“Hi Devon, I’m Doctor Wilkinson, one of the psychiatrists in Candlevale Mental Health Unit, what brings you here?”
“Haven’t you read my file.”
“I haven’t actually. A computer glitch is preventing me from accessing the system. Our IT person is working on the problem as we speak. In the meantime, maybe you can enlighten me regarding how you came to be here.”
“Something that happened at my Uncle Albert’s eleventh wedding has been causing me some stress. The event just didn’t go according to plan.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s make this a guessing game. I find the facts more palatable that way. I’m not sure why, but I do.”
“Was there a problem with the catering?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Did the wedding photographer fail to show up?”
“No, they got there early actually.”
“Did the bride fail to show up?”
“No, that’s not it, she arrived early too, everyone arrived early, except me and the DJ. He’s the one who firebombed the venue because several of the guests failed to pay him for services rendered earlier in the year, when he was working in a more controversial industry. Wandering amongst the charred remains of my family and friends is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon. I didn’t really feel like going to work the following Monday. The company counsellor sent me to you for a psychiatric evaluation. You don’t look well, are you okay doctor?”
“I think so. That’s a horrific weekend to say the least. According to Nurse Willis, you have a keen interest in reincarnation. Is it okay if we switch subjects and discuss that, or would you rather discuss the wedding disaster?”
“I’d prefer to switch subjects actually. I don’t feel like I have anything to gain by dwelling on such horrors right now. Where I’m from originally, the average person remembers their last eight lives in considerable detail. According to them and their hypnotherapists, some people can remember snippets of lifetimes from hundreds of thousands of years ago, long before the quantum computing age was conceivable. In some cases, some obscure and difficult to access historical records have helped to verify their stories. Where I come from originally, people’s memories of lives in what Earthlings like to call the spiritual realms tend to be just as vivid. People aren’t cynical about such things there, they’re much better at communicating with beings that reside entirely or partially in the hidden realms that overlap with this universe.
“I see.”
“I’m not sure that you do doctor, but that’s alright, it’s not unusual for Earthlings to be so enamoured with their five physical senses that they ignore the possibility of anything more. The time in the womb is somewhat hazy for most of my compatriots, but it’s unusual for someone not to remember fragments of it. On my home planet Droob, anyone who can’t remember anything before the first anniversary of their birth, in their current lifetime, is viewed in the same light as a human who can’t recall anything that happened more than a few minutes ago.”
“And here I was thinking that Droob was just a new age commune overseas somewhere. I’m more fascinated than ever now.”
“But you don’t believe a word of it though do you doctor.”
“I can’t honestly say that any of it sounds plausible to me, but it’s fascinating, nonetheless. If, for arguments sake, what you’re telling me is accurate, how did you travel to Earth?”
“Perhaps you’re wondering if I think I travelled here in a spacecraft, or if I believe I was beamed here Star Trek style. This so-called universe alone is far more multi-dimensional, so much more interconnected than most Earthlings imagine, so it is possible to travel between galaxies in a surprisingly short time, but I didn’t arrive here in a spaceship though.”
“You’re right, I did wonder if you think you travelled here in a spaceship. If you didn’t travel here in a ship and you weren’t beamed here, how did you get here?”
“I don’t deny that I was born on Earth Doctor.”
“So when you say that you’re from the planet Droob, you’re saying that you incarnated there in some of the past lives that you say you remember? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“As ludicrous as it sounds to a lot of Earthlings, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Do you normally tell people about the planet Droob and your apparent memories of living there for several lifetimes?”
“Of course not. I’m a financial advisor. Do you think people would trust me with their money if they knew that I see myself as a citizen of the planet Droob first and an Australian citizen third? I’m a citizen of the Earth second, in case you’re wondering. I have a very cosmopolitan outlook.”
“You certainly do. These apparent memories of life on Droob that you speak of, how do they make you feel?”
“They’re a source of comfort most of the time. When you’re a Droobian you learn not to carry much emotional baggage. That’s important when you have a fairly comprehensive memory of the past millennium or two. One of the reasons we don’t remember a lot from further back is we tend not to relate to the person we were several millennia ago. Another is the constraints that a biological brain put on what Earthlings call the spirit. Between physical incarnations one can access so much more of their personal history.”
“Do you think that your apparent memories of past lives on the planet Droob have made this lifetime on Earth better or worse?”
