“Great!”
He seemed enthusiastic about the treatment, an odd response that was more characteristic of the adolescents that I had to regularly visit. Most of them had actual problems, but that was no surprise given the current state of social communication within the modern age; the media didn’t help either, but continued to bring these socially rejected participants down to their knees. But then there were those few perhaps estranged and curiously intelligent individuals who saw the sessions as a sort of learning experience. Those were the bad times; I did not enjoy having children who had for far too long believed their own intellectual superiority endlessly attempt to guess my diagnosis and methods of treatment. If Marcus was similar, then perhaps a fellow ‘colleague’ can be cursed instead. Nonetheless, encouragement was needed, and a smile was planted upon my visage as I asked the obvious question, “Why are you so excited?” Dread crawled into my voice.
He seemed further delighted to answer my question, which consequently sank my hopes. Damn it if I have to face another one of those – why can’t they just go to university or read and realize that the complexity of the mind cannot be so simply understood? “For years I have attempted to rid myself of the curse that has been brought upon my own self. In my twenties, after finishing a basic university education, I was soon able to recognize the prevalent problem.” I raised my eyebrows at his mention of a relatively advanced education – something must have dragged him down to the level that he was at. Pain seemed to flash across his face, which was starring intently at the ceiling. He shivered, turned to stare at the window. It was snowing outside, and the window pane was continuously being battered against by fragile crystals. Only a few streaks where the ice had apparently melted were left to show any sign of existence beyond the pure white. He slowly got up, and walked mutely to the windowpane, sliding his pale hand over it to remove the frost and mist. I patiently waited for a response, carefully noting down this behavior within my notebook. He finally spoke and broke the cold silence of the room, “there was a time, once, when my life seemed to be playing out perfectly. I started my university perhaps better than anyone else – I was an instant hit for my exhilarating conversations, and my professors deemed me worthy of the knowledge that laid beyond the simple books that my friends read.” He slid his finger down the pane, “how beautiful life felt for me back then. Do you realize the true complexity of a human being?” He stopped the slide of his hand, and his eyes moved away from their prior victim of intent concentration, and softly gazed at me.
It was a question that I had pondered about before – one that would have to be inevitably faced when approaching the emotional portions of human mind, both within and outside the conscious. Solemnly, I nodded back at him my understanding.
Seemingly satisfied, he continued on with his slow intent action of sliding his finger down. “The human body is made out an astounding number of unique tissues that all contribute the solitary cause of keeping the host sane and alive. Within each of those,” his finger stopped, and his gaze returned, “you have a immense collection of cells that work perfectly together. And within those cells,” his hand moved right of his original starting point, and began to trail down again, “you have a countless number of proteins. Each of these proteins are chains of hundreds of complex molecules. We could go down further, and provide more examples, but I’m sure that you, in the profession that you are in, would understand.” I nodded. “I had what I could call a satisfying existence. I was like a cell out of the billions, individual in its own way through multiple mutations and accidents, but a complete fit.” His finger was moving faster now, nearly reaching the same vertical end as the other had. “Then,” the line was finished, and his finger moved to form a curve below the two. “there was the incident.” He sighed, and placed two dots beneath the lines. The average typical smiling face ruined to sadness and insane despair by two simple smudges.