I don't know how to begin and I don't know who is reading, but I will try to make this as clear as I can with the limited resources at my disposal. I have lived my life for almost twenty years now with all the prospects available to me without reserve and I used these prospects to land a job writing code for computer systems.
I enjoy my work immensely. It has all the necessary challenges to keep my brain stimulated and provides me with enough cash to buy all the things that I should ever need or want, while having enough to pay down my student loans in increments. It is because of this financial vice that I have yet to move out of my parent's basement. I fit the stereotype well.
That all changed the night of my twentieth birthday. The party was incredible and I was surrounded by family members and friends. Everyone was having a great time, including me. There was plenty of cake and ice cream, drinks both adult and regular. Then came time for presents. I got everything I'd asked for, within reason, then my grandmother gave me a gift that changed everything.
She presents it to me in a specially crafted, wooden box with my name carved in intricate letters, Domingo Pedro Juarez. I can tell this present is special and I open it with all the solemnity that such a gift demands. The lid is off and before me sits a large pig on wheels with a saddle on its back.
The whole room erupts with cheers. The guests cannot believe their eyes whereas I am completely puzzled by the strange thing. It looks like a toy a child might have and if that is the case, why present it to a grown man? I notice a little chain around its neck that had been wrapped several times and the nameplate that hangs low, Pietro, it reads.
I turn to my grandmother who is smiling widely. "What is it?" I ask and feel a bit silly as a result.
A look of confusion crosses her face. "It's Little Pietro," she declares and points a figure to the sculpted object. "Your friend."
I still have no idea what she's talking about.
I feel someone squeeze me from behind. "Little Pietro, I can hardly believe it," my mother speaks close to my ear. "Who would have thought they would have been able to restore it so well. I mean you really put that pig through its paces."
I look down at the thing before me and I feel nothing, I remember nothing and it's starting to bother me. Little by little, the conversations around me become nothing but noise. I can't hear anything. I can't feel anything and I'm starting to have difficulty breathing. I sit myself down and just start crying.
I'm not certain how long I wallow in my misery, but when I do look up I find everyone holding perfectly still and staring at me. "I can't, I can't remember!" I announce not caring if my statement is understood.
A hand rests upon my shoulder. "What's the matter?" my mother asks and looks me deep in the eyes. "What can't you remember?"
That single question wrapped itself around my head and suffocated all exterior stimuli as I find myself unable to think. I can tell that time is passing, but I can't tell how much. When I find my head no longer surrounded by the invisible material, as it must have fallen to the ground, I'm sitting in the living-room with my family all looking at me with concern.
I prepare to ask a question when there's a knock at the door. My father goes to answer it, but no one else moves, they just keep staring at me. I'm starting to feel like a bug under glass. I try to focus on anything and find a stranger who looks very official and my father clears everyone out of the room. It is now me and the stranger alone.
He sits himself down in a chair he scoots over so he's sitting to my front. "Hello Domingo, my name is Doctor Ernesto Ramirez," he introduces himself as he sits down. "How are you?"
"I'm feeling, okay," I start, not quite sure what's going on.
"You look confused," Doctor Ramirez observes as he settles into a comfortable yet alert position. "Is there something bothering you?"
"Doctor, I don't know what's going on," I admit and kind of hold my head. "Nothing is clear to me right now."
"It's okay, Domingo," Doctor Ramirez assures me and touches a hand to mine. "About a week ago you started to, what your parents called, drift in and out of reality. You spend long periods of time just looking out into space with no expression on your face, like you're not even here, they say. Do you mind telling me what happened?"
"Didn't my parents already tell you?" I query as I raise my head to meet his eyes. "And why aren't we doing this in your office?"
"They have, but I'd like to hear it from you," Doctor Ramirez explains as he cups his chin. "And though it would be more appropriate to do this in my office, your parents thought this environment would be less jarring and I agreed. Now, just start at the beginning and tell me what happened."
"It was my birthday, I was turning twenty," I start my narration and put my brain to analyzing what I'm saying. "Everything was..."
"It's okay," Doctor Ramirez assures me as he holds out a hand for me. "Just take your time and relay to me what you feel comfortable telling me."
I nod. "Everything was fine," I complete my statement with the necessary authority in my voice. "I got lots of gifts and I loved everyone. Then my grandmother gave me a wooden pig and..."
Doctor Ramirez looks to me with calm, understanding eyes.
"I nod and take a breath as though responding to something he said. "My grandmother gave me a wooden pig and that was it. I could tell from everyone's reaction that it was supposed to mean something, but it didn't. It was just some wooden pig. That's when my brain started to just, just switch off."
"And does it feel that way now?" Doctor Ramirez inquires and holds himself still.
I shake my head. "No. I feel fine," I inform him and run a hand over my head. "In fact, I'm feeling pretty lucid right now."
"Do you think you could tell me what you were thinking?" Doctor Ramirez presses gently and curls the fingers of his outstretched hand as though taking hold of something.
