I didn’t have any hope by this time. I think that given time, I would have realised that I was going to be better, but at that point, I was numb. I couldn’t think past the numbness and shock of what I was going through. I was still in pain, but I couldn’t feel anything other than resigned despair. I knew I had no hope left, even though that wasn’t true. The admitting doctor who had threatened to use the Mental Health Act against me did tell me that my fear and reaction could be due to my depression, but I was past caring at this point. I felt nothing, and I felt myself floating in some kind of disbelief. People drifted in and out around me, and I took my medication as I was told. Otherwise, I wanted to just sit in my bed and stare at the ceiling, and keep out of the way of the noisy people.
My pastor and his wife were around when I got transferred. It was cathartic talking to them as well, and my pastor prayed for me as they both prayed with me. Their care meant a lot at that time, as I know my pastor is really busy. They were full of concern, and listened to me. They were with me as I got transferred, and saw me settled in before they took their leave.
As I write, it has been only a week and a half since I have been discharged. I still struggle to operate normally at times. My appetite is terrible and I am eating variable amounts every day. On some days, I eat about half what I normally eat, or less. On other days, I binge eat during one meal, and then eat very little for the rest of the day. My wife tries to help me to regulate my diet, but it’s difficult for us both as I sometimes just don’t have the appetite. A lot of food that I used to like to eat holds no appeal, and even makes me feel nauseous.
This is the most pleasurable chapter to write – I have so many thanks to give, just to be able to live, and to be able to write my story for others to read.
Thank you, God, for saving me from my sins through Jesus Christ, and for saving me from myself. I am sure the Holy Spirit was the one who guided my steps into the hospital, and kept me safe these few weeks.
If you recognise yourself in my story, I would like to speak to you here, personally. Perhaps you only see a certain portion of yourself, or perhaps you have had similar experiences and disillusionments. Or perhaps you feel the same sadness and lack of joy or constant pain. Perhaps you don’t understand happiness, or you find yourself struggling to be happy in the midst of a world that seems obsessed with being happy.
If you are a Christian and suffering from depression or other mental illnesses, this chapter is for you.
If you are not a sufferer, but want to know how to help someone who’s suffering from some form of mental disorder, this chapter is for you.
If you know someone who has committed suicide, this chapter is also for you. Please pay attention to the last section.
The Institute of Mental Health has an unsavoury reputation, with many Singaporeans remembering Woodbridge and how it operated purely as an asylum. However, with great improvements in education and medical care in Singapore, IMH has become a very solid bastion of mental health education and care in Singapore.
Every story needs a conclusion.
Mine has none, for now, thankfully.
(This letter is reproduced here and edited lightly, with the permission of my beloved wife.)
Couldn’t sleep, because guess what – the words are back! True, it’s the middle of the night, but the good thing about being in a 24/7 ward is that there’s always someone around. And since it’s a psych ward, the excuse that I can’t sleep till I write is…. real.Read More »