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 seemed fine;
seems can be a very dangerous word, especially in
this business - it can be fatal. Initial diagnosis
- catatonic. 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 of it. 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 this
hole I can see in each of his eyes. For all the
events that happened in this real world, kind of
just fall through. It's loneliness in it's most
crippling form: the kind that no amount of love,
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/xIOor 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; and 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 can 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 feels like something's
eating me alive, from the inside out. (doctor):
Well, that's grief, loss. (patient): Don't tell me
what it is.