As Long as We're Together

Chapter 3: Epiphany

It has almost been a year since my first visit to the hospital from where I was discharged. I returned back to the place as I had an appointment with my doctor. I'd been visiting him regularly ever since that accident. A year had passed, but the features of the building still remained the same. The small, compact four-walled room still felt like a cage, with the walls continuing to radiate that certain blandness of an aura with their colors of stark white. It felt good to be free from the regular confinement of those four walls.
"Your vitals seem to be in order," the doctor declared. "Just a couple more months and you'll be relieved of all the minor physical damage that exists."
"Oh, that's great," I replied, content. "I'm really glad. Thank you, doctor."
"You're welcome," the doctor smiled.
I got up and prepared to leave the room. I went for the exit and opened the door.
"Oh, wait," the doctor started. "I almost forgot to ask."
"Yes?" I asked, holding the door ajar.
"Those traumatic pills. You are taking them regularly, right?"
"What traumatic pills?" I asked. "I don't suffer from trauma."
The doctor was appalled. He said, "My dear fellow, you were prescribed a set of medication for the mental trauma that you suffered after your accident. Surely, you mustn't have forgotten!"
"Doctor, I don't know what you are talking about," I replied frankly, keeping the door open as I wanted to escape that room as fast as possible. "I don't remember you prescribing me any sort of pills. And I certainly do not require such medicine."
The doctor had a troubled expression, "You're blatantly denying it."
"I'm not! I'm telling the truth. I never needed medicine!"
The doctor suddenly became silent. An uneasy atmosphere settled into the room. A horrified look replaced the otherwise gentle expression on the doctor's face, as he studied me carefully behind those spectacled eyes.
Finally, the doctor spoke in a low voice "Anton's Syndrome. I should have known it would have led to this."
"What are you talking about, doctor? I'm telling you, I'm perfectly fine," My vexation was rising. I started to leave.
"Listen to me!" the doctor suddenly came up to me. He pulled me away from the exit and closed the door. "Damn, I should've realized this before!"
"Let me go, doctor! I assure you, I'm perfectly fine."
The doctor pulled a chair and made me sit down. His eyes were frantic. He shook my shoulders, "Since when did you stop taking those pills? Tell me exactly when!"
"I have told you before, and I'm telling you again," I seethed as my anger boiled up. "I do not need any pills!"
"Listen," the doctor said, grappling my arm as I tried to let go of his clutches. "This is a serious situation. Listen carefully to what I have to say."
I looked at him, bewildered. The doctor continued.
"You had suffered some serious damage to your head during that accident, which is why I had to treat you for cerebrovascular disorder. I thought the damage was finally fixed. But ever since you stopped taking the medicine I prescribed, the after-effects gave way to an entirely new complication. It's Anton's Syndrome."
"Anton's Syndrome?" I was baffled. Then I shouted, "You're wrong! I'm not affected with any of these things now. That time is long gone!"
The doctor said in a low, placatory voice, "Please, you need to be calm. Listen to me."
I stared at him, utterly perplexed. The doctor held me in place, restraining me from getting up.
He continued, "You're not to believe everything that you see. Do not acknowledge everything you hear. You may think that it's all real, but they're all illusions fabricated by your damaged brain – delusions that make you see only what you really want to see. It's important that you get treated for this immediately. I'm really sorry about this, but I will have to take you in once again."
"NO!" I suddenly roared. My rage finally took over. I wrenched myself free from the doctor's grasp and jumped up. The chair toppled and crashed to the floor. I pushed the doctor with all the might of my hands. The doctor fell back, crashing down on the tiled floor. He looked up at me, aghast at the sudden turn of events.
"You don't understand a thing! I am in perfect mental condition. And I repeat, I am not suffering from mental deformity! Everything that I'm seeing, it's all real. Everything is real!"
The doctor looked at me, stunned. Suddenly, his eyes glanced elsewhere. I tried to see where they were pointing and realized that they were looking over at something that had fallen from my jacket as I'd stood up. The doctor slowly rose from his position. He picked the fallen item up, studying its contents.
"Then tell me..." the doctor began, in a slow, steely voice, as he displayed the fallen contents before my eyes. "How do you explain this?"
They were the pills. Unopened.
I was speechless.
"They were in your pockets the entire time! If I remember clearly, which I always do, you were wearing the same jacket when you took those pills from me, before stuffing them inside those pockets. And those pills are just lying there without being opened even once? What do you think I've been trying to tell you all this while!"
There were no words that could be used to argue at this point. I knew what I had to do.
I started to back up towards the door.
"Don't," the doctor started. "You need to remain here!"
But I kept going further, slowly pushing open the door.
"I will have to call security if you leave through that door," the doctor threatened. "And I do not want to take that step."
But I didn't listen. Threats were now an element of the diminishing past – a forgotten chapter whose pages are being crumpled and removed.
I pushed the door wide open. The doctor sounded the alarm. I ran as fast as I could. I looked behind to find a horde of guards racing towards me. I knew it would be a matter of time before they would get their hands on me. I doubled my speed. Sprinting through corridors and bolting across a thousand doors, I frantically searched for every possible exit, until I found myself back into the open air. I ran towards the exit gates. Behind me, security was gaining speed. After a couple of seconds, I reached the exit gate. I grabbed hold of the metal bars and frantically pulled myself up as I slowly exhausted every portion of strength in my arms, and jumped over to the other side. I sprinted away, running as fast as I could. I didn't look back. I ran and ran, and ran, my feet refusing to be worn down, and my eyes brimming with tears as I gritted my teeth and sobbed. I kept on going as far as I could go, until that asylum of horrors disappeared from my sight.