“Being able to recall my past lives definitely makes this incarnation easier. Delving into fifteen centuries of memories, during a crisis, is more useful than reading self-help books. Does remembering lives on Droob get me some sort of label such as schizophrenic?”
“I haven’t come to any firm conclusions yet. Oh, and by the way, I avoid using words like schizophrenic. I prefer to say person with schizophrenia instead of schizophrenic, otherwise it’s too much like calling someone with leukaemia a cancer.”
“I haven’t really thought about it that way before doctor, but now I have I must say that I agree with you. I have noticed how mental illnesses such as schizophrenia are usually potrayed in a very sinister way in the movies and on the news. It seems like we rarely hear about people with schizophrenia until one of them stabs someone. I do have friends who suffer from the condition and none of them feel good about harming a cockroach let alone a member of their own species.”
“You’re better informed than the average person Devon. Trying to educate the general public about the matter can be a frustrating experience. I’ve met some cynical and ignorant people, who failed the mental health first aid course on their first and second attempts, that think they know more about mental health than the most highly regarded psychiatrists. Anyway, I digress.”
“I bet some of them were antivaxxers and flat Earthers Doc.”
“Some of them were. You might be surprised by how rational a some flat earthers and antivaxxers are in other areas of their lives though. As I was saying earlier, I haven’t reached any firm conclusions regarding your mental health yet. I don’t define mental health solely on the basis of how plausible I think a patient’s beliefs are. It’s really not my job to decide that someone is out of touch with reality simply because of how unlikely their story sounds. That might sound absurd, so I’ll explain further if you like.”
“Please do.”
“If, for example, you’d sincerely claimed that the hospital administration has been infiltrated by deceitful Droobians, who have disguised themselves as the nursing staff, my first thought would be that you’re suffering from some form of psychosis, such as schizophrenia, or schizophreniform disorder. You’ve told me about some memories that in my opinion aren’t real, memories that don’t seem to be harming anyone, memories that don’t appear to be adversely affecting your ability to function in day-to-day life. I’m much more concerned about the possible impact of the disaster that occurred on Saturday. I do have a couple more questions for you regarding the planet Droob though. When did you first develop memories of the place?”
“It all came flooding back to me yesterday in the form of a dream that lasted most of the night. I know how that sounds, but that’s what happened. I dreamt about the highlights and the lowlights of fifteen centuries of lives on Droob, and the lives in between that Earthlings call spiritual.”
“That doesn’t seem to fit in with the idea that Droobians have a fairly comprehensive memory of the last millennium or two of their existence.”
“Amnesia is extremely rare among Droobians, but not completely unheard of and it’s very common among Earthlings. You seem to have forgotten for a moment that I have incarnated as an Earthling this time around.”
“The timing of the return of these apparent Droobian memories concerns me. They could be a coping mechanism for the events that occurred on Saturday. The blase manner in which you spoke about a firebombing that killed most of your relatives and friends concerns me too. I think that you’re suppressing the true impact of the tragedy, that you’re still in a state of shock”
“And where are these views of yours leading Doctor Wilkinson?”
“I’d like to keep you in here for at least a few days to evaluate the impact of the crisis on you.”
“Would you like a game of chess doctor? Before you tell me that I’m using chess as a distraction from what ails me, I can report that I’m well aware of that.”
“If you are using chess as a form of diversional therapy, I don’t see anything wrong with that. I was just thinking about whether I can squeeze a game in. It is my lunch time, and it is a surprisingly slow day, we don’t normally have those, so why not.”
“Are you a good player Doctor Wilkinson?”
“With people like Gary Kasparov and Magnus Carlsson in the world, I don’t like to talk myself up.”
Devon pulled a marble chessboard and a chess clock from his suitcase. He pulled the crystal pieces from an ornate hand carved box that looked terribly expensive.
“Lightning, bullet, rapid or classical, the choice is yours?”
“I think we can fit in a game of rapid; ten minutes apiece probably isn’t too long.”
Devon used a crafty variation of the Sicilian opening that almost caught Doctor Wilkinson napping. The Doctor had been the best player in the local chess club for more than a decade, but Devon anticipated his tactics with consummate ease. Occasionally, he paused briefly, but they weren’t the pauses of a man who has no idea what to do next, they were the pauses of a chess warrior who hasn’t yet decided how he wishes to end proceedings. Doctor Wilkinson conceded five moves away from the inevitable.
