Pills 2

THIS IS ANOTHER OLD BLOG ENTRY DATED 2008

I remember, when my father and my aunt found out that I’m a lesbian, they brought me to a psychiatrist at Makati Medical Center. They thought, like the Catholic Church, that this is a problem. This is unacceptable. This is unholy and this is insanity.

I was brought in early in the morning, mid week, three years ago. The halls smelled of alcohol, medicines, gloves and syringe. The eerie feeling of suffering bodies and lost souls fills the air. The familiarity of the place creeps in. I remember how I spent month after month and year after year in this hospital. I remember my grandparents in this place. I remember death. Death is not a good feeling to associate with what they want me to do here. Not now. It was never calming.

The doctor was a lady in her forties. That’s what I thought, judging by the way she chose her clothes. The room was decorated with a lot of effort. From wallpapers to her carpet, even the furniture that was chosen creates an image of serenity. Clients who are confused and unnerved by instinct will seek something to make them feel relaxed, comfortable and occupied. I am one of the clients. I did the room searching and choose the aquarium with a big fat fish making a “clug-clug” sound over the playful painting to just at least occupy my mind and lessen the tension that was building up.

The doctor’s first question was, “Why are you here?”
And I said, “I don’t know.”
“How can I be of help?” she asked.
I replied again, “I don’t know.”
And these two questions and my similar response goes on and on for 10 minutes. The doctor gave up and let my aunt in.

My aunt told the doctor carefully, “She’s been drinking everyday and the alcohol makes her so loud and uncontrollable that it bothers the neighbors”

Who was the meddling neighbor anyway? I thought, ano to, pauso?

Is it because of my voice when I started singing “I Will Survive” over the videoke at midnight? Wait ‘til I found out who you are and I’ll make it sure that YOU WILL BE BOTHERED!

“And I think that it all started when my mother died.” My aunt continued. “You see doctor, she lived with her after her parents separation and I think she can’t stand the pain, is there anything you can do?” she asked.

“Is this all true?” the lady doctor asked with a narrowing eyes.

“I don’t know”, was all I can say.

“And there’s one more, she has a girlfriend. She’s actually having a relationship with a girl…”, my aunt adds.

“Is this true?”, asked the doctor.

Of all the I-don’t-knows that came out of my mouth, this is the only confirmation she gets for the whole session.

“Yes, I am a lesbian.”

The doctor said to my aunt and my father that I do have a problem that needs to be taken care of or maybe she only wanted the consultation money. She looked at her calendar and scheduled me for another session. She began prescribing me a pill as small as a chocolate chip with a smiley face on the box as if trying to tell me that it will make me happy as soon as I take it and I will be lesbian-free.

This is always the problem about the pill. It always promises you something. You and the people around you believe.

I swallow the tiny pill and waited for it to work. I expected it to weave a happy thought that could run for a day. Maybe it would make me loose my interest in girls, but instead, it made me high and nauseous.

In the middle of my shift, while talking to an old American lady who was desperately buying Suzzane Summer’s gaucho pants in amber, size S/M, which at that time was sold out, the “anti-lesbian” pill kicked in. I immediately finished my call, ran to the comfort room, dashed to the nearest cubicle and clumsily locked the vandalized door. I almost kneel at the dirty tiles and then puked all the food that I ate during break time. This particular pill wrapped on a decorated smiley face box with a promise of making you happy and lesbian-free made me sick for the rest of the day. I wasn’t able to finish my shift. The nurse sent me home to take a rest. The pill broke my aunt’s heart because it didn’t cure the fact that I am a lesbian. It robbed my father’s wallet because it cost 4,000 pesos. It made me so unhappy because I disappointed them by not taking it anymore and made me ditch the next session. The pill ruined my dignity at the office because the nurse thought that I was pregnant and the news flies to different departments.