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 mes sed up this time. The wounds seem to be healing and he seems to be getting along , without his appendages. And I know he seemed fine; seems can be a very dangero us word, especially in this business - it can be fatal. Initial diagnosis - cata tonic. I know he's back there somewhere, but there's just no response whatsoever , to any kind of stimulus. We'll start him with medication tomrorow - I'm sure o f it. This man's tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it's not j ust tragedy, it's dementia, despair. It's this hole I can see in each of his eye s. For all the events that happened in this real world, kind of just fall throug h. It's loneliness in it's most crippling form: the kind that no amount of love, or human contact could ever mend. The patient was plagued by violent nightmares ; terrible, deeply troubling dreams which one night overflowed into reality and he murdered his wife, in his sleep. These people were in love, deeply in love; a nd it was that love, filling those holes I can now see behind his eyes and it's my job to try to fill those holes with something else, but with what? Hope? I ca n fill his holes with drugs, soothing words - that's all. I hope his wounds will heal with time, but right now, things aren't looking good.
These lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist. [x4]
(patient): It's inside my torso, behind my eyes, in the back of my head. It feel s like something's eating me alive, from the inside out.
(doctor): Well, that's grief, loss.
(patient): Don't tell me what it is.
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