I might be going to die!

39 tablets of chlorine-nitrazepam, I didn't hesitate at all, just like I left home at the beginning, and I didn't leave myself a little way back.

I don't know if I'm really sick or fake! I went to the hospital and hung up in the clinical psychology department, and a chubby female doctor asked some questions mechanically for less than five minutes. Then a list was opened, blood was drawn to check five liver skills, and there were three test questions. As a psychology student, I think it's very different from my ideal psychiatrist. She doesn't seem to be as professional as me, at least when I start crying when I go in, she should have soothed me first, instead of staring at the computer with both eyes and clicking the mouse with her right hand, repeating one question after another, coldly. But for the sake of sleeping pills, I still went through the whole process.

I have done SCL90 countless times, and the results are not the same each time, I thought that I could remember every dimension of the scale very clearly, even if I was not sick, at least depression, I could get a high score. But the results of the other two scales and blood draws showed that I was indeed sick, depressed, somatized, and had severe anxiety symptoms, and was treated conservatively for a year.

The doctor prescribed medication, and without incident, I was given 40 tablets of chlorinazepam, a drug with a strong tranquilizer, as well as a number of other antidepressants for schizophrenia.

My husband accompanied me to the hospital and he seemed happy that I went to the doctor. When the doctor arrived, it was not yet time for the doctor to go to the clinic, and most of the people around him looked down at their mobile phones, and a few family members of the patients sat on the benches and secretly wiped their tears. Standing by the glass parapet on the third floor of the hospital, there seemed to be a familiar force trying to pull me down, but I told myself that the height was not enough. Seeing me lying on the guardrail in a daze with tears in my eyes, the gentleman pulled me to the bench in the corridor. He was never comforting, and he didn't say anything nice to me, but he just grabbed my hand tightly and didn't let me get even a step closer to the guardrail.

There was a little girl about 20 years old standing at the entrance of the clinical psychology department, wearing a mask and dressed in a trendy fashion. I guess she had the same number as me, as she also looked through the glass door a few times to the clinic inside. Two young men who didn't know whether to sell products or harass the little girl were half a step away from her and kept talking to her. I clung to the corner of my husband's clothes, worried about the little girl, whether she would have social phobia when she came to the psychiatrist, whether the two young people would pose a threat to her, would it irritate her? I trembled nervously.

As it turned out, I thought too much, and the two young men and the little girl exchanged words for a while, and they waved goodbye to each other, and the young man turned to the others. I was glad that the little girl was still able to wave goodbye to strangers, and if I were alone, the approach of strangers would make me very nervous.

There are many people queuing at the entrance of the clinical psychology department, some to see the doctor, and some to see the results. The youngest is a ten-year-old boy whose mother is working with him on a computer test, and two female college students, who seem to have a cheerful personality and laugh all the time, revealing their dissatisfaction with their roommates, as if they want to ask a doctor for a result and let a psychiatrist be a judge.

The most impressive thing is a couple with a little girl of five or six years old, the woman is thin and skinny, with two legs like firewood sticks wrapped in a black base, looking sloppy, no makeup, and her hair is also messy. Her husband doesn't look very decent either, but he looks pretty neat overall, with glasses, Sven. In contrast to the dullness of the couple, the little girl seemed lively and cheerful, and kept going back and forth between the husband and wife, climbing up and down the benches.

After the family of three came out of the examination room, the couple argued. The woman looked a little manic and said loudly to the man: "I don't take medicine, it's useless to take medicine, and it costs a lot of money." The man looked a little helpless, but also said angrily: "If you don't eat it, how do you know it's useless?"

After the man left, the woman sat on the bench and wept, tears dripping down her cheeks and onto the collar of her trench coat, and she did not wipe it away. The little girl sat quietly beside her mother, as if she were not the same person as the child who had just climbed up and down the bench.

On the way home, my husband drove the car, and I sat in the back seat, and I didn't say anything all the way. Looking out the window at the traffic and thinking about the family of three outside the clinic, I started to cry again. I don't know if Mr. saw it in the mirror, but even if he did, he wouldn't say anything to comfort me, but would only feel uncomfortable.

After all, I couldn't help but open my mouth and said to my husband, "Let's get a divorce!" I continued: "At worst, if I can't cure this disease, it will be a drag on you for a lifetime, and you are less than thirty, and I can't selfishly spend your whole life. The gentleman was still speechless. I was not reconciled, but I was looking forward to encouragement, and then asked him, "Do you think I will be fine?" and the gentleman replied to me: "I don't know!"

It was an answer I didn't want, but it was the result I was expecting.

When I got home, I took a tablet of chlorine nitrazepam and tried it, and the effect was really strong, and I fell asleep in less than half an hour, until my husband woke me up the next morning. In the past, I was responsible for the children's bedtime stories, nocturia, and covering the quilt, but this night, I didn't know anything, not even a dream.

Those days coincided with my mom coming to see me, and it was the best time I thought. With a third person in place, I won't hesitate for fear that my child will be in danger.

The child seemed to be very sensitive to his mother's emotions, and during that time, when he was less than three years old, he often came to kiss me, hugged me and said, "Mom, I love you so much!" "Mom, I'm so worried about you!" Hearing him say this, I could only hug him and cry bitterly, saying sorry over and over again.

Maybe everyone thinks that this is not a serious illness, and actively cooperate with the treatment, and they will recover soon. But they don't know, what I have experienced has been suppressed in my heart for many years, and I will never be able to say it, my heart is extremely painful, and I can only be liberated by leaving.

39 tablets of chlorine-nitrazepam, I divided it several times before swallowing it. It's funny to say that people who are dying are afraid that the pills will stick to their throats and be bitter, so they don't dare to swallow them like righteous people. I told my mom that the medicine I took yesterday had side effects, I was sleepy and needed some sleep, and you shouldn't wake me up. My mother didn't seem to think much about it, thinking that I had gone to see a psychiatrist and had taken this step.

My consciousness is getting more and more blurred, but I still think about it a lot, from my memory to the present, from my great-grandmother who has long passed away to my newborn nephew. Slowly, I couldn't feel my limbs anymore, and at the end of the day, it was as if only my head and buttocks were still next to the mattress, and the rest of my body was floating. Until the end, I couldn't even feel my head and fart, and I used my last consciousness to silently say in my heart: "I'm sorry, I have regrets!"