Experiment of Madness

16-Frayed Bonds.-Dag

I sit at my desk, staring down at the same damned file again. Every word on the page feels ingrained in my brain, burned into my memory. I glance up at the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick by far too slowly. I know I should be doing something productive, anything but re-reading this file for the hundredth time, but I can't tear my eyes away from it. It's like a sick form of masochism, willingly immersing myself in the same information again and again.

I can't help but acknowledge the harsh reality of her condition. She suffers from PTSD, struggling with past traumas that continue to haunt her. Trust issues and paranoia run deep within her, making it hard for her to form meaningful connections. Worst of all, there's a suspicion that she may even experience hallucinations, adding another layer of complexity to her fragile mental state.

My eyes catch sight of a particularly alarming note on the file.

Psychosis.

The word stands out, a stark reminder of the harsh reality of her mental health. It explains some of her more erratic behaviors and paranoid tendencies.

My thoughts race as I take in the word psychosis. I realize this explains many of her behaviors I've witnessed - her paranoia, her inability to trust, the episodes of hallucinating. It's as if everything suddenly starts to make sense, piecing together the puzzle that is her. I sigh heavily, running a hand through my hair as I sit back in my chair, the weight of her condition settling upon me.

A dilemma forms in my mind, a question that weighs heavily on me. I'm torn between continuing the experiment, which could be vital to my research and goals, or sending her back to the psychiatric hospital, which may be the safer and more ethical option. I can't deny the risks involved in continuing the experiment, but the potential benefits make me hesitate. The thought of returning her to the hospital feels like defeat, as if all my efforts and progress so far would be for nothing.

The thought crosses my mind, a stark reminder of her age.

Fourteen.

It's easy to forget her youth in the midst of all the other complexities surrounding her. But she's only fourteen, a child still, and here I am, contemplating whether to continue an experiment that could potentially harm her further.

I quickly shake away any feelings of guilt or sympathy.

No feelings.

This is just an experiment, and she's just a subject. I need to remain detached and objective. I can't let my emotions cloud my judgment or compromise the research.

I open a drawer on my desk, pulling out a stash of antipsychotic medications.

These might help.

Knowing that they could potentially stabilize her condition. I had taken them from the hospital without permission, fully aware of the ethical and legal implications. But the potential benefit for her outweighs the risks, at least in my mind.

I spend the next few days meticulously observing Aerra, taking note of her mood, affect, and overall emotional stability. I watch her carefully during each interaction, paying close attention to her nonverbal cues and demeanor. I study her facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice, trying to piece together her mental state. It's like a constant dance between observation and analysis, every interaction, and a new data point to be recorded in my mind.

The thought of examining her brain crosses my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. It's too early for any drastic measures like that. As much as I want to understand what's going on inside her mind, I need to be patient and take things one step at a time. I need to fully assess her behavior, her reactions, and her triggers before even considering more invasive procedures.