Re:birth

I help people. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Nobody wants to remember the pain, the fear, the suffering that has been inflicted onto them in their lifetime. So they come to me, and I make it all go away. However, my technique is unorthodox, because it does involve removing old memories; happy memories. The thing with pain, you can try and try to forget it, and you achieve that, to an extent, I mean the thoughts start fading away, but why does the body still remember the feeling? It doesn’t need to be physical pain for the body to remember, I mean, if that was true, then why does the body remember the feeling of heartbreak and loss?

My practise isn’t legal. Wiping someone’s entire memory isn’t exactly ethical, but I can’t witness anymore pain. There’s too much pain. Most of my clients come from different backgrounds; some have dealt with abuse for being gay, some deal with their own mental concerns, some are just simply trying to find a way out without hurting others. The only downfall to this entire thing, people don’t come to me just to get rid of the pain, they come to me to get rid of their entire identity.

Just the other day I had a man come to my office, tells me he wants to forget everything, including the day he came to terms with his homosexuality. He wanted to be normal, he told me. He said, ‘Being, that, it’s not the problem. It’s everyone else, but I can’t cope with it anymore, not since my dad died. If I forget the moment I met Ethan, my dad might still be alive.’ He then proceeds to tell me about the abuse, mostly physical, and how he doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper nights’ sleep, or how he even got to my office, or what he did last night, or who’s bed he woke up in this morning. He told me he’s fading away, and he believes that the day he met Ethan, was the trigger for it all. I told him there’s nothing wrong with being gay, and he agreed, and then I told him this won’t bring his dad back, and he told me he understood, but at least he won’t blame himself anymore. Do you see my dilemma? People don’t want to lose themselves, they want to remove all the pain that comes with being themselves.

I told him I’d book him in for next Tuesday. He thanked me, and then he stared at me for a moment. His eyes, they were filled with hope, and for a moment, he forgot his pain. I took that in, I took all the pain and I promised I would make it better, but my promises didn’t matter, because when they all wake up again, they don’t remember me either. I think that’s the only thing that really keeps me going; the fact that I’m also forgotten. I was curious about this Ethan character, because this client didn’t speak much about him, and I thought maybe the pain of losing a memory so strong, so full of happiness, would make him regret his choices. And I wasn’t there to change anyone’s mind. I was only there to get rid of all the pain.

You’re probably thinking, is there some sort of dark reason for intruding on people’s lives like this? Did I experience so much trauma that I began to develop the need to eliminate other’s trauma? Is this some sort of sick, twisted plot to feel other’s pain, in order to give myself relief? The answer is no, for all of them. I’m a simple man, I just want to help. I’m saving lives, course, I’m removing core memories; memories of birthdays and anniversaries, memories of people, experiences, love, feelings, everything that makes a person who they are. But with all good, comes pain. I’m removing memories of physically inflicted pain, mental torture, loss, heartbreak, people leaving, anger, sadness. Honestly, it’s free will. It’s up to the individual to decipher the code of their life: are the memories worth it? or do they need to go, forever?

I look at my notes, for one last time before I leave my office. I have only Client 37 booked in on Tuesday. I don’t name them, they don’t remember who I am when they wake up, so there’s no reason for me to remember temporary information that proves to be useless. There is a team, they do all the technical work, including making sure the memories don’t come back. It happened once, Client 11, a lady who came to remove the memory of her son who committed suicide. She told us how he was depressed for so long, and he had reached out to helplines, but they didn’t think his cries for help were enough. They wanted to focus on those who were suicidal. The irony, right? A system designed to prevent suicide, only to end up being the reason for the thing they were trying to prevent. I mean, it wasn’t completely their fault, but poor Anthony could’ve been alive today. Anyway, she had told us he couldn’t cope with his girlfriend leaving him, and he couldn’t live without her. She said she wished he knew about our service, before it was too late, but now she needed us, because the pain grew too strong and she was the one who was seeking a way out. But she was a devoted Christian woman, the only downfall was she was losing her faith, and as much as she loved her little boy, she knew he and God would forgive her for forgetting him. I didn’t ask if she was referring to Anthony or God. The inconsequential details didn’t matter, just as long as the team could pinpoint and eliminate the first memory, then they could prepare a total wipeout for the rest.

