My first semester of school was going along fine, I had made some friends (who I actually went out and socialized with) and was enjoying my classes. I even played at a couple open mics. But the depression was still there, slowly building up and I knew I didn't know how to stop it. Playing the charade that I was happy to my friends and parents was easy for the most part, didn't cause too much pain or anything like that...but it gets tiresome after a while. Not that I was constantly depressed or anything, I did have some honest days where I was happy, and those days were great. But it was when I returned for school in January that my problems came back, more profound than before. I started having trouble getting out of bed some mornings, laying there for hours, ignoring phone calls, refusing to eat.
I began contemplating things I probably shouldn't have, and entertained the thought a little. Not that I was ever serious about it, I knew I didn't want that, but the thought was there anyway. And so I mentioned it to my therapist who then called my shrink who then called the hospital. I was escorted to the emergency room, all the while asking myself
"What the fuck did I just DO?" I'm a student, not a mental patient! But I felt that I couldn't back out. On the way there I had a chat with the taxi driver. He was seventy or more, he lost the use of his right arm in a farming accident. He told me a brief synopsis of his life, family, what he hoped to do. Then, as we were approaching the hospital he started talking about doors. We parked in front of the atrium and he looked at me and said.
"You know kid, there are billions of doors out there, some are closed, some are open...don't wait for the door to open...or you'll miss whatever's inside." For some reason, I really liked that idea of taking action. He wished me luck and I slowly found my way into the admitting lobby of the hospital. Show time.