A/N: I've been doing so good on the updates (pats my own back). Please review! This chapter is a combination of how I would feel in this position, but with consideration to the way that Wilson would behave. It deals with a touchy subject, and I hope that by reading this everyone gets a better understanding of how Wilson is starting to feel. Thanks Jazelle, you know why.
Addicts Never Lie
Chapter 21: Session One
Wilson got through the next day and when six p.m. drew close he actually debated, again, whether he was really going to go and see the psychiatrist. In the end he decided that it would cause him more problems to not go than it would to just get it over with.
He drove to Princeton General and arrived in the doctor's office a few minutes before his appointment time. He was given a clipboard and some paperwork to fill out. He had just finished it when the receptionist let him know that the doctor was ready to see him.
Wilson opened the door and a young man that looked like he was in his late twenties ushered him in. Dr. Jayson Keel was shorter than Wilson's six feet, of average weight with hazel/green eyes and short brown hair. He was wearing navy blue dress pants, a black belt, a light blue dress shirt with a dark blue striped tie, and a black leather watch. He smiled as Wilson approached his desk.
"Dr. Wilson, I'm Dr. Keel. You can sit in one of the chairs in front of my desk or we can move over to the couches," he said pointing to the two soft, leather couches at the opposite end of the room. "Whichever you prefer," he said.
"The chair is fine," Wilson said as he sat down.
"First, let's take a look at the paperwork you filled out and I need to get a brief medical and family history and then we can begin."
The doctor looked over the paperwork and then went over Wilson's medical history. Wilson noted that he was jotting down notes here and there on his note pad in front of him.
"Okay, so this is a two hour long appointment that I usually call the evaluation session. I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions and we'll talk a lot. The responses to the questions are going to determine what kind of recommendations I make as far as what kind of further treatment and therapy you are going to need."
Wilson nodded, but looked hesitant.
"Have you ever been to a psychiatrist before? You seem a little bit nervous."
"No, this is the first time."
"Are you nervous?"
"No, should I be?" Wilson asked, feeling a little defensive.
"I'm only here to listen. I won't judge you or make light of anything that may be bothering you. We don't have to talk about anything that you don't want to and everything is confidential."
He saw Wilson relax a little.
"I need you to tell me why you came here today."
"My boss and some of my co-workers recommended that I come here."
"Why?"
"I've been going through a real rough time right now and they don't think that I can handle it."
He jotted some more notes down. "Can you give me some idea of what is bothering you?"
"I just filed for divorce two weeks ago from my third wife."
"Okay, how do you feel about that? Are you angry, frustrated, scared?"
Wilson tried to relax. Here we go. It was like taking that deep breath before you dove off a diving board. "The divorce was just waiting to happen. She and I have been growing apart for awhile now. We barely talked to one another and we haven't touched each other in months and she…I found out a few weeks ago that she was cheating on me."
More notes jotted down.
"I was upset at first, but then I realized that it wouldn't have worked anyways. I work too much and she needs more attention that I can give her," Wilson said. "We've already talked about her keeping the house, but not receiving alimony from me, so it could be worse," It sounded like he was reading off of a script, without feeling what he was actually saying.
When asked about his job Wilson briefly described his job to the doctor. Until recently Wilson felt that he had been coping with his job-related stress well, but he felt that in the past few months that had all changed.
"Okay, anything else that you want to talk about before I start to ask some more questions?"
Wilson tensed visibly and hesitated. The doctor saw it and frowned.
"Just relax, just talk to yourself as if I wasn't here, I've had patients tell me that imagining that sometimes helps."
"Well, I found out a few days ago that my best friend is shooting up morphine."
They talked briefly about how House's addiction and behavior was affecting Wilson. When they were finished the doctor stood up and walked over to his file cabinet. He grabbed a sheet of paper out and walked back to his desk.
"I'm going to give you this questionnaire and I want you to answer the questions as completely and honestly as you can, okay?" Wilson nodded.
He handed Wilson the paper and he looked down at it. It was a standard test for screening for depression. Wilson froze. He didn't want to take this test. He didn't want the doctor to know how bad things had really become in such a short period of time.
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson looked up and realized that he must have been deep in thought and hadn't heard the doctor call his name the first time.
"Sorry," Wilson mumbled. He grabbed a pencil out of a cup on the doctor's desk.
"What were you just thinking?" the doctor asked casually. He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted Wilson to say it.
"I'm…I just…," Wilson tried grasping for the right words. He sat quietly for a second and then placed the pencil back on the desk. "I don't want to do this," he confessed.
"Why not?" the doctor coaxed.