It worked, but then it didn’t. She woke up with no memory of her son being gone, but as time went by, little details came back. How this was possible, I’ll never know. It was the first and last case. She later remembered everything, up until she arrived at my office, and then later we find out she laid dead, on her sons childhood bed, with pills scattered around her. We weren’t held liable, we didn’t exist to her, or to anyone around her. She didn’t leave a note, most suicidal people do, probably because whatever she wanted to say, she could finally say it. She wanted it to happen, she couldn’t stop the pain and not even we could help. That thought hurt the most, the fact that I wasn’t her last resort, that I didn’t do enough. It took me 3 months, 8 days, 6 hours and exactly 14 seconds to re-enter my office, ready for the next person to help. I am in control of my life, of everything, and not someone’s weakness would stop that.

I get up, wipe down all surfaces, making sure that I don’t leave any fingerprints. I pick up my slim black mug, squeeze it between my fingers as I walk out the room, leaving the diary behind. I use my sleeve to close the door, careful to not let my skin touch the cool metal doorknob. It’s not a hygiene thing, like I said, what we do isn’t ethical, or legal, and it is very low-key. It’s not top secret, it’s incriminating but it won’t make news nationwide. What we’re doing is giving people amnesia, and we have consent forms signed, everything seems legit and legal, it just lacks the laws in place. It’s not FBI work, if we’re exposed we’d also be forgotten in a week. I just like knowing I didn’t leave a print, like I never existed. It’s the way I cope with what I do, I mean, I hear these people’s stories and I can’t help but want to know more about them, maybe even be friends with them, lovers with them. I look at client 37 and I’m envious of this Ethan he mentions in passing, not because I wish I was an Ethan in his life, but Ethan is someone who makes him happy, but he doesn’t want happiness. He feels like he doesn’t deserve happiness. He feels responsible for a death he didn‘t cause, and it’s taking a lot in me to tell him he can keep going, to tell him that he can make it, and he can be happy. But then again, I only know a part of Client 37 that he wants to forget, and I don’t know what he wants to remember. The hardest part of my job is telling clients that they don’t keep all their memories, we can’t do that, we can only find the first memory they want removing, and delete the rest that lead to the present, just like erasing a computer. Some people want to erase years of their lives, because the trauma began from a young age, meaning that they’d remove that trauma, but also remove virtually themselves. They’re reborn, as I like to call it.

***

It’s Tuesday. Client 37 will be arriving any second. Actually, he’s late. It’s currently 2:01pm, and our session was booked in for 2:00pm. Typical. They always arrive late, and I get that it’s because this is a massive deal for most people, but I do expect good attendance.

Something feels off, it doesn’t feel like an average day at the office. It’s now 2:11pm, and I hear loud thudding, just before my office door swings open. Late. All I say is, ‘you’re late, we have work to do’ and he looks at me sorrowfully, before seating in front of me as I go over the standard rules. I watch him shake as he signs the consent form, and then we leave the office, and then the building, and then we get into my car and drive. You thought we do this all in the comfort of my office? or in the building? No, this has to be in a place the client feels most comfortable, and that’s mainly in their homes or a hotel room. He guides me with the turns and then tells me to stop. In front of a graveyard. I keep the engine running and tell him we can’t do the procedure in public, never mind in a graveyard. He stares at me and says, ‘we’ll wait ’till it‘s dark’. I think things through, because I rushed the process, and it’s my fault it’s come to this. I saw myself in him, and that was my first mistake. He was meant to go through a few sessions, before making a decision, but I heard his story and felt his pain and wanted to cure it all. I lied, I’m sorry, it wasn’t about him. He wasn’t going to go through with it, he would‘ve changed his mind after the second session, but I didn’t want him to remember me, I didn’t want him to remember our interaction. It was unethical, more unethical than the practise, it was morally incorrect and it’s everything I’m against, but I promise I’m not trying to hurt him.

