Thread by @Trauma_Posting

A crawl to ego death

#nsfwtwt #medfef slow #mindbreak #gaslighting

"You know I don't like doing this any more than you do, my dear. Do you think your fussy little outbursts are going to get you anywhere?" Dr Addams asks with a look of exasperated concern on his face.

You just pout in response. You want to slam your first on the table, or kick the Doctor. Unfortunately for you, the straightjacket and medical restraints around your ankles and chest keep you bound to your chair make such things rather difficult.

"Look, I know you don't believe me, but I really am trying to help you." The Doctor pauses, looking down at some paperwork on his desk. "I shouldn't be telling you this. If I don't make progress with you in the next month, I'm to transfer you to the ICU...where you will be-

placed under the direct care of Dr Ashford."

The ICU doesn't scare you. The mention of Dr Ashford, the director of the Ashford Institute, does, however. You only met her once, several weeks ago. Even in your most aggressive state, she made you feel like prey caught in the gaze-

of a true predator. Your anxious fidgets against your straightjacket are obviously noticed by Dr Addams.

"I don't want to send you to her. I find her methods...extreme." He glances around and slightly lowers his voice when he finishes his sentence, almost as if someone could be-

listening. "If I can't help you, my hands are tied. So please, just think rationally for a moment. What do you think is more likely, that there's some huge conspiracy to make you forget you you are, or that you're very unwell and were brought to an expensive specialist institute-

because your Mommy and Daddy are worried sick about you?"

You've always had doubts, of course you have. You knew, logically, that you could be wrong, that your real loved ones could be out there wanting you to get better. In your heart you knew the truth, though, didn't you?

You could remember a whole life that the staff claimed had never happened. Yes, it had become increasingly fragmentary and muddled. That could be explained by them poisoning your mind with drugs and therapy. Would healthcare workers really do something so horrific?

The threat of Dr Ashford forces you to confront the ever present doubt that your memories are not, in fact, the truth. Until now, you'd been able to squash any thought that you might be wrong with anger or snark. It let you feel like you had a modicum of control, even in this-

oppressive prison/comforting rehabilitation centre.

After several painful moments of consideration, you finally whimper out "I guess it's possible." Part of you hates yourself for even entertaining the idea that you could be wrong. Another part feels a strange sense of-

happiness seeing the proud smile on Dr Addams' face. Inside your head, you can feel the constant struggle to cling to your sense of self. The issue is becoming who is your true self.

"I know that was difficult for you. I want you to know I'm very proud of you for taking that step. Why don't we get you back to your room? Since you made a scene during mealtime, I'll have one of the nurses being you something. How about your favourite snack, a PB&J sandwich?"

He slowly undoes the restraints around your legs as he speaks, being careful to maintain a soft tone.

On instinct you nod your head at the thought of a yummy PB&J sandwich. Your stomach growled at the mere thought. Didn't you used to hate peanut butter? No.

It's definitely always been your favourite snack. You wouldn't misremember something like that. It's not like anyone could override your personality bit by bit, changing only the smallest details until you're no longer you.

"Don't worry, we're going to make you well." Dr Addams helps you to your feet. He doesn't take your straightjacket off.

Returning to your room gives you some time to think. What if I'm wrong? is the question that keeps running through your mind. Wrong or not, you knew you'd-

have to at least fake progress to avoid making things worse for yourself. Patients that go to the ICU never come back the same, if they come back at all.
Eventually, a nurse enters and hand feeds you a sandwich. It's delicious. Without a doubt it's your favourite.

It's comforting to feel just a grain of certainty about anything. Of course, it helps that with each bite the memories of gagging at the taste of peanut butter slip from your mind like sand through your fingers.