“I wouldn’t dwell on it Doctor, there aren’t a lot of people on this planet who are competitive against me in a chess match. Not many years ago, I was rated in the 2600’s in all forms of the game. When I was thirty-eight, I was ranked 68th in the world in classical chess and in the top 100 in all the other forms of the game. I’m retired now, but I still coach grand masters. I’m still competitive against the best of the best. I’m a young fifty-five.”
“How do you find the time to be a financial advisor as well as coach elite chess players?”
“My brother runs a financial advising service and when I have time I work for him. Researching fortune 500 companies and up and comers is another passion of mine. How do you like my powers of concentration doctor, is the sort of laser focus I displayed in our chess match common in people suffering from psychosis?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s common, but it’s by no means unheard of, not everyone with psychotic delusions has difficulty focusing on the task at hand. Not everyone with a psychotic illness has disordered thinking on topics unrelated to their delusions. And it’s important to remember that I haven’t diagnosed you with anything Devon, we’re just having a casual chat to give me some indication of how you’re feeling and so you can get used to talking to me “
“Am I still a voluntary patient?”
“Yes, you are, but that could change. I’m hoping that you are willing to stay at least until you’re reassessed in three days’ time. If you choose not to stay, I’d like to refer you to one of the psychiatrists at the Candlevale District Mental Health Service for weekly appointments.”
“I’m happy to stay for a while. Maybe some of the patients who are in relatively good health would like some chess lessons.”
“There might be a few people who are interested, especially those who are due to be discharged soon. They’re more likely to be capable of focusing on something as mentally taxing as chess. Before I see some of my other patients, please tell me a little more about the star system where Droob is situated.”
“There are five habitable planets in the Droobian White Dwarf system. The differences in climate, gravity and the composition of the atmosphere etc on these five planets are subtle enough for most Droobian System species to survive somewhere on all five planets. It took many millennia for my species to develop immunity to the pathogens on the other Droob system planets though. Droob is the planet that’s right in the middle of the so-called Goldilocks zone. The equator isn’t too hot to survive and there are several major cities that are just a few hours’ drive from the poles. Droob has the most gravity of the five planets. Gravity on Droob at three thousand metres above sea level, on the equator, is virtually the same as gravity at sea level, at the poles on Quarb, the habitable planet with the least gravity. The difference between how far one can throw a ball and how fast they can run on each of the five planets isn’t blatantly obvious. Droobians have colonised all five planets but Quarb, Gorb, Lorb and Zarb don’t have any permanent residents, they’re used mostly for eco-tourism and the mining of metals and gemstones precious enough to justify the weight of the cargo.”
The more that Devon talked, the harder Doctor Wilkinson looked for contradictions in his story. At one point Devon thought that Doctor Wilkinson suspected him of using his remarkable memory to deliberately invent the Droobian White Dwarf star system and the planets Droob, Quarb, Gorb, Lorb and Zarb. Did he think Devon was a paid actor from an anti-pyschiatry association? Members of those organisations imagine that the ability of some professional actors to briefly fake psychotic illnesses is evidence that psychiatrists don’t have any real expertise.
The next day, Devon’s first words were “Doctor, I’ve had another dream that might explain why I seem to remember living on a planet called Droob.”
“Seem to remember? I haven’t heard you phrase it that way before Devon.”
“The memories still feel as real as my memories of our chess game yesterday, but I might have a reason to doubt them despite that. I dreamt about a series of ten epic fantasy novels, by a writer known as Charles Bentley the 3rd. They’re collectively known as the Droob Zone novels. I don’t know if Charles Bentley is real or not yet, because I don’t have internet access here. The shortest of those novels is over a quarter of a million words. I have a feeling that I’ve read these books several times. What I don’t understand is how I could possibly forget that. I remember chess matches in more detail than most sports historians can remember games of football so how could I forget reading a series of ten epic novels?
“Devon, there is something very comforting about the Droob Zone universe for you. It’s much more comforting when you think it’s real. Subconsciously, you know that it’s just a science fiction fantasy. Deep down, you remember reading those books, hence the dream. Maybe there’s something soothing about the sound of the word Droob too. You’ve been through a lot lately, to say the least. Something as adventurous, fascinating, and perhaps also Utopian as the Droob system is very therapeutic for you. I love a good novel myself. Reading can be a great way to relax.”
“Are you going to make me take some sort of anti-psychotic medication?”