So we wait. We wait till it’s dark, because if he’s going to do this, we do it his way. It’s bad enough we’re entering a graveyard at night, I mean, that’s bad luck in itself, but now I have to explain to the team that they have to come later. They’re not going to like the plan. And I’m not sure if I’m all for it, at this point. That’s the problem with thinking things through, you always come to a logical conclusion in the end. It’s silent, I make no attempts at talking to him, so I turn on the radio. I don’t need to hear his story, or have an interaction with him that I remember and he doesn’t. This might be awkward, but he won’t remember it. But of course, he speaks up. He asks me about my life, assures me I can trust him, because after all, he won’t remember a thing. I don’t answer to it, instead I ask about the significance of Ethan. He pauses, and then takes a deep breath, and here it is. He met Ethan when we was 16, they fell in love, but Ethan was afraid of what everyone else would think, and became physically abusive when Client 37 publicly came out, and so after a year of pain, Ethan ended it all. It broke Client 37, but he got over it, I mean that’s what he told me but I’ve been doing this job for so long to know that even until the very end, people will try and downplay their pain. Years go by, he moves on and then his dad finds out he has liver failure, and he and his dad were close, joined at the hip close, and he couldn’t cope when he found out his dad was going to die, so he moved. He left without a word. And then he finds out his dad died a week later. It crushed him, because he still doesn’t regret not being there till the end, because he tells me it would hurt so much more. I watch as Client 37 sobs in the seat next to me. He tells me that if he never met Ethan, maybe he would’ve stayed with his dad till the end, or maybe his dad seeing him in such a fragile state wouldn’t have made him turn to alcohol. Everybody lies, even towards the end, we all lie. Client 37 wanted me to believe Ethan was the cause of the loss of his dad, but in reality, he believes he is. And it was easier telling someone a lie than the truth. He wanted to get rid of the pain he inflicted, rather than his own past trauma. I didn’t agree with that. I turned the radio off and drove away, back towards the office. It upset him, I could tell, but I explained to him that the service is only for people to get rid of pain inflicted onto them, not for them to ignore the consequences of their actions. It wasn’t his fault his dad died, his dad couldn’t handle the pain, but Client 37 wasn‘t hurting from being hurt, he was hurting from hurting others, and regardless of how much someone can’t cope with that reality, they would have to come to terms with their reality. I stopped in front of the office and, for the first time in my entire career, told him to go back to his family. I told him to connect with the pain he’s feeling, because he needs to heal. Most of my clients tell me the truth, almost all the truth, but none of them twist their stories to make someone else look like the bad guy. The majority blame themselves. And as much as Client 37 was hurting, he needed to keep remembering his dad.

I did the unthinkable. I gave him my number and told him if he wanted to contact me, he could. At this point, not even I was thinking concisely. I’ve broken all my rules and morals and judging this broken man for wanting to not be blamed for once. Even though we all want to get rid of the pain as soon as it arrives, it always has to settle before we can come to a decision on whether or not it doesn’t make us a stronger person.

I go home and I get into bed, turning to my bedside table as I flick through my at home diary. This is the diary where I leave my most vulnerable thoughts, because even I don’t trust myself to not hurt myself. Whilst writing about my day, I see my phone light up.

Hey, it’s Liam, from earlier. Just wanted to thank you for telling me things straight. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Have a good night.

Another rule broken, never learn my clients names. I mean, at this point he isn’t my client. I don’t know how to feel, so I read through old passages in the diary, hoping to find an answer. There’s too many gaps, too many gaps in time, and I wonder how many times I’ve done it, and why I did it. I keep reading, some of them are scribbles, some of them just start with the date and end with the time. I gathered I was never in the right mindset to write down my thoughts and memories. I also did wonder what I was trying to run away from, and that feeling of anguish creeps up inside, almost telling me that something similar has happened before. Like I stated earlier, the body never forgets emotional pain. You’re probably wondering how I figured out I wipe my own memory. I just always remember to wipe the second memory, and the first memory that causes the process of trauma, it stays, so I never forget it, but all the pain I experience, it goes, and I keep doing this again and again until I finally wake up to the day I’m not hurting, to the day I’m numb. And I guess, I figured that out a few months ago, judging by my diary.

I’m going to wake up tomorrow like I always do. I’ll get ready for work, help people, or at least think I’m helping people, and then forget who they are and continue the cycle again and again. But this time, I have Liam to taint my thoughts with, and for the first time, I don’t feel like forgetting.