As you can imagine when a suicidal patient is treated like trash by someone in the position to save a life, people see red.
My younger brother was the first to “get loud” with the woman at the front desk when she asked me in a disgusted tone, “you had nothing better to do on a Saturday night?” He asked her, “what did you say?” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice was loud enough to make several people in the Emergency Room turn and look in our direction.
He started chewing her out, telling her she no right to speak to me that way. The nearby police officer walked over to see what the fuss was all about. The woman looked me up and down again, and made a comment about how I could have at least dressed properly to be admitted into the hospital for my suicide attempt. I looked down. I was wearing a tiny tank top, that maybe was an inch too short, showing my midriff (it was the style for girls my age at that time). And it may have been a little see through, on second thought. Truth be told I hadn’t thought to put on my Sunday best when I was trying to seek help before it was too late. I’d been in my pajama’s and thrown something on, never suspecting that the clothing I was wearing would anger a professional caregiver enough to be unkind to me.
This conversation drew the attention of an older, respectable looking man. He walked over, mouth hanging open, in utter disbelief at what he was witnessing. I couldn’t believe such a nice man would be so angered by my plight. His voice rose too as he tried to talk some sense into this woman, who was clearly not in a good place in her own life. He was displeased and he was standing up for a perfect stranger in a moment of unabashed heroism.
I was whisked away into the backroom to drink charcoal, so I never did find out the outcome of the whole fiasco, but I was weary of having to see the woman again as I left. My mom assured me she’d had to change her role for the night and was now haunting another part of the hospital, so I wasn’t going to be shamed walking out of the hospital, for what I’d chosen to wear the night I’d tried to take my own life.
I personally am very turned on by people who stand up to people when necessary. I think we live in an apathetic society, where my little sisters balls are bigger than any man I’ve yet to meet, and this makes me sad.
My dad wasn’t a perfect human being by any stretch of the imagination, but he was the first to give you the shirt off his own back (literally).
I’ve forgiven most people who have hurt me, because as an Empath and psychic who can usually peer into their souls deeper than they are able to, I understand them, therefore I understand human nature and I am able to live compassionately most of the time.
Trigger me, I dare you.
My Inner Tupac can overcome my inner Deepak when necessary. I scare the shit out of myself sometimes.