to the university services and talking to one of their psychologists, but he thought I needed more than just counseling.”
“Okay.” Matt didn't quite know what to say. He wasn't surprised, not with the way Trent acted, but he hadn't expected it.
“So for the last year he's had me on antidepressants for generalized anxiety disorder. I don't know if it's been helping, I guess. But with prices really getting out of control in the last six months I told him I couldn't afford the prescription, that maybe it was an expense I could do without. A few months ago I tried going off it.”
Matt nodded. That seemed reasonable, he supposed. The time to figure out if you can do without something is when it's hard to get.
Trent made another low noise, almost a moan, and clenched his hands into fists at the sides of his head, gripping clumps of hair. “It was bad. I felt like, I don't know, I don't really want to talk about it. But after about a week off the drugs I was so messed up I tried to kill myself.”
“I had no idea.” Matt clamped his mouth shut, embarrassed about his response. But what did you say to something like that? “I'm sorry, man.”
His roommate shook his head slowly from side to side, and kept it up as he started talking again. “My psychiatrist told me I should get back on the meds. He dropped my dosage down to more affordable levels, but it was enough. Things got a bit better.”
“Well that's good.”
Fiercer head shaking. “No it's not! As soon as I heard that the trucks wouldn't be bringing in shipments, not even of necessities, I called and asked my psychiatrist about my medication. He said he wasn't sure whether or not pharmaceuticals were going to be shipped in, but that local distributers were withholding SSRIs and antipsychotics for treatment of the criminally disordered and those who were a danger to themselves or others.”
Matt frowned. “But that's you, isn't it?” As soon as he said it he was afraid Trent would be offended. “I mean sorry, that's a messed up thing to say, but aren't you on some suicide watch list or something?”
His roommate shook his head with another low moan. “I never told him about it. I just said it was really bad without the medication and I couldn't handle it anymore. I figured maybe I was just being overdramatic or something.”
A short silence settled and Matt shifted on the couch, unsure what to say. He was glad Trent was turned away from him so his roommate couldn't see how uncomfortable he was. “Can't you go to another doctor? Or maybe tell your psychiatrist how serious it is?”
Trent shook his head again. “I'm afraid he won't give me any even if I tell him, but he'll think I'm unstable and have me committed or something. It's not really that bad. It isn't.”
It sounded pretty bad to Matt, but he couldn't say that. “Well what if you cut your doses down even more? Just took it when it got really really bad?”
A shrug. “I think that's what I'm going to have to do. But it's not going to be good. It's going to be an awful few weeks until gas starts flowing again. And not just for me. Did you know Utah ranks highest for percentage of people with mental disorders in the US?”
Matt hadn't known that, and he wasn't sure how much he liked hearing it. Things were already looking bad only a week after the attack. Add in the highest percentage of people with mental disorders in the country, all of them off their meds, and what did that equal? Heading down to Aspen Hill was looking more and more attractive, and the sooner the better.
Trent abruptly stood up. “You think I'm a nutjob, don't you?”
He stood up too. “Hey no, no man. Sounds like it's the meds that're causing your problems, that's all.” He didn't know how convincing he sounded. This was his first time really seeing mental problems firsthand, and even though he felt bad for the guy and sympathized with his problem he also felt a bit uncomfortable.
Trent glared at him for a
“Okay.” Matt didn't quite know what to say. He wasn't surprised, not with the way Trent acted, but he hadn't expected it.
“So for the last year he's had me on antidepressants for generalized anxiety disorder. I don't know if it's been helping, I guess. But with prices really getting out of control in the last six months I told him I couldn't afford the prescription, that maybe it was an expense I could do without. A few months ago I tried going off it.”
Matt nodded. That seemed reasonable, he supposed. The time to figure out if you can do without something is when it's hard to get.
Trent made another low noise, almost a moan, and clenched his hands into fists at the sides of his head, gripping clumps of hair. “It was bad. I felt like, I don't know, I don't really want to talk about it. But after about a week off the drugs I was so messed up I tried to kill myself.”
“I had no idea.” Matt clamped his mouth shut, embarrassed about his response. But what did you say to something like that? “I'm sorry, man.”
His roommate shook his head slowly from side to side, and kept it up as he started talking again. “My psychiatrist told me I should get back on the meds. He dropped my dosage down to more affordable levels, but it was enough. Things got a bit better.”
“Well that's good.”
Fiercer head shaking. “No it's not! As soon as I heard that the trucks wouldn't be bringing in shipments, not even of necessities, I called and asked my psychiatrist about my medication. He said he wasn't sure whether or not pharmaceuticals were going to be shipped in, but that local distributers were withholding SSRIs and antipsychotics for treatment of the criminally disordered and those who were a danger to themselves or others.”
Matt frowned. “But that's you, isn't it?” As soon as he said it he was afraid Trent would be offended. “I mean sorry, that's a messed up thing to say, but aren't you on some suicide watch list or something?”
His roommate shook his head with another low moan. “I never told him about it. I just said it was really bad without the medication and I couldn't handle it anymore. I figured maybe I was just being overdramatic or something.”
A short silence settled and Matt shifted on the couch, unsure what to say. He was glad Trent was turned away from him so his roommate couldn't see how uncomfortable he was. “Can't you go to another doctor? Or maybe tell your psychiatrist how serious it is?”
Trent shook his head again. “I'm afraid he won't give me any even if I tell him, but he'll think I'm unstable and have me committed or something. It's not really that bad. It isn't.”
It sounded pretty bad to Matt, but he couldn't say that. “Well what if you cut your doses down even more? Just took it when it got really really bad?”
A shrug. “I think that's what I'm going to have to do. But it's not going to be good. It's going to be an awful few weeks until gas starts flowing again. And not just for me. Did you know Utah ranks highest for percentage of people with mental disorders in the US?”
Matt hadn't known that, and he wasn't sure how much he liked hearing it. Things were already looking bad only a week after the attack. Add in the highest percentage of people with mental disorders in the country, all of them off their meds, and what did that equal? Heading down to Aspen Hill was looking more and more attractive, and the sooner the better.
Trent abruptly stood up. “You think I'm a nutjob, don't you?”
He stood up too. “Hey no, no man. Sounds like it's the meds that're causing your problems, that's all.” He didn't know how convincing he sounded. This was his first time really seeing mental problems firsthand, and even though he felt bad for the guy and sympathized with his problem he also felt a bit uncomfortable.
Trent glared at him for a
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