Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
April 23,2023
After I realized what I remembered, I didn't lose a chance and visited that mental health facility...
I remember everything was dark, unlike what I imagined; it's more peaceful, but the type of peace that creeps you out. It's not a type of peace that will make you complacent. It's a kind of peace that creeps in on you...
Before I knew it, all I could remember was hearing the low voice of a man who was in his 40s saying, "Hey Vera, Ms. Aebram, are you with us now? Did you already realize everything? Please speak up if you can hear us now."
When I woke up, all I could see was a white ceiling and a doctor I was not familiar with. So of course, right at that moment, I asked him these questions: "Who are you? Where am I? Did I pass out in the facility? Why is it dark when I enter there? Please answer me!" But the doctor just responded with a sad face instead of answering me... He talked with someone wearing a white scrub suit in a language I'm not familiar with.
"Parece que ela não tem ideia do que é realidade e do que não é. Deveríamos refazer a terapia novamente, descartando o diário dela para ajudá-la a perceber a realidade. Deveríamos refazer a terapia novamente e, por gentileza, dispor o diário dela para ajudá-la a perceber a realidade de que seu transtorno delirante ainda não está bem."
Translation: It seems like she has no idea of what is reality and what is not. We should redo the therapy again and kindly dispose of her diary to help her realize the reality that her delusional disorder is not yet okay.
Before I could understand what that man said, my head hurt like someone was stabbing it many times. I even cried in pain while saying, "Help me, please, my head hurts," and I noticed him injecting something into my serum, and before I could realize everything felt lighter and all went blurry. That's the last thing I remember...
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I thought what I had remembered before was already the entirety of my memories. But after I passed out...
I learned the truth, even the reason why I became a psychiatrist at an early age. From grade 9 to college, I was accelerated and escaped 3 years in high school. They asked me what course I've been meaning to take, and I told them psychiatrist., At the age of 19, I graduated from college with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and planned to have an MD title and enter med school, but of course, the process isn't an easy way.
After my training, here comes where I am on board as a psychiatrist...
That's where everything takes a toll on my accelerated life and career.
That's where all my previous patients that I handled slowly died...
Which made me go nuts and crazy, which put me in the same facility as my patients. It took me 2 years to realize...
I've been living a life I just created, a life I wanted, a life that makes me feel indifferent. A life that serves as my coping mechanism, a peaceful and happy life I dreamed of...
It's the life of a programmer. I don't even know why and how I managed to create that world for two long years, the same year when I started to write that diary.
But after I woke up in that facility, the doctor, or my attending psychiatrist, told me that they asked me to create a diary and try to write a life that I aspire to have.
They said at first I could still distinguish which was reality and which was not... But month after month they noticed differences in my behavior; they usually caught me telling words that only techy people could understand.
When they tried to read my diary, they were all dumbfounded and shocked because it contains different lives, and the people I mentioned are the patients I failed to protect. At first... They didn't feel something fishy about it; they thought it was my way of therapy.
But after 6 months, according to Mr. George, who is my psychiatrist, when they tried to ask me about my profession, I just naturally told them, "I am a programmer. I am building an application called CopeBot. I am trying to help everyone unfortunate like Tiffany." When they tried to tell me what reality is, I went hysterical.
Especially when they told me what happened to Tiffany, what happened to her is different from what it is in my diary. Tiffany, in reality, is another reason why I had a delusional disorder.
She criticized me, bullied me, and even drove me to kill myself. She was one of my batchmates when I graduated as a psychiatrist from medical school. She's three years older than me, but I guess the way she acted before, she was more immature than her age.
She was me in my diary. I may not end up dead, but the moment that everything took a toll on me...
A big part of me died, and that's where I developed a delusional disorder, not in a dangerous way, but in a way, I assumed my life was what I aspired to have.
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Author's Note: one chapter and we're close to saying goodbye to DOAP wahhh...
YOU ARE READING
Diary of A Programmer (Completed)
Teen FictionProgramming is a skill that can be learned by anyone, regardless of their background. In fact, many programmers started out with no prior experience in coding. Vera Sthan Aebram is one such example. She had always been interested in computers, but s...
