The happy pill, The Psychiatrist, and the story that came along with it.


The story began in a very sad and tragic manner. Remembering those time was too painful. The truth is, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar. I guess it started with me not being able to sleep, which was strongly depressing in itself. I thought I’d gone crazy during those times. It happened during Christmas break and in case you’re wondering what took me so long to write about that? Well, I believe this is the only time that I can bravely retell that tough part of my life.

After having sleepless nights, my sanity was slowly diminishing. I could go on and live my day worrying about how I would not be getting sleep again, I would attempt to sleep but only to found out I was spending hours lying in bed and not even getting a minute of deep sleep. I was restless, I lost my appetite for food, I decided I was depressed, and so I would spend my day crying because of fear. My parents would ask me what’s the reason behind my endless sobs and I would just answered them with, “I don’t know, the feeling is just sad.” At that time, I really don’t know exactly why I kept on crying and couldn’t stop. I guess mostly because fear got the best of me. I feared my world ended already: I thought I would drop out school because of my distressing situation, I felt no spark nor passion to do something, I believed I would go insane eventually. In just a span of three days, my appearance has already deflated and because of that I worried more.

Of course my parents were alarmed. In fact, my grandmother called my aunt and asked for advised while I was in my room crying. My aunt recommended I should see a psychiatrist. At first, the idea of seeing a psychiatrist scared me because I knew only people with mental problems needed a psychiatrist.

December 27 came and it was time to meet my psychiatrist. My parents thought maybe we should go see movie first thing before I head for an appointment with the doctor. When it was time to face the doctor, I had to patiently wait in a long line for four hours. Other patients aside from me had serious mental illnesses far from what I was enduring. Of course it made me nervous because I was scared that I might sooner become the kind of person they were. Suddenly one woman had a chitchat with my grandmother. She said she was with her brother who couldn’t sleep too and really starting to lose it. All I could remember was how nice she was but I was not to her. I don’t know why? I guess I was feeling a little bit irritated at that time for no apparent reason. She kept on giving me wonderful wisdoms and advice about how young I was and I still have a lot of things I could do in the future and that I should not take things seriously. Stuffs that basically make me feel better for myself, however, I wasn’t buying all those things that time. All I wanted was to just finish my consultation and talk to nobody but my doctor.


As my grandmother kept on saying, my psychiatrist looked young and perhaps still young. We heard through the grapevine that she was really great on her line of profession and I guess mostly that’s the reason why she has a lot of patient. I mentally reviewed all the things that I needed to say once I sat in front of her. To my surprise though, she just kept asking basic questions like “Do you have tendency of hurting yourself? Do you have a suicidal thoughts? Do you hear unusual voices?” Mostly questions that were answerable by yes or no.

I expected my psychiatrist to give me pieces of advice but she didn’t. She just kept on scribbling on my record sheet. After a while of inquiries, she just prescribed two medicines that I needed to intake for one month. The one was a sleeping pill and the other one was for bipolar and schizophrenia. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me as soon as I walked out of the doctor’s door but I had faith that I’d get better. I guess that’s the only thing I was positive about at that time.


It took three weeks before the magic of happy pill kicked in. The first week of my medication, I still worried and felt anxious every minute of the day. I remember I would look at the clock and thought how hours had pass by and I didn’t do anything relevant or important in my day. I was starting to get sad because of that. I knew it wasn’t normal, I knew something worst was coming along my way and once again, I felt devastated.

My parents brought me to church because they believed it would be a help. To this day, I believe it did help. When you’re in a very bad situation in life, a little bit of prayer helps.

Second week hit in and I still felt depressed. Dark thoughts still kept on bugging me. I was beginning to lose hope and I was afraid I wouldn’t get better anymore. I decided I was just waiting for my life to end and I was just sugar coating it by still attending my class.

Third week came and slowly by slowly I could sense that my feelings were getting lighter and heading towards the brighter perspective of life. I was experiencing constant positivity in my life. My dreams and goals in life were filling up my mind again. I could feel the world was getting nicer to me and everything was looking up. I never felt happier in what seemed like a million years. I reported this to my roommates and I was so glad that they were happy about my improvements.


I was back for another appointment after a month. To my surprise, her question this time matched to what happened to me including my emotional improvements.

Psychiatrist: How are you feeling now?
Me: Really great. But I guess I just started to feel better in my third week of medication.
Psychiatrist: Do you read things about depression?
Me: Yes sometimes.
Psychiatrist: Well as you know, your medicines only showed signs of betterment only after two weeks.
Me: Oh I didn’t know that. (Sounding so defensive but that’s the truth. I really didn’t know that)

My grandma was asked next about her observation. She said nothing but thank you because our family believed that I was cured and if it wasn’t for her I might end up in a very bad state.

The next part was when she gave me wonderful advices like I should just continue doing what I want and strive to achieve my goals in life. The past is over, I can’t do anything about that. But I have a future to look forward to. Mostly her advices were cliche but 99 percent of those were true. I realized she only gave me words of wisdom in my second visit and not on the first time. I believe it’s because before I take medication, my mind is busy processing my sad thoughts it can’t entertain encouragements. Looking back, I felt bad about that lady who gave good words to me while me and my grandma were in line to see my psychiatrist for the first time. Whoever she is and wherever she is right now, I am just thankful for her kindness even if I didn’t gave her kindness back to her.

I was ordered to come back after 2 months.


I guess I have gained a lot if learnings in what happened to me. But if I’m going to sum up what I learned, I would have to say that we should be nice to people all the time because we have no idea what they are going through and how many demons they have to fight inside of them everyday in order to survive. We have a lot and different stories in life, whether it’s good or bad, those stories make up who we are. We experience bad moments or situations and no matter how hard we try to forget them, they still leave scars inside of us as a remembrance of how hard we try to survive, and those scars form part of our stories.

I am particularly thankful to God first and foremost because I feel like He helped me through during those times that I almost gave up. Second of all, to my parents, I knew they really tried their best to save me. Third, my psychiatrist and her happy pills, I think you already know why. Lastly, my roommates and my other few friends who patiently bear my situations.

Currently, I’m still under my medications and I’m fine with that. I can sense that it will still take a quite while before my psychiatrist totally pull out the happy pills. I am 19 years old and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. But I have hopes and dreams in life that I want to achieve and those things are what keep me going. Life can be tough to anyone of us, but at the same time life can also be nice, it’s just a matter of time before life does.


Published by

The Queer Diary

How did this whole thing started in the first place? Well I think ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to express myself . Sure I could have picked painting, singing, dancing, playing instruments, crafting, or any of those lovely forms of artistry as a medium for me to channel my thoughts and emotions, but in writing is where my heart belongs. Technically, I had no degree in writing but that doesn't make me less of a writer. I have no idea what the future has in store for me but I've always known deep down in my heart that I want to write. P.S. if you reach this site then please know that I am thankful that you give time for this and that you like to read. Also, no matter what you're going through, believe me when I say things will get better.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s