It was a couple of days before Kate Schechter became aware of any of these things, or indeed of anything at all in the outside world.
She passed the time quietly in a world of her own in which she was surrounded as far as the eye could see with old cabin trunks full of past memories in which she rummaged with great curiosity, and sometimes bewilderment. Or, at least, about a tenth of the cabin trunks were full of vivid, and often painful or uncomfortable memories of her past life; the other nine-tenths were full of penguins, which surprised her. Insofar as she recognised at all that she was dreaming, she realised that she must be exploring her own subconscious mind. She had heard it said that humans are supposed only to use about a tenth of their brains^[1], and that no one was very clear what the other nine-tenths were for, but she had certainly never heard it suggested that they were used for storing penguins.
–Douglas Adams in “The Long Dark Tea Time Of The Soul”

I would love to be able to do that. Just go through my memories like I am going through old clothes, and figure out which ones I should keep and which ones I should throw out. That’s something me and my massive metaconscious would really enjoy. It would be like getting to re-index your mind. Defrag your mental hard drive.

But instead, of course, I have to do it the hard way like everyone else. Especially now that I don’t have therapy helping me along any more.

I could still be going to therapy, now that my schedule is opening up. It’s not too difficult for me to figure out when I have time off in a week. I am sure I could find a time when both Doctor Costin and I are free. It’s just a matter of logistics and coordination.

But I would have to get there and back on my own, and therein lies the problem. That’s a very large gumption trap and I am not quite good enough yet at getting out of those on my own. To get there on my own would involve a bus ride there, a walk from the bus stop to the office, a walk back to the bus stop, and a bus ride home. And that…. is a lot of effort.

I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it. But I just don’t have that kind of effort to spare any more.

Plus I am really starting to worry about what my poor feet go through every school day. It takes a very long time for my feet to recover from the walk. The first time I get up from the computer after coming home is always agony. And I am always eager to get my damned shoes off.

I suppose, speaking of doctors, that I should make an appointment with my GP to get that looked at. It is possible that somewhere out there is technology that would allow me to walk without pain. It has been so long since that was true that I find it hard to believe that it’s even possible. I have a terrible fear that the doctor will just shrug and tell me to lose weight, even thought my GP, Doctor Chao, is a very sweet guy and would never say something like that.

Even if there was nothing medical science could do, he would be super sensitive in how he told me. He’s good that way.

And I know the fear that nothing can be done is the depression talking. Yet the fear remains. Depression is a mental illness and all mentally ill people have to come face to face with the fact that their minds are not entirely their own. That there are things they believe (or even see) without or despite evidence and that no simple act of will or mind will banish these beliefs.

Believing things you know aren’t true is the real meaning of mental illness, at least for me.

After all, I am Mister Rational. I have great power of logic and reason. And I don’t just use logic and reason, I believe in them. I take some pride in being naked before the truth… a slave to the evidence. That means that no matter where the evidence leads, I shall follow, period.

That, though, assumes that I have full mastery over my mind and my beliefs, and that is something no human being has ever had. Even a cold rationalist myself can admit there are things he believes a priori to any evidence – thinks like “it matters what happens to humans”.

But this isn’t about that. This is about following a chain of evidence to what you know to be true – and not being able to believe it. That’s when you are truly cognizant of the limitations placed upon you by your illness. It’s like a big thick wall between you and the truth, and the human mind is not capable of holding onto truths it does not believe.

So the truth slips away from even a muscular rationalist like myself. In fact, if I were less of a hardcore philosopher, what is beyond my reach would not bother me so much. Most people live in the twilit world between the objective and the subjective and are comfortable there. Or at least, comfortable enough to not feel the need to pursue the truth so relentlessly as I, and therefore do not end up with some of their self-worth, not to mention their sanity, tied up with their belief in their ability to believe whatever the evidence says is true.

But in my mind, the things I cannot help but believe regardless of evidence stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. In many ways I have an extremely organized and optimized mind where everything fits together like a n-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, and belief without evidence cannot be made to fit in it anywhere.

But I am not helpless. The rational can fight back by stopping irrational self-talk and replacing it with something more rational and balanced. Over time, if you do this enough, and with enough ruthless determination, the bad beliefs shift towards the good.

For example, I no longer hate myself nearly as much as I used to, long ago.

Upward and onwards, children!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.