There he was, a man I’d never seen before, sitting on a pasty chair angled by a porthole in an old folk’s home. Silence and tranquility inhabited the room and it seemed like the windows had been closed for a hundred years with a musty stale stench prowling throughout its capacity. Dull-colored draperies that stretched out for miles thwarted the entrance of the radiant sunlight and the shadows of waving nearby trees. The feeble old man appeared to be having an agitating spat with an imaginary companion as he tackled an empty seat and mumbled some profanity. With a baffled look on his face, he stood up without the use of his cane and at a snail's pace walked over to where I had momentarily planted my feet. He looked like he was about to say something when some steps away from me, arriving to his fate, the staggering old man stumbled, landing on his small brittle head. I tried hindering his fall but it was too late as a pool of blood instantly poured out in front of me. The brightly lit room had now turned gory red with darkness capturing the light shining in from the stained glass windows. And like a lifeless yellow leaf in autumn, he sprawled next to my feet as I screamed out for help.
A sudden uproar and chaos exploded when a circle of hysterical patients panicked and radically overstressed shrieking whimpers of fear. The old man looked at me with his eyes wide open and gasped for his last breath while I held his head on my lap. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, I maintained pressure on his wounds with my bare hands and continued to cry out for help. Three men wearing blue uniforms dashed into the room in an effort to recover him but the old man’s depleted time had expired. Drenched in the man’s blood and my tears, I removed myself from the turbulent mess as they lifted him onto a gurney and hauled him away. Frightened and confused, I stayed behind watching him from a distance.
Who was he? My puzzled imagination still wondered who was that strange old man and what was he trying to tell me. Did he know me? It’s impossible that he did for I’m not even bona fide. I feel like my heart has been replaced with an empty cardboard box and my soul silently snatched away from my body. My face appears abstract fading away elusively in the mirror. Besides, no one has the faintest clue of my where abouts. I came here without telling any friends or family, except for my son James, whom I’m hoping won’t say anything. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me or worse be ashamed of me. This is a secret I will take with me to my second grave when I die again.
See, I admitted myself to this place about three weeks ago because I knew I desperately needed help. I felt the blood in my veins had stopped flowing and my lost soul entrapped in a world of bewilderment. My disorientated frame of mind suffered with the reality that I failed to recognize. The person I had once known, no longer existed and I struggled to minimize that reflection to the rest of the world.
Challenges have always overflowed my life from my young childhood days to the present time. But, I have never once considered the idea of giving up until now. I had always been a strong-minded man and determined to prevail over any obstacles that would impede my path. I’ve never feared anything but fear itself but now I fear I’m losing my mind. That is why I came here. I want to retake control of my sense of being. I want to be the stress-free person that would look forward to waking up in the morning, waking up to cream and sugar instead of salt and vinegar. I want to persevere the way I used to and not have to wrestle with life tomorrow.
I began to perceive changes in myself about two years ago.
At first, I felt a little blue here and there. Gradually, over time, I felt even more hopeless and worthless and believed that maybe the world would be better off without me. Overwhelming sleepless nights kept me on edge, making my days insupportable and the food I use to devour, no longer had taste. Decaying weeds replaced the yellow sunflowers that once grew in my garden and the sun became a thing of the past for clouds relentlessly wandered above my home. Sometimes, I’d wake up late in the afternoon only to sit in my dusty red recliner all day long with nothing to do. It’s not that I had nothing to do; it’s just that I lacked motivation. I use to enjoy an array of things. I use to grow apple and peach trees, plant all kinds of flowers in the garden, and grow my own tomatoes but now, I can’t even take care of myself much less a garden.
I realize now, I should continue living my life at least until fate catches up with me. I must focus on what I do have and not on what is gone. But like dangling bats that only come out at night, I feel useless with no real purpose to serve in life. My only true purpose has been pulled from underneath me, leaving me with little or no optimism. But now that I’ve taken my first step by seeking help, I’m ready to fight this horrible battle against depression.