"Look, I'm not depressed, I'm just going through a little bit of a difficult and stressful time," Wilson said trying to convince the doctor.
Dr. Keel sat back and stretched in his chair. "You need to be honest with yourself…and with me if you want me to help you. I've been sitting here listening to you and watching you for almost an hour and a half now and it's pretty clear that you have some major issues that are affecting your life in a negative way." He looked right into Wilson's eyes. "I need you to fill this out for me and I want you to leave comments for each question."
Wilson was torn between just giving in and getting up and walking out. The doctor sat patiently waiting for him to decide. He slowly, reluctantly picked up the pencil with his left hand and started reading the questionnaire.
He took his time answering the questions and leaving comments as the doctor had requested. When he was finished he handed the sheets over to the doctor and waited. But he didn't need to hear the diagnosis. He had taken a psychiatric rotation in medical school and had tried to get House to take a test like the one he had just taken for years, without success. He knew what his responses to the questions meant, and he was dreading it.
"Let's go over this together…okay?" the doctor asked gently. He could tell that Wilson was extremely uncomfortable with what was happening.
"You've noted here that you've been having trouble getting to sleep for awhile now and you wake up a lot during the night and then it takes you awhile to get back to sleep?"
Wilson nodded. "It's like my mind just won't shut off. I'm thinking about work, or Julie and what she's gonna try to pull at the divorce hearing, or if my friend is going to end up killing himself," he said. Then reluctantly added, "I had a nightmare…that he overdosed."
The doctor asked him to tell him about the dream and Wilson reluctantly did. The doctor listened intently and wrote down several notes as Wilson spoke.
"Okay, let's move onto the next question. You said here that your appetite has changed, that you're barely hungry and you have to force yourself to eat? Have you lost any weight as a result?"
"I've probably lost a few pounds, nothing to be concerned about. I just eat a lot less, mostly sandwiches and stuff now. I'm just not hungry, and when I do get hungry, after I eat my stomach gets upset. I used to cook all the time and I really enjoyed it and liked eating the stuff I prepared. Now it just seems like there's no point in cooking for just one person."
"And…" he said looking farther down the sheet, "You say that you've been having trouble concentrating and you've been distracted lately. Also that you feel partly to blame for your friend's drug addiction because you prescribed him the pills that got him addicted in the first place."
"That's right."
"Okay, now there are a few things here that are really concerning me. You say that you've had an extreme lack of energy and that you find it very difficult to get around in the morning and that you're tired most of the day? And…that you rarely do anything fun and have isolated yourself from your colleagues and friends."
"Right, it's like I have no energy, it's gone. All I can do is lie in bed all day long. And when I do that I start to think about stuff at work and grow apprehensive about not doing my job as well as I'd like to," Wilson said, knowing full well how bad that sounded. "As far as activities go, I don't have a lot of free time. I used to watch T.V. and play video games, stuff like that. It just doesn't seem like it's any fun anymore."
It had been so long since someone actually sat down and listened to him without him having to worry about being taunted or teased for feeling this way or that. It was comforting and terrifying at the same time.
"Ok, let's continue. You told me earlier that your friends and co-workers have noticed that you've been irritable and confronted you about it, and that you've been trying to keep them from knowing that anything's wrong, but they have been very persistent."
"I've been doing my best to just go on with my life. When my friend came home two days ago after being missing for those few days…I was so relieved that he was okay, but at the same time I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him; make him see what he's doing to himself."
"I know, it can be very difficult loving a person with an addiction," Dr. Keel said. "Our session is almost over, but I have a few more of the questions from the questionnaire that I'd like you to elaborate on."
Again, Wilson nodded.
"You said that you've had decreased libido and that you and your wife hadn't had sex in almost six months?"
"Yes. She…hasn't wanted to touch me for a long time. That should have been my first clue that things were getting bad, but I've been so wrapped up in work and dealing with my friend that I've put everything else on the back burner," Wilson said. "I've been married three times, and the other two times I was the one who cheated, but this time I was the faithful one. It's been…hard for me." Wilson thought for a moment. "I used to love sex," he said and blushed a little. "I mean, being with her was amazing."
"And now how do you feel about sex?"
"I don't have any interest in it," Wilson said slowly, as if he was just now realizing what the statement meant. "I don't think that I'd have the energy or the desire now even if the opportunity did present itself."
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "Okay, there's one final question. And this one wasn't on the sheet."
Wilson looked at him a little puzzled. He didn't like the sound of that. "Okay…," he said slowly.
"Have you ever felt that you can't go on living the way that you have been or felt like no matter what happens that things aren't going to get any better?"
