to me, which is understandable after the whole involuntary admission thing.

“I understand that, Chester. Are you finding the groups helpful at all?”

“I mean, I suppose they’re interesting, but I still feel the same. They’re not helping with the black hole inside me.”

“That’s a good way to describe it. Can you tell me more?”

“Well, it’s like a black hole—it sucks things in. All light, joy, all life—it sucks them in, crushes them and turns them into darkness.”

“Have you tried drawing what you feel?”

“Seriously? I’m not in kindergarten!”

“I think you’ll find drawing a useful therapeutic tool, even for adults. For our next session, I’d like you to draw your black hole for me.”

Chester folds his arms. “It’s a black hole. What, you want me to color in a black circle on paper?”

“If that’s what you feel it looks like.”

“Fine,” Chester mutters. “I still say it’s stupid, though.”

“If not drawing, what kinds of things did you like before the depression?”

“Hockey.”

“Oh, come on, there must have been other things you liked. I loved track, but I was always a huge Lord of the Rings fan too.”

“Really? Me too.”

“What else? Tell me more about what you like.”

“Well… I like cats. I used to volunteer at an animal shelter. They probably wonder where I am now… just another failure to add to the list.”

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