Author: @trulee90
Prompt: He made her coffee every single day, and hoped she'd notice.
Prompter: @annamacarena
"Hello, Divina. It's me again. . . Alden."
I take my usual seat and wait for the psychiatrist to arrive. Less than ten minutes later, like clockwork, I heard the familiar, cheerful voice of the lady doctor.
"Good morning, Divina. Pauleen here. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Pauleen Luna, the psychiatrist, greeted her too as she took her seat beside me.
If she heard her, the woman before us didn't make it known. She continued to stare outside the window, silent and withdrawn, lost in her own thoughts, in her own grim world.
She is a picture of sorrow, a stark contrast to the huge, luxurious penthouse suite of this world-renowned hospital. Occupying the entire top floor, its hotel-like amenities include high ceilings, carpeted floors and plush curtains. A seating area, located a few feet away from the bed, is adorned with mahogany furnishings. Beside it is a kitchenette, stocked full of food and state-of-the-art cooking equipment. A spacious marbled bathroom complete with jacuzzi is tucked away at the back of the kitchenette. Gourmet meals are prepared by an in-house chef, served on fine linen tablecloth by a staff of uniformed waiters. Pink carnations, her favorite flower, are delivered to her suite everyday, casting a hint of life and vibrance into an otherwise cold, lifeless room.
But all the lavish, comfortable opulence remain unnoticed and unappreciated by the frail, sickly girl presently lying on the queen-size bed, swamped with silk linen and embroidered sheets.
Suffering from severe depression, she has had seven suicide attempts in the past two months, forcing her sister to make arrangements with the hospital for this suite, vehemently refusing the idea of putting her in a psychiatric ward which the director of the Department of Psychiatry originally recommended. A team of competent doctors and nurses come with the extravagant suite, with additional two caregivers taking turns in watching over her day and night.
Yet even in this seemingly well-guarded setting, Divina had tried to take her own life two times already.
Last night was her latest attempt. She tried to grab the knife left by the chef at the kitchen counter on her way to the bathroom. It was only by the caregiver's swift action that prevented her from cutting her wrist with it. She had not given up without a fight, however, physically hurting the caregiver and hysterically shouting, until a nurse arrived to give her a sedative shot to calm her.
Probably remembering the events of the past night, I hear Pauleen's soft sigh beside me, a silent frustration over Divina's state of mind, and her holistic health as well.
Aside from her suicide attempts, she eats sparingly, some days, not eating at all. She refuses to be fed intravenously, either. She seldom rises from her bed and talks only to her sister occasionally.
Like Pauleen, I can't help but be overcome by the feeling of anxiety and hopelessness about Divina. We have been doing these therapy sessions with her every day for the past couple of weeks, but I have yet to see a positive response from her. She remains mum at Pauleen's probing questions. If she does speak to Pauleen, it's always to beg her to let her die.
Worse, she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. Day in and day out, I am always right in front of her. . . within her arm's reach. . . hoping for even a hint of her smile, or a furtive glance. But there was none. And often, I am left wondering if she is intentionally ignoring me.