Wilson was speechless. He sat staring at the doctor.
"Take your time, but I need you to think about it and be absolutely sure of your answer," the doctor said, trying to lessen the anxiety that Wilson was clearly feeling.
Wilson couldn't believe that the doctor was basically asking him if he had ever had suicidal thoughts or ideas.
The doctor sat quietly looking over his notes while Wilson thought about what he was being asked. He had those thoughts where you wondered if anyone would miss you or what it would feel like to not have to hurt anymore.
Anyone who knew Wilson would have never known that he had thought about those things, but he had. He almost couldn't believe that he had thought about them himself. And he didn't want to talk to anyone about it, especially a psychiatrist. But at the same time he just didn't want to hurt anymore, it was overwhelming. He felt like he couldn't do anything right and was beginning to wonder if things were ever going to get any better.
"No," Wilson said as even-toned as he could. He looked right in the doctors eyes and hoped that he would believe him.
"Are you sure?" he sounded skeptical and unconvinced.
"I'm…I …," he said, his voice involuntarily wavering. He suddenly, without warning, felt the tears coming. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like a hormonal pregnant woman! He didn't want to cry, so he bit his lip hard. That caused pain, which stopped the tears from forming and distracted him as he took a shaky, deep breath. Damnit! Okay, just breathe, you're fine. You can do this, you are fine!
The doctor stood up and walked over to sit beside him. He saw Wilson visibly tense. "I need you to talk to me," he said soothingly. "I need to know what you're thinking, what's going on inside your head and we need to work this out."
When Wilson didn't answer he tried a different approach. "Have you told anyone else about these thoughts?"
"No," he said quietly.
"It's good that you're talking to me then, you need to talk about this."
"Yeah well, I don't want to talk about it," Wilson said standing up. He walked over to the window, crossed his arms, and looked out onto the manicured lawn.
"I know, I know it hurts, but I need you to trust me," the doctor said. "Have you thought about how you'd do it? Where you'd do it? Talk to me, Dr. Wilson."
"I just think about…I just don't want to feel this way anymore," Wilson said softly. "Sometimes it feels like it's almost too much."
"Have you ever felt these feeling before?"
"No," it was barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I mean, I'm sure that everyone has thought about it at least a few times in their life."
The doctor nodded. "Do you have a plan, a way of following through with it?"
"No, it's nothing like that. There're just random thoughts," Wilson said.
"Are you sure that you don't have a plan?"
"I'm sure," Wilson said confidently.
The doctor seemed satisfied with that answer and stood up and walked back over to his desk. "You're definitely showing a lot of worrisome signs of a major depression. I would even go so far as to say that you're close to being severely clinically depressed."
Wilson was a doctor. He knew that he was headed down that road. That was why he didn't want to come.
Dr. Keel pulled out his prescription pad and started writing. "I'm going to put you on some medication. I want you to fill it as soon as you leave and take it right away—half a pill for three days and then a whole pill daily after that. And I want to see you next week to see how you're feeling."
"I don't need the meds," Wilson said. He made no move to accept the prescription. "I don't want to be on medication."
"You need to be put on some sort of anti-depressant," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "If you don't I'm concerned that you're only going to get worse." He stood up, walked over and handed Wilson the script. "When someone admits to having thoughts, that is the first sign, a silent cry, for help, Dr. Wilson. You need to consider the severity of your situation."
"We'll start with Lexapro and see if you have any adverse reactions to that. Sometimes it takes a few different drugs before we find out what helps you the best," he said. "You also seem to be experiencing some anxiety and this will help you with both. I'm going to start you on 5 mg. for the first three days and then 10 mg. a day after that. We'll go from there."
Wilson looked down at the script in his hands. He felt drained and ashamed that he had almost started crying in a complete stranger's office. He folded up the paper and stuck it in his left front pocket.
"Thanks," he said mechanically.
The doctor shot him a sympathetic look and put his hand on Wilson's left shoulder. He sighed when Wilson tensed at his touch. "This is going to take some time, and you're not going to feel better right away. It could take several weeks before you start to notice a difference. This didn't happen overnight and it isn't going to be fixed overnight."
Wilson nodded.
"Please consider making a follow-up appointment on your way out," the doctor said. "I really think that if you just get some of the things out that you have bottled inside that things will start to get better."
"I will," Wilson said, feeling a little better. He walked out of the office and made an appointment for the following week. On his way back to the apartment he got his prescription filled and took the half a pill in his car, in the parking lot. Then he tucked the pill bottle in his briefcase and made sure that there was no way that the pills rattling around would be heard. He didn't want anyone, especially House, knowing that he was taking them.