by Lauren Webb
Dear Well-Being,
This job is proving to be more difficult than I had previously anticipated. When you enlisted my help, I figured it wouldn’t take long. I knew, of course, that it would take time, as physical wounds do, to mend and get better, but I thought, like physical wounds, that, if the proper precautions were taken, everything would be ship-shape again in a few days. A week, tops. That’s about how long the bruises and soreness lasted, and it has all faded now, unable to be seen. But it’s been much longer than that for these wounds existing in the mind. They aren’t scaring as I’ve been lead to believe they should be. They’re still open; they haven’t even begun to scab over yet. I spoke with the Immune System and asked for their input, and I’ve applied their practices to my work, but it doesn’t seem to be helping as it should. It isn’t making much sense to me. I’m following the protocol perfectly. Do you know of anyone you could put me in contact with who might be able to help? I would appreciate the insight from an expert in the art of mental healing.
Regards,
Logic
Dear Well-Being,
Thank you for your quick correspondence in regards to my previous letter. Unfortunately, it still seems as if the help I am currently receiving will not be enough to heal the patient as quickly as we would like. By no means, though, am I disappointed in the mental healing expert you sent me. Happiness is obviously very knowledgeable, and she seems to have been able to succeed in providing some amount of healing to our patient. She is able to offer a distraction from the pain. It seems that whenever the patient remembers the experience that caused the wound, it is forced to remain open, which keeps it fresh and prevents it from healing. Happiness is able to keep the patient preoccupied with brighter, more positive thoughts. Unfortunately, despite Happiness’s greatest efforts, it seems as if the patient is always drawn back to the gashed memory. This is where my understanding begins to grow foggy. I don’t seem to grasp why this phenomenon happens. The patient appears to be desperately clinging to all of Happiness’s attempts, but no matter how hard they hang on, they eventually fall back away. It’s a happiness mixed with a pain. I believe I may need to contact Melancholy in order to understand this a bit further. For now, Happiness and I will continue our efforts in healing the patient.
Regards,
Logic
Dear Well-Being,
It has now been months, and so little progress has been made. It is as if the cut is as fresh as the day it was created. There is no sign of scar tissue anywhere. I cannot find any explanation for why this might be happening. The patient’s mind is otherwise completely healthy. Physically, a healthy body would have replaced the damage with new skin ages ago, even if the wound were quite a nasty one, it would have healed by now. I am beginning to grow frustrated. I am not one to usually be confused. I pride myself on being able to draw educated conclusions based on a large amount of data. I am the one who figures the way out of the maze created by Confusion, but it is as if the walls of this maze are constantly changing. I can never quite get my bearings. Maybe it is time for me to cease experimentation for a while and merely conduct observations on the patient. I will write again when I have more information to relay.
Regards,
Logic
Dear Well-Being,
I apologize that my response has taken so long, but I believe I have finally figured it out. We have been trying to heal the patient incorrectly. We have been under the impression that the mind of the patient would act just as the body. For the body, a scar is the form a wound takes when it has healed. The skin isn’t perfect like it had been before, but it has still healed. The pain has gone and everything works as it should. The mind doesn’t appear to be able to heal this way. There is no “healed” at all, really. Yes, some days are better than others, just as Happiness and I saw in our futile attempts to “fix” things. But none ever feel completely whole. None feel perfect. The wound is still there. The pain. The memories. They’re all always there. Lingering.
I searched and searched for a way to explain what this mental process is like, but I found the only way to really do so was to employ a form of descriptive device used often by my colleague, Abstract. I will try here to use what he likes to call “simile.” I realize I don’t often speak in terms so imprecise, but I cannot seem to find any other way to explain what I have come to discover. I am being creatively precise, I guess you could say. Here goes my best shot: Our patient’s wound is like a Siren. The singing of this Siren is sometimes barely audible; heard only at the very recesses of the mind, almost able to be drowned out, but not quite. Sometimes the Siren screams, becoming the only thing the patient can hear, focus on, feel. Always, its song is the same: Remember me. Remember me. Remember. Me.
The song of the Siren is like the blood of a bodily wound. But this blood never dries. Sometimes it trickles, sometimes it gushes. But it always bleeds; yet never quite enough to completely bleed the patient dry. It is a constant suffering, which no form of medicine can alleviate.
That is why, I have found, we all must work together. I cannot merely remind the patient that feeling pain from something that happened long ago doesn’t make sense. Happiness cannot wear herself out every day trying to distract the patient from something that has become ingrained in their consciousness. Sadness cannot avoid the patient when they seek him out in an attempt to chase them back to Happiness again. We cannot keep the patient from the pain in hopes that it will heal the wound. For the mind, healing comes in learning to live with the wound the way it is. To do this, we have to learn to work together to remind the patient that, while the cut has now become a part of their life, it does not have to define who they are. Happiness must be here to remind the patient that there is always brightness that shines through the dark. Sadness must remind the patient that it is okay to cry even years after the experience has passed. Tears cleanse the mind and wash away the build-up of pain. Anger must occasionally make an appearance. But he should always be sure to bring his brother, Peace, with him. Peace will help keep Anger from getting too proud and overwhelming the Patient. Confusion will come to help the patient to ask the questions they need: Why did this happen? Why must I feel the way I do? Am I okay? Am I bad? Confidence will be needed to lift the patient’s spirits when Self-Esteem eludes them. I will be here to remind the patient that each day is a new day, and that although pain may hurt, it doesn’t ever have to overwhelm. There is always victory.
Most importantly, though, I believe we must push the patient towards other people. Those who care for them. They will provide the patient with perhaps what is most important in dealing with pain: Love. The love from others will provide the whispers of encouragement the patient can’t always provide on their own: You can do this. It’s okay to hurt. I want to help you. I won’t leave you. You are not alone. I don’t see your wound when I see you. I see your beauty. I see your strength. I see your worth. My God, you are beautiful. And I will sing a song louder than the Sirens in your mind so that your heart will always know that you are more important than your struggles. Let me love you because, my darling, there is nothing I can do but love you.
If we work with these other people, the pain will never go away, but it will be tolerable more days than not. The sunshine will once again feel warm. Dreams will be sweet. Joy will be true. The patient will heal in all the ways that matter. There may never be a scar, per se, but I have learned that is okay. I will start the patient on this new trajectory and keep you updated as to their progress. I believe whole-heartedly my next report will be favorable. Let me know if I can be of any more service.
Warmest Regards,
Logic
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