When I first saw him, he seemed... vacant. As if no soul was left in his fragile body and only his bones covered with skin were keeping him rooted to this planet. What brought my attention were his eyes. Once probably full of life, they were a dull, distant green. Unmoving, clouded with memories of a happy childhood; now only filled with the shadow of hopelessness.
The young doctor remembered his first thoughts of the man sitting before him with amusement. The eyes he watched were fierce, filled with passionate anger, not distant as they were before. The green in them stood out, burning with a fire that threatened to light up his dark hair, if he only let it.
However, the doctor wasn’t amused by the story the young man told him. It was only their third session, and he could already tell the man didn’t belong there.
“Why did you get solitary last week?” the doctor asked, preparing to note down the answer he would be given.
“You know why. I’m sure they told you.” the boy answered calmly, even though his eyes told a different emotion.
“They did, but I prefer to hear it from you.”
The doctor looked up from his notepad, only to be met with silence. It seemed the boy was reluctant to tell his version, and the doctor assumed it was probably because he wasn’t used to being asked.
“I, uh...” the boy paused to clear his throat, and the doctor noticed his nervous shifting in the chair. “I tried to run away again.”
The doctor nodded and scribbled a note on the sheet of paper before him. Telling truth for the first time.
“Why?”
The boy scoffed at the question. Why? He asked himself that every day he spent locked up in the hospital. He still didn’t know the answer to that question, and he doubted he would ever find out. Why?
“Isn’t that obvious? You’re a psychiatrist here, Sherlock; you tell me.” the boy remarked sarcastically as he crossed his arms.
The doctor let a small, barely visible smile grace his lips as he continued to scribble. Hasn’t lost his sense of humour.
“Have you taken any drugs lately?” the doctor decided to change the topic.
Interestingly, it seemed to be the right question to ask. The boy untangled his arms and grabbed the seat in a tight grip. He leaned forward in the angry posture, his teeth gritting and eyes flaming with rage.
“I have never taken drugs in my life. In fact, the only drugs I ever took were the ones you’ve been filling me with since I got here, that I had no choice taking.” the boy defended, his voice almost dangerous.
The doctor found the change in emotions curious. He didn’t expect such a reaction, especially because the boy was admitted for drug use. He remembered distinctly it was what the boy’s file recorded. Tested positive for heroin. Showed signs of violence – had to be restrained. Was intoxicated upon admission.
Questioning the boy’s honesty wasn’t an option. The doctor was highly skilled in detecting lies, and he could tell the boy was not fooling him. However, he specialised in Addiction Psychiatry, and if the man before him wasn’t an addict, why was he assigned to him?
The doctor contemplated asking the next question. It was important, yet he was reluctant. In the sessions he had with the boy, he understood that he wasn’t willing to talk about his past, about the life he once had, before he was admitted into a mental institution. However, they had made progress, and the fact the boy was showing more emotions than before was promising.
“Why are you here then?”
The change in the atmosphere was immediate. The boy straightened his back, the anger seemed to have dissipated and he slowly leaned back in his chair. He put his hands on his lap and nervously fiddled with his fingers. His eyes flickered around the room, not willing to look at the doctor anymore. He seemed almost scared to answer the question.
The doctor silently watched as the young man gathered his courage. He let him take his time, because it seemed to be a difficult topic. He waited patiently as the green eyes filled with tears, showing raw pain.
The voice could barely be heard in the silent office. It was shaky, silent, and painful.
“Because I’m gay.”
***
I could tell you a story,
Or I could write you a song,
But they won’t understand:
It was me all along.
No matter the tears,
No matter the blood;
They fuelled my fears,
Sacrificed my life.
Hope is for the weak,
And torture scars the heart.
I am who I am
Until my world falls apart.
***
The young doctor gripped the wheel tightly, driving just under the limit. His usually collected emotions were wrecking havoc inside him as he followed the long, lonely road.
He loved psychiatry and he loved helping people, but it failed him. He despised what his passion and life calling did to the man sitting in the seat next to him. He knew he wasn’t responsible, for he hadn’t been there for more than two months.
Those two months were enough to learn of all kinds of activities that went on in that hospital, and it was enough time for him to gather all the information he could to file a lawsuit. He knew it was just a matter of time before they all paid for what they did. The time he had been there opened his eyes to a world he didn’t dare even speak about. It was atrocious, disgusting, vile-
“You saved me.” the soft voice broke his inner turmoil and the doctor quickly looked at his passenger.
The boy held fire in his green eyes once again, but there was also doubt and wonder. As if he couldn’t believe there was a person willing to take him out of that evil institution. And a psychiatrist no less!
“The last five years of your life had been Hell, but I promise you, I will do my best to help you put them behind you. You deserve to live your life, and I’m going to give that to you. Is that alright?” the doctor answered as he glanced at the boy.
The doctor wasn’t lying: he fully intended to help the man get back on his feet. To be locked in a mental institution just because he was gay... it was outrageous! The doctor was gay himself, and he couldn’t stand to see the young man suffer there any longer. He swore he would protect the man, give him a roof over his head, and help him continue his education, since the man was admitted when he was seventeen. He couldn’t watch a young soul die, for being who he was.
A nod and a silent sob were his response as the boy turned his head towards the window. He watched the blur of the trees and the clear blue sky as he let the slow tears show his relief.
Taking one more glance at the doctor, the boy reached for his hand on the gear stick and gripped it tightly. The doctor smiled at him, and the boy smiled in return. He wowed to himself to hold the young doctor’s hand the whole trip and not let go. He couldn’t let him go; he found his saviour.
There, in the doctor’s car, with a promise of a life, he felt his heart beat again.
*Inspired by a true story
