Trainwreck
Introducing
Noises. Noises everywhere. That's all I hear when I walk into the building. People yelling, nurses chatting, machines beeping. It's enough to drive oneself mad. Even the sound of my keys jingling as I pull them out to unlock the door is driving me insane. And when I open the door, I'm greeted by...
Silence. Glorious silence. I smile as I set my things on my desk and set down in my chair. Now time for the difficult part. I reach for my tape recorder and clear my throat, hitting the 'play' button.
"Test, check. Well, he's been released again today, and I'm back where I started. Looking over old notes, listening to tapes, wondering how bad I potentially messed up this time. The wounds seem to be healing and he seems to be getting along without his...appendages. And I know he seems fine, but 'seems' can be a very dangerous word. Especially in this business. It can be fatal.
"Initial diagnosis, catatonic. And I know he's back there somewhere, but there's just no response whatsoever, so any kind of stimulus. We'll start him with medication tomorrow, for sure.
"This man's tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it's not just tragedy, it's dementia, despair. It's the hole I can see in each of his eyes where all the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through. It's loneliness in its most crippling form, the kind that no amount of love, or human contact, could ever mend."
Oh, my tape has run out. I flip it over and continue speaking.
"The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, which one night overflowed into reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep. These people were in love, deeply in love. And it was that love filling those holes I can now see behind his eyes. And it's my job to fill those holes with something else.
"But with what? Hope? I can fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but that's all. I hope his wounds will heal with time. But right now, things aren't looking too good."
My thumb clicks down on the stop button as my door swings open, letting a trickle of sound into the previously silent room. It's him, a denim jacket over his shoulders, fresh bandages on the small wounds that are left since his...accident. I'll have to thank Donia for that later. He leans on the doorframe, his long curls of hair falling in his face as he opens his mouth to speak.
"The lines around my wrists, the infection seems to be getting better. It's in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head. Something is eating me alive from the inside out."
Those eyes, those holes are staring back at me, pleading for an answer. I slide my glasses up my nose.
"Well that's grief of your loss."
He turns to leave, hopefully for the last time. But before he does, he turns back towards me and shakes his head.
"Don't tell me what it is."
Silence. Glorious silence. I smile as I set my things on my desk and set down in my chair. Now time for the difficult part. I reach for my tape recorder and clear my throat, hitting the 'play' button.
"Test, check. Well, he's been released again today, and I'm back where I started. Looking over old notes, listening to tapes, wondering how bad I potentially messed up this time. The wounds seem to be healing and he seems to be getting along without his...appendages. And I know he seems fine, but 'seems' can be a very dangerous word. Especially in this business. It can be fatal.
"Initial diagnosis, catatonic. And I know he's back there somewhere, but there's just no response whatsoever, so any kind of stimulus. We'll start him with medication tomorrow, for sure.
"This man's tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it's not just tragedy, it's dementia, despair. It's the hole I can see in each of his eyes where all the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through. It's loneliness in its most crippling form, the kind that no amount of love, or human contact, could ever mend."
Oh, my tape has run out. I flip it over and continue speaking.
"The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, which one night overflowed into reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep. These people were in love, deeply in love. And it was that love filling those holes I can now see behind his eyes. And it's my job to fill those holes with something else.
"But with what? Hope? I can fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but that's all. I hope his wounds will heal with time. But right now, things aren't looking too good."
My thumb clicks down on the stop button as my door swings open, letting a trickle of sound into the previously silent room. It's him, a denim jacket over his shoulders, fresh bandages on the small wounds that are left since his...accident. I'll have to thank Donia for that later. He leans on the doorframe, his long curls of hair falling in his face as he opens his mouth to speak.
"The lines around my wrists, the infection seems to be getting better. It's in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head. Something is eating me alive from the inside out."
Those eyes, those holes are staring back at me, pleading for an answer. I slide my glasses up my nose.
"Well that's grief of your loss."
He turns to leave, hopefully for the last time. But before he does, he turns back towards me and shakes his head.
"Don't tell me what it is."