All four of us sat in silence and watched the young man as he took in our brief conversation. Twelve hours ago he was lying on a motorway waiting to be run over. Five hours later he was brought into a psychiatric ward. Now he was told he would be discharged.
“I don’t understand.”
I didn’t blame him. I still didn’t understand and I had witnessed this same conversation almost everyday for the past six months.
“Well, we have given you a list of websites and some numbers so you can get some help.”
“But I’m here to get help.”
“Yes, but you see, we can’t help you until you help yourself.”
I concentrated on the grey wall behind the nurse to stop myself getting drawn into the patient’s tears.
“You see, we can’t help you until you stop drinking.”
“But I need help to stop!”
“Yes, that’s why we have given you those numbers.”
“But what about my mood? I feel like shit! I want to kill myself!”
“Well yes, but you see that could be because of your drinking. And we can’t know that until you stop.”
“But you’re psychiatrists! This is mental health! I need help – please.”
“We can help you once you stop drinking. Otherwise it complicates matters.”
I glanced at my consultant to see if he had gotten the irony of what he and the patient had just said but he was already back on his laptop reading through the notes of the next patient to come in.
“Thank you for your time Mr Smith. I wish you well.”
I took out my notebook and began to write as the young man was sternly veered out of the room by the nurse.
Psychiatry – not for personality disorders, or drug use, or alcohol problems, or stress in life, or relationship difficulties, or wanting someone to talk to.
Complicates matters.
