in motion

I did not know where to place the source of failure in my body, and so I phrased my feelings in the most accurate way that was made possible by my foggy thoughts then, and spread my request for a solution and finding a name for my sickness all over the country; by mail or by virtual means, I sent my request to senior doctors in every field that comes to mind, in various hospitals and outside them. It is needless to say that most of them could not help and I could not receive a worthwhile diagnosis from such distance.

Nevertheless, the "Schneider" hospital received my appeal and passed it on to the mental health department operating there, assuming that that is where it belonged. With no visible lead and no one listening to me as I say that something is wrong with my mind or my body, I passed a psychological diagnosis that determined with an unbearable easiness that I was suffering from clinical depression, and so I agreed to undergo a psychological treatment there which included medical treatment under psychiatrist supervision. My memory from those treatment sessions is vague, as nothing significant took place there. Time and again I travelled to the hospital in order to fall into the treatment chair and be quiet, as I used to be then, or alternatively to express my opinions concerning irrelevant issues. Research has shown that a depression attack passes in a few months, told me the psychologist with her typical smile; I'm sure everything will be OK.

My time, even though it had no value, was wasted in vain. In the deep fog of my senses I did not experience any life, any occurrence, any content or feeling, rather an existential darkness; and so I was not able to share a thing except my silence. As predicted, I will not deny that my mood was gloomy, but a diagnosis of the sort that I received demanded a person to have an experience of reality and an active mind, which were then only a distant memory for me. Furthermore, the medical treatment given to me, with a common antidepressant, elevated my mood to some extent, but the strong fogginess, the blurry traces of the personality, the slowness of my thinking and the void that had become my mind, all these stayed as they had been.

The medical establishment refusing to acknowledge me as suffering from an illness that is not clinical depression, during the five years that passed from the day of that event I crossed paths with various psychologists, various psychiatrists and various alternative-medicine caregivers as well. Without any reference to whole of my symptoms whatsoever, I turned to these narrow-minded professionals time and again in a desperate effort to find a cure, but it never had any visible help and I was certain that it was not the appropriate way.

From time to time, kindhearted images entered through the glass curtain of my life, seeked my nearness and did whatever they could, believing that beneath the dead mantle of my personality there exists a human being; while I, as a shell with no content, did not respond despite the many efforts. For this I apologize and ask forgiveness from all these people; I wholeheartedly believe that in another life, or in one of these days, things could come to be what you desired, even though I doubt my appearance in your memory.

So I degenerated into a complete void over seven and a half years.