Neurohack

Posted on Mon 25th Dec, 2017 @ 6:31am by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Lieutenant Thomas Maynard

2,033 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: A Phaser as Deadly as a Candlestick
Location: Chief Counselor's Office

Thomas woke up in a flash, sweat dripping from his brow. A nightmare. Constant nightmares. His wife died and he couldn't get over her death. He blamed himself. His son blamed him. Nightmares. Night after night. Flashbacks, followed by dreams of his wife, blood dripping down her wedding dress, pointing at him, screaming, getting closer and closer.

He sat up, wiping his brow, leaning over to the bedside table for some water. There was a glass already filled, except it wasn't water. It was vodka. It helped soothe him in the mornings. He knew he had to get off the alcohol sooner rather than later. He was killing himself off, but he just couldn't muster up the energy to care. He downed the glass of vodka, sighed, and got out of bed.

He stood, naked, and stretched, before moving into his kitchen and over to the replicator. He ordered an Irish Coffee and sipped it, before taking a seat and grabbing his PADD. He spent the morning browsing random bits about the Starbase, keen to find more bits to do. He enjoyed speaking to Jade Lantz yesterday lunchtime and really made him think more about himself and his life.

"Computer, Can you see if the counselor is free for a meeting today?" Thomas asked.

The reply was imminent and with a standard computer tone, "The counselor has a free slot in an hour."

"Perfect," He smiled. It was unusual for Thomas to smile, especially to himself, but it felt like a step in the right direction. He took another sip of his Irish coffee.

An hour later, Paul sat in his office, awaiting the arrival of Lt. Maynard. He hadn't seen the man since the evening of the musical concert during Unity Week, when Maynard had played a violin piece so well that Paul was amazed he had joined Starfleet and not a symphony orchestra somewhere. Paul had glanced at the appointment note in his email and rolled his eyes. He was going to have to reprogram the messaging software to have the computer at least inquire the reason for a patient's visit.

He glanced at his wall clock. Maynard should be by any minute now.

And on that note, Maynard arrived and pressed the chime outside Paul's office. He sighed, thinking about turning back. He was torn. One side saying turn around and pretend he never arranged the meeting, the other side telling him to stay and attempt to sort his life out. For once, he listened to the latter. His thoughts trailed to the fact he probably smelt of alcohol and it was early in the morning. Maybe he could waggle a drink to get the smell away from Paul.

Paul went to the door and pressed the button to open it. "Lt. Maynard, come in," he said as he saw the older man. "Please have a seat at the desk."

Thomas mustered a smile as he walked past Paul and nodded his head slightly to acknowledge him before sitting straight down at his desk. He tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

"It's good to see you," Paul said. "I really enjoyed your playing, that night at the concert. Some symphony orchestra lost out." He gestured to the replicator. "Would you like something to drink before we start?"

Thomas couldn't help but muster a smile, he enjoyed playing his violin and allowed him to express some of his feelings, "Thank you. And just a juice please. Cranberry."

Paul made a face as if he were sucking on a lemon, but his eyes glinted with humor. "You're a braver man than I. That stuff is too tart for me." He spoke to the replicator, and it produced a tumbler filled with chilled cranberry juice for Maynard and a tumbler of some something called a Lime Coke for Paul.

He used the brief ritual of handing out beverages to gauge Maynard's mood. The usual sadness and...disquiet, Paul thought. "The computer unhelpfully did not tell me the reason for your visit, I'm afraid. What's on your mind, Lieutenant?" Paul asked.

Thomas thanked Paul for the drink, "Well, Um. I don't know," He hesitated. "I keep having these nightmares."

"Is it the same nightmare over and over, or do they all seem to refer to the same thing?" Paul asked.

"Generally it is different, but it does refer to the same thing," Thomas hesitated again. "Sometimes they're flashbacks as well, followed by vivid nightmares."

Paul nodded. "Dreams, particularly nightmares, are a sign that your mind is working very hard to work through something, often something you aren't ready to deal with while awake. It's healthy that you're having them, even though it feels awful to experience them." Paul paused. "I can tell they are quite disturbing to you. Do you feel at all able to describe what happens in them?"

Thomas listened intently to Paul's explanation. "My wife." He paused and gulped. "She's in her wedding dress she wore to our wedding. Obviously to the wedding. But it's covered in blood. She's pointing at me and screaming. She keeps getting closer and closer. And I normally wake up when she reaches me or when the scream pierces through me in the dream."

"That would drive me to raktajino," Paul said with a wry look. "Does the dream show any details of how she actually died, or is the focus of it more just to point at you?"

"Sometimes I wish for the raktajino," He paused and thought of the Klingon drink and shuddered. "Oh the flashbacks I get show me the build up to the night of the accident. They never show me the actual moment of death and then they move into the vivid nightmare."

