Witness to Withness

In And out Of the Hospital

Luke 19:10: For the Son of Man came to seek and save that which was lost.

The hospital, a place for the sick

when one is needing comfort
when one is needing hope
when one is needing a place called healing


In Christian Parlance the church is talked about as a hospital for sinners. It is an apt reflection on the state of the church in any generation. Who really wants to go to the hospital? Especially if you know that you may not come out alive. Shame is a casualty in the case of one who needs help and for those who desperately want to help.

Introduction: I was in my Junior Year of College when my emotional breakdown took place. I had what I considered a peak experience that preceded my brokenness into painful isolative behavior. I had my first date during this time with a girl named Sue. I was sure I was in love (in my mind spiritual) and was confused as to what to do next. I was soon cast into a world of religion pondering which saw all persons in college as part of a larger family. From there I went into pondering the truth of the end time story of two Witnesses in the book of Revelation. Sue became an unwitting party to this delusion whether she was privy to this or not. At one point I climbed a tall building on campus. I was seen as suicidal and was sent kicking and screaming to a hospital by the name of Glenside for about ten days. After that I was put into Deaconess Hospital for a few months and sent home for Christmas. I became suicidal and was soon thereafter put back in the Deaconess hospital.

}          I am not clear about the timeline of events. I think it happened early after I had declared myself suicidal. It was an important sign nonetheless of my need to get found. My family had declared that I was out of control and that I needed help that they could not give. Part of the problem was that finances were being depleted at that time. I am guessing that there was hope that adjusting medicines and observing my processes might give them clues as to what would be needed next.

         I do not think I stayed any more than ten days, even if it seemed a lot longer than that. I spoke little and lived in hopes of getting out of the hospital. It symbolized to me that my life was shipwrecked and I was in the same place as some residents I had met as another time that said they were suicidal.

         I am guessing not much happened during my stay at the hospital. One vivid memory was of me sitting outside of the shock therapy room. I was in no position to want anything like that done. I am guessing that since I was an adult it was my call. I was scared. I knew inside myself what I did not want to do and this was probably near the top of the list. At the same time I was afraid to say anything against it. It was one of those damned if I do and damned if I don't moments. I met with Dr. Fleming the brilliant psychiatrist from Harvard. He looked at me with concern bordering on worry. He talked about my need to take medication and my imminent departure.

         I can only guess that at that time there was little that needed saying. There was a need for a higher power to intervene in this mess if the depression was ever going to dissipate. In a sense time does heal wounds and maybe some of the thought was that the depression/fog would pass. Yet too be truthful I do not think anyone really knew when and if the depression would drift away harmlessly. Waiting was the hard part. It was like one of the regulatory signs that we see every day. "Caution".