"I wasn't thinking," I blurt out before reigning myself in. "It was like the opposite of thinking. Like all my thoughts were moving in one direction and they suddenly changed direction. I didn't know what was happening."
"Do you remember what your last thought was before you started unthinking?" Doctor Ramirez proceeds and readjusts his seating.
"I was searching my memory for the earliest one I could recall," I let on and put a hand to my temple. "I was fifteen and leaving a local sweets shop. I remember being frustrated and pushing myself to think back even just a day, that's when the unthinking happened."
"Do you remember anything that happened after the party?" Doctor Ramirez pries as he pulls out a little book which he writes in.
"No. It felt like I was asleep and I only woke up a few minutes ago," I speak and look up from my self pity. "Is there something wrong with me? Am I sick or something?"
Doctor Ramirez takes a deep breath and sits back. "I don't think there is anything wrong with you," he declares and shuts his book. "Your parents described your behavior during your blackout as being like a zombie. You did what you had to on a daily basis. You ate, drank and used the facilities. But anything beyond immediate utility required you be told multiple times to perform. In a word I believe you disassociated with your conscious self, but I can't be certain of anything else and feel that assigning a diagnosis would be counterproductive at this point as you would likely imprint your issues around the diagnosis rather than discover the intricacies of your particular peculiarity."
I take a hard swallow as I process the information. "What can I do?" I'm practically begging and find tears forming in my eyes.
Doctor Ramirez nods his head several times. "I would like to sequester you into a mental facility where your activities would be recorded on a daily basis to see if you enter a fugue state, that is to say a period of time where you lose track of yourself," he lays out a plan and taps his finger against the book in his hand. "We would monitor you for one month and determine at that time the best course of action. How would you feel about that?"
"Are there any alternatives?" I splinter the thought and sit more upright.
"We could monitor you at home, but it's not ideal," Doctor Ramirez informs me and stops tapping his finger. "In the facility we can control many variables in the environment that we would not be able to manipulate without locking down your family, which would likely not prove beneficial to their daily lives. That being said, the decision is up to you. I and my staff will do what we can to accommodate, but it is your word that will shape how we deal with your issue. Now, I don't want you to make a decision right now. Take your time, mull it over and speak with your family. In one week we will revisit the question and abide by your decision."
"What if I already have my answer?" I challenge and fix him with a stare.
"Then I would have to respectfully decline," Doctor Ramirez says and stands up. "This is not the kind of decision that should be rushed. You need to take into consideration all the facets of this decision and acknowledge that your answer will affect more than just yourself. As such it would simply be irresponsible of me to accept an answer at this time. So, take your time, mull it over and we'll revisit the question in a week's time."
The doctor excuses himself and walks out of the room. I hear him speak to my parents, but I can't tell what is said. After a brief conference he returns to the room I'm sitting in, stops, gives me a nod and carries on out the door. After his departure my family slowly filters in the room and I'm starting to feel the unthinking coming.
My mother takes hold of my hands and it grounds me back to reality. "Domingo," she addresses me and looks deep in my eyes. "I want you to know that whatever you decide we will be behind you all the way."
I start to cry and surrender myself to her embrace. I don't know why I'm crying, all I know is I feel sad and I need to express it.
The week goes by with me taking stock of my life and having long conversations with the people who will be affected by my hospitalization. I'm surprised by my boss's reaction, who tells me he can grant me a six-month absence since it's for a medical reason, but anymore and I'll have to speak to him about the situation. I'm more than appreciative and can't thank him enough.
My family is very understanding, except for my little sister, Juanita. "Why do you have to go?" she asks me and looks up to see my face.
I squat down and meet her eye level. "I'm sick Juanita," I explain and put my hand on her shoulder. "I need to see a doctor."
"Do you have a cold?" she presses and stares me dead in the eye. "I had a cold and grandmother made me soup and I got better. I didn't have to go anywhere."
"I'm afraid grandmother's soup, as good as it is, won't make me better," I deliver to her the bad news and give her a hug. "You knew what was making you sick and grandmother knew it too, that's why she gave you the soup. The problem is we don't know what's making me sick and that's why I have to leave." I put her to arm's length. "But once I figure out what is happening with me, I will return."
"Do you promise?" Juanita puts to me, and her eyes intensify.
"I promise," I assure her and give her a squeeze.
Juanita kisses me on the cheek and runs off giggling.
The rest of my time is fairly uneventful, and I try to avoid anything that makes me think of the past. To this end my mother sterilizes the house. Photos, statues, mementos of any kind are all packed into storage and even the family altar is closed up, so I don't see it. In this manner my days pass with my anticipation, and anxiety, building to the change in my life.
The day arrives and I engage in a tearful goodbye. After which my father and I climb into the car and drive to the facility. It's a thirty-minute drive and we talk at length about what's going on in my life and more than once he has to catch himself, just as everyone in the household did, from going down memory lane. In those moments we let silence be our words. In this manner he drops me off and wishes me all the grace God can bestow upon me.