“Why, are you crying?” the patient asked softly.
“Nothing,” she answered, though deep inside, she knew there was a problem.
In a quiet corner of the mental hospital, a man with a troubled mind was being treated. Diagnosed with a severe mental disorder and connected to a past murder case, his life was marked by pain and isolation. Every day during visiting hours, a woman came to care for him, offering silent support amid the cold walls and clinical routines.
“You should be able to laugh,” he said suddenly, a faint grin breaking through his troubled gaze. Leaning heavily on her right shoulder, the patient burst into loud, almost manic laughter, filling the room with an unsettling noise.
Almost immediately, a nurse appeared, her face calm but businesslike. She injected the patient with a serum designed to calm his erratic behavior. The man’s eyes closed as the medication took effect.
The woman looked at the nurse, concern etched on her face. “Why?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling.
The nurse took the woman’s hand gently and placed an additional vial in her palm. “Here’s the serum,” she said, pointing to the vial on the table. “It’s for you.”
Without a word, the woman nodded silently. She took the serum and, with a steady breath, lay down beside the patient on the narrow hospital bed.
The sterile clock ticked relentlessly.
Visiting hours ended.
Outside, the hospital walls held secrets no one dared to speak aloud. The woman’s choice — to share in the patient’s suffering — was a silent act of solidarity, a smile not meant for the world, but for him alone.
#MentalHealth
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