Eventually, my feet gave in and I finally stopped. I checked my surroundings to find myself in a deserted road. It was a quiet and lonely street, devoid of any activity, with no vehicles arriving from either side. The sky started to pour, and I was completely enervated to the core. The surge of adrenaline that had washed over me was now completely consumed. I collapsed on the ground, and my soft knees made contact with the rough asphalt. The sharp, tiny stones of the gravel vehemently pierced the tender membranes of the skin, giving way to a tiny stream of blood on either knee that slowly trickled to the ground. But that didn't matter. The physical pain of the body was in no way comparable to the emotional turmoil that raged within. I lifted my head to face the blackened clouds, at the falling waters that sprayed onto my face, and wailed at the top of my lungs. The skies responded with a sharp, melancholic cry that resonated in my ears. And then, together, both the skies and the soul let forth their torrential tears as the waters of lamentation purged down from both the heavens and the soul's windows.

Anton's Syndrome, I read, as my eyes scanned across the words on the book. A cerebrovascular disorder that results in a blood clot in the brain following severe head injury. Outside, the skies continued to cry relentlessly while I confined myself within the comfort of my house. The fireplace was set, and the soft crackling of the pinewood and oak along with the comforting warmth radiating from the flame was a subtle appeasement. I seated myself on the couch and inhaled the warm aroma of pine, as the fragrance appeared to sooth the turmoil within. I read on.
In severe cases, patients may lack insight into their disease, dismiss their diagnose, and confabulate certain visions that they deem to be true, howsoever illusory they may be. 
The words were neatly imprinted onto the pages of the old book on neurology that I'd possessed since a long time. The book had since never experienced even a subtle shift from its respective place. The outcome had rendered its cover musty with centuries of dust settled on its surface, and allowed its pages to become yellowed with age. And yet, despite the corrosive ravages of Time, the words that were printed onto the parched papers still maintained their textual elegance to this day. It was something to appreciate.
Damage to the visual association cortex of the patient is hypothesized to contribute to his lack of insight. As the connection between the damaged visual cortex and operating speech language areas is severed, it is possible that without input, the speech regions of the brain are responsible for the confabulated responses. 
It was too much of technical jargon for a person like me. But in my case, a good read always pacified the mind. So, I turned a page and read on.
Observable Signs: Patients diagnosed with Anton's Syndrome are often found describing people or surroundings that are not present. The patient will continue to deny his condition, and will fail to differentiate between chronic hallucination and reality even when presented with evidence otherwise.
I gently closed the book. It was getting late now. The time for bed was past. I put the book at its appropriate place on the bookshelf, extinguished the flame, and headed to my room. A long day awaited me. I had another appointment with her, at the usual time; I could not miss that. I lay down on the bed and let my tired back rest tenderly upon the soft, comfortable sheets. I draped the covers over my neck, placing them just below the chin. I closed my eyes and immediately drifted off into the comfortable lap of sleep.

I have traveled miles and miles
In search of this beautiful, pristine place,
This sanctuary of unsullied utopia,
Where everything resides in perfection,
Where all the plagues dissolve away,
Where the heart always attains what it craves,
Where the mind emerges free from its confines,
And the soul glides unceasingly without fear.
But in this timeworn quest for this perfect place, I realized
That it can never survive in this mortal place,
But can only prosper within the limitless conscience,
The only void that is devoid of decadence.
Where, only to one's own will, this haven can be built.
Until infinity, this paradise can never wilt.
This lone architect, it beseeches me to heed its advice,
To forever, and ever, reside within this peaceful paradise.
A haven where only you and I can jive.
The perfect kingdom where we can forever thrive.