Paul nodded. "I wish your mind didn't think it necessary for you to relive all of this; I can see how painful it is for you. We'll see if we can work through it. What caused the accident that killed your wife?"

"I, errrr, ummmm," He hesitated and paused at the question. "I-I s-stabbed her." He sobbed.

It felt to Paul as if his mental gears screeched to a halt, leaving him disoriented in a strange, new country. "You what?!"

Maynard's statement didn't make sense. He didn't now and never had come across to Paul as the sort of man who would murder his wife. And he was walking around freely--so it must not have been murder, even if Maynard felt almost as if it had. There had to be more to this.

"How did it happen?" Paul asked gently as he tried to think of some kind of comfort to offer that wasn't a platitude and came up with nothing. This was real, crushing pain, and saying the equivalent of "I'm so sorry; it'll get better." would be worse than useless.

"I-I," Thomas sobbed harder, the first time he had properly cried. He had tried never to speak about it, "It was an accident. We were in our house and I thought I heard an intruder. I went to investigate and took a knife in panic. It was just our son George, sneaking around in the middle of the night. I-I turned and my wife was behind me, already on edge, t-the knife..." He cried, not finishing the sentence. "George saw it all. He blames me. He's right to. It was an accident. I thought there was someone in the house..."

"And I'm guessing, because you're an intelligence officer, you've had specific training. Would I be right to suspect that instinct took over when you thought you were being approached from behind by an intruder at close range?" Paul asked. "Not having that instinct in the field could get you killed."

Thomas nodded slowly, not bothering to reply. He timidly sipped his drink, but struggled to find his mouth as he had started shaking a great deal. He didn't know how, but the counselor was getting him to open up, something which he rarely ever done.

"Damn, Thomas. That is a horrific memory to have to live with, and I can see why you find it impossible to forgive yourself. I would, too--anyone would. What happened next?"

"Well, I had to stand trial, but I was seen as innocent. Well, in their sense of the word. George testified and said what happened, and that I turned and automatically reacted. I think they felt sorry for me. I should be in a hell hole somewhere, but instead I've managed to keep my career," He wiped some tears away. "But I lost my family."

"No, you don't deserve to be in a hell-hole somewhere, Thomas; you only think you do, and you've been doing your level best to think--and drink--yourself into one. But what you're feeling is pretty much what any person who accidentally killed someone they loved would feel. The only way it could have been worse is if it had been your son you'd accidentally killed."

"It feels like I've killed my Son as well. He doesn't speak to me and he resents me," He whispered.

"Just my opinion," Paul said, "I suspect your son feels guilty, too, and is having at least as difficult a time forgiving himself as you are. Unfortunately, the only person I can help at the moment is you," Paul said. "Your son is going to have to work things out on his own. If he ever comes to Vanguard, I am more than willing to invite him to see me and to talk with him about working through his grief. In the absence of that, you're my main concern. And, to that end..." Paul leaned back in his chair and thought for a few moments before speaking again.

"Maynard, would I be right in thinking that you enjoy playing your violin, even love playing it?"

Maynard was taken aback by the subject change, but answered the question, "Yes, I find some kind of solace from it. It puts me in another world."

Paul nodded to himself and leaned forward again. He clasped his hands together, elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his hands. "I would like you to do something, as a kind of brain trick. I want you to practice playing your violin every single day, without fail. Do this for at least fifteen minutes each day, or for longer if you prefer. I want you to practice your violin before you hit the bars. Will you do that?"

Thomas thought about the proposal, "I think I can do that. Why though?" He was curious for the answer, although he knew that it would probably set him on the right track.

"It's a way to trick your brain into not thinking so much about how guilty you feel," Paul said. "You trick your brain by tricking your body. Where your body leads, your brain will follow. It's not an immediate cure, nor should it be. You're suffering, and pain that is so bad it becomes suffering deserves time to for your mind to accept and work through the pain. My intent with this mind trick is to remind your brain that it can feel happiness and that it is worthy of feeling happiness. You don't have to feel worthy or tell yourself you're worthy, for this to work. In fact, telling yourself you're worthy doesn't work well at all, unless you believe it. Just let your body take the lead. All the little rituals that go with practicing--putting rosin on your bow, smelling the scent of the rosin, tightening the bowstring and the violin strings, tuning, feeling the weight of the instrument against your shoulder and chin--I want you to immerse yourself in those sensations and just focus on the music."

STICK WITH IT: a scientifically proven process for changing your life - for good
SEAN YOUNG - PENGUIN LIFE - 2018

Lt. Thomas Maynard
Chief Intelligence Officer

Lt. Commander Paul Graves
Chief Counselor

 

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