An acquaintance takes something out of a bag pops it in their mouth and follows it with a gulp out of a water bottle. I thought it was some sort of health supplement for weight loss.
"What'd you just take?" I asked.
I'm always interested in losing weight, even if I never actually lose any.
"Effexor," was the one word response matter-of-factly stated.
This was not the answer I was expecting. However I am all for medicating when exercise, diet and therapy just aren't working.
"Oh, I thought it was the herbal supplements you were taking," I said. "I took Effexor, I like Effexor." Was the only reply I could think of. I don't usually go around sharing that information, or expect people to share it with me.
My acquaintance went on to tell me another form of medication was originally taken but it had some wicked side effects and after a tumultuous life event, something else was needed something to alter their state of depression.
After a brief talk about the side effects the drug had on me when I first started taking it -- wanting to sleep for three months straight, weight gain and having a flat line response when it came to anything emotional -- my acquaintance shared even more.
"When I went to the doctor she asked me, 'What reason can you think of for you not to take your life?' I didn't have an answer for that," my acquaintance said.
My mouth must have dropped open at this point. Never in my life have I heard someone utter those words. Never have I knowingly been in a room with someone who can't think of a reason to stay alive. This, I couldn't relate to.
Even at my worst, even during all the heart-pounding panic attacks and overreaction with a river of tears, I could never think of a reason to not be alive. I was out of my league now. What happened to talking about a drug and it's side effects?
"Now, I don't know you well, but I think you're fantastic," I said. "I can only imagine what your close friends and family must think of you."
"Ah, well, my children are doing OK and I've seen my grandchildren, I think it would be OK if I weren't here."
"You can't mean that," I replied ready to burst into tears at the thought of this person feeling so alone and being so indifferent to the idea of dying. "You really mean so much to so many people, one little bump in the road, no matter how big and significant it feels at the time, is worth not living."
I was shaking. My acquaintance was not.
"I don't know," was all that was bluntly said.
"Oh, it's all worth it, even if it doesn't feel like it now," I sputtered out. "Really."
If I ever had Jedi mind powers now was the time I wanted them to kick in. But I don't, so I had to convey my emphasis through sympathetic eyes and the forceful way I got out the word "really."
This seemingly simple conversation shook me to the core -- the glimpses of peoples' lives we see when they let us in. Sometimes it's not pretty, but this just presents us the opportunity to help another person out any way we can.