“Personally, I don’t see the value in giving you medication to take away a world that is still a source of comfort to you, not when it isn’t interfering with your ability to function in day to day life. On the one hand, you know it’s not real, but it still feels real. You’re fortunate to have a delusion that is a source of comfort for you. Some patients feel like everyone on television is talking about them, joking and laughing about them and plotting against them. They don’t necessarily think that’s really happening, but they can’t escape the feeling that it is. It’s so much to feel like the Droob System is really out there than to think the news broadcaster and the weatherman are talking about killing you in code.”
“Doctor Wilkinson, is it a good idea to tell me about the frightening delusions that other people experience? What if those delusions are psychologically contagious?”
“Are you afraid of developing every delusion you hear about Devon?”
“No, not really, but a feeling of dread does wash over me when I hear about other peoples delusions. It seems weird to me that you brought them up.”
“It seems that I am in error, so I apologise.”
After three days in the mental health unit, Devon finally ran out of the food he’d brought with him. For the first time, he thought about how strange it was that the hospital hadn’t supplied him with meals or coffee etc. He’d had to drink from the taps in the bathrooms to stay hydrated. There hadn’t even been any sheets on his bed. He’d seen beds without mattresses and rooms without beds too. He’d wondered if he was having the opposite of a hallucination when he failed to see things that were surely there. Devon’s discussions with Doctor Wilkinson distracted him from dwelling on those details. While he was pondering the oddness of his situation, Devon was approached by a stranger in high visibility clothing.
“Sir, what are you doing here, how did you get in? There’s not supposed to be anyone in here, this building isn’t open to the public. Large parts of it are no longer structurally sound. It’s due to be demolished in a few weeks.”
“Who are you and what are you talking about? Look around you, there’s patients, nurses, occupational therapists, social workers, and psychiatrists all over the place and you’re telling me nobody is supposed to be here. What have you been smoking?”
“My name is Dave. It seems to me that you’re experiencing mental health problems sir.” the stranger in high vis clothing replied, choosing his words carefully.
“Well of course I am. I wouldn’t be here otherwise would I. This is a mental health unit you know.”
“Sir, this building hasn’t been used for that purpose for years. A lot of people think it’s haunted though so maybe you’re not as out of your mind as you seem, maybe you’ve been talking to ghosts and seeing apparitions.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes, ghosts have a mind attached to them and apparitions are just images of people that remain long after the actual people have gone. Apparitions might do all sorts of things, but you can’t interact with them because there’s nobody there anymore, just an imprint of who used to be there. Apparently, not everyone can see them.”
“That all sounds rather confusing. Do you really believe in such things?”
“Sir, the alternative is that you’re having hallucinations of Angel Trumpet overdose proportions.”
“You’ve made a believer out of me then. I don’t see how I could possibly hallucinate the entire staff and all the patients in a mental health unit. Has anyone ever had hallucinations of that magnitude?”
“I think some drug users do, but otherwise I don’t know. I’m not a medical doctor of any description. Would you like to come with me sir?”
“Where are we going?”
“I would like to drive you to the nearest operational mental health unit, if that is okay with you, just in case it’s not ghosts and apparitions you’re seeing.”
“Hopefully, at the next mental health unit there won’t be a member of a demolition crew tapping me on the shoulder to inform me that I’m in an abandoned building. I could do without life reminding me of a mirror image within a mirror image within a mirror image. Take me to reality please. I’m sure it wasn’t long ago that I was there, but it feels like it’s been years.”
Devon could still hear the hustle and bustle of a functioning mental health unit in the background but when he turned around both the images and the sounds morphed into thin air. Did that mean he’d been talking to ghosts? He’d recently played a game of chess. He would have noticed if he was playing against himself, wouldn’t he? Had he gone into some sort of fugue state while making an imaginary Doctor Wilkinson’s moves for him? How could Doctor Wilkinson’s words have been figments of his imagination? Hadn’t he told him things he didn’t know? Devon scoured the internet, trying to verify or debunk the doctor’s statements.
Dave found the chess board. The coffee cup Devon thought he’d seen Doctor Wilkinson drink from still sat behind it, but there was nothing in it besides dust and cobwebs. It was about lunch time. Devon hoped that the member of the demolition crew, who was kind enough to drive him to hospital, was a chess player.
© Rodney Hunter, 2024
The Surreal Art Psychonaut 