Mental Health Blog - antidepressant treatment review

Silence lay thick and heavy over the tiny office. Even the clock on the wall seemed reluctant to make a sound as it dutifully ticked off the seconds.

The white utilitarian shelving gleamed. The books were lined up precisely by size and subject. Neatly stacked piles of paper defined the perimeter of the heavy metal desk. Only the center remained uncluttered, an untouched cup of coffee just within reach of the long armed man folded precisely into into the chair behind it.

A young woman sat opposite the desk, feet swinging listlessly back and forth, her eyes blank, her hair a damp tangle about her moon-pale cheeks and lips. The smooth oval of her face was slack, unresponsive. Artist's hands, long-fingered and short nailed, curled restively in the fraying, washed out hem of her t-shirt.

Dimly she could hear him, the long armed man, as if he spoke from a great distance. The warm, mellow tones of his voice wrapped around her as, for the first time, he addressed her directly.

"Okay, Sarah. We can do this one of two ways. You can either voluntarily admit yourself," he suggested, pausing to gather his thoughts and weigh the reality of her as she sat so silently before him with the image her file builds of her her. "Or I can call the police and have you escorted. I do that though, and you will end up with a criminal record."

She blinks, his words cracking through the ice of her expression. Her tongue slides over her lips.

He nods slowly, body straining forward. "Would you care to tell me why you did it? Why you swallowed two months worth of Prozac?"

"I don't know," she murmurs softly.