Your mind was racing. A thousand thoughts sped through your conscience. Every single last one of them about why Sigmund had decided to hide this folder from you. You raised your forelegs and placed your hooves against the frame of the desk as your heartbeat skyrocketed. You gingerly picked up the first letter in the folder. Much of the information within the aged manila folder had been replaced with a singular phrase, "[Redacted]". The head of the letter read," EPREC: the Equestrian Psychology Research Ethics Committee". The sender's name was redacted as was the date. You dragged your eyes away from the top and read the first line of text.
Dr. Redacted Sigmund... The EPREC has reviewed your proposal for your redacted year-long case study on the "effects of abandonment, depression and trauma on children". The EPREC does not regularly allow such case studies to be conducted on minors without informed consent. However, due to the special circumstances of your patient, Redacted, the committee has come to an agreement. We will allow you to perform your study for the next redacted years. We trust that you will stay within the boundaries set forth by the EPREC, as you have before.
Normally, because your patient is still considered a minor, the consent of the parents is required. Under these circumstances, due to the unfortunate event of... Redacted's parents. My name has been redacted as well.
Your brow slowly began to take the form of an arc as you came upon the realization that your existence was removed from the entirety of the letter. For any other pony, the letter could have told the tale of any other orphaned child who was the subject of a case study. Yet, you were sure that this letter spoke about you.
"Hey, you alright?" Rainbow Dash asked, whom you've almost forgotten about. She momentarily pulled you from your reading as you looked towards her. "This letter is about me," you answered as you brought back your gaze to the letter. Before you could continue where you had left off however, Rainbow Dash had a comment.
"Oh, that's cool I guess."
The aggravation you harbored for many of Rainbow Dash's behaviors was normally kept in balance by sheer will, more so now than ever as you had understood her intentions to be kind-hearted rather than mean-spirited. And at this moment, your will stood strong against your aggravation.
"No, I was mentioning it due to the fact that the letter has removed my name, among other features..." you trailed off.
An uncomfortable silence permeated the room, save for the pitter-patter of the rain that gently drummed against the only window in the room. For an instant, you contemplated about being the first to speak to break the silence but the decision was already made.
"I... don't get what's so important about that," muttered Rainbow Dash.
You did not turn away but you could hear the clicks of her hooves against the floor as she shuffled in the uncomfortable ambiance. You set the letter aside and reached for another as you answered her.
"These letters," you began, "are the last articles of evidence of what happened to me in this hospital. Besides the files I have in the folder Sigmund gave me, these are different letters and documents I have never seen before. There may be a reason as to why Sigmund did not give me these files, there may not be. It may simply be that the contents of these files are beyond my scope of understanding, but if there is a reason, that means Sigmund is hiding something from me. And I intend to find out what that is, if it exists."
Silence returned and you accepted that as your cue to read the next document.
As an old associate of mine had said before, "Memory is the most important function of the brain; without it life would be a blank. Our knowledge is all based on memory. Every thought, every action, our very conception of personal identity, is based on memory... Without memory , all experience would be useless."
You skipped over the rest of the paragraph and moved on to the next one.
The committee has approved your proposal. Redacted will... remain on hospital grounds for at least the next five years... This will provide adequate time for you to document your research on the effects of... abandonment and loss of parents, depression and PTSD... The Equestrian Psychology Association expects to see your findings in five year's time. Sincerely, Dr. Redacted...
Your heart sank and your stomach churned. You tried to control your breathing but your breaths came out terse and shaky. You understood what the letter meant but not why it even existed in the first place. And while you were lost deep in thought, Rainbow Dash pulled you out of your subconsciousness with your name.
"What's wrong?" she asked; you could hear a bit of uncertainty in her voice.
You were not sure if you wanted to answer her. But, you found yourself reluctant to not answer her. You kept your eyes glued to the letter as you responded.
"Sigmund... In this letter, it says that Sigmund prevented me from being adopted or put in a foster home," you answered. Your temples began to pound the more you thought about the letter.
"I thought you said you couldn't be adopted because of your mental sickness."
And with Rainbow Dash having brought up the issue more, your headache increased in severity.
"I did, but apparently that was not the case. The letter says Sigmund wanted to research me. He wanted to study me. He wanted to see what the effects were on a child who lost his parents. And he wanted to do that for at least five years."
Your tone was cold and sharp. You were not sure what to believe; what Sigmund had told you or the letter you saw right before you.
Sigmund told me that I could not be adopted, that my mental condition was far too unstable for my age and that constant observation and care was required. But the letter here contradicts that! Maybe that’s what he was trying to do. He was trying to protect himself. He did not want me to know that I could not be given away or be given the chance to live a relatively normal life because he was more concerned with the pursuit of psychological knowledge than he was with me.
Your emotions began to surface as you felt your face flush and your body chill.
"Hey, maybe you should sit down or something. That's kind of a big deal. Wanna talk about it?" Rainbow Dash asked as though she could sense that your anger had begun to swell.
"No. I need to keep reading. I need to see what else is hidden from me here."
"I don't think that's such a g-"
"I said I need to keep reading!" you shouted without ever having turned to face her.
You pushed the letter aside and scanned the next document inside the case folder. The next letter was about the funding for Sigmund's five year-long case study. Just as the letter before it, many of the lines had been redacted.
The Equestrian Psychological Association has agreed to provide funding for your case study. The EPA will pay for... Redacted's living expenses including housing, education... And the list goes on.
You let out a heavy sigh as there now existed a second document that confirmed the letter about Sigmund's proposal. The funding letter suffered the same fate as it was tossed aside to reveal the next document. The next document was Redacted's medical history and health assessment.
Have you ever been hospitalized or had a major operation? Are you taking any medication, pills or drugs? Do you have, or have had, any of the following? No. No. I do not have any of these. Patient was admitted to clinic for general physical health assessment. Patient was... covered in blood that had dried to his coat. Patient was cleaned of the blood and inspected for any lacerations that would indicate any possible infections.
"I know this isn't easy, but you have to let me clean you. You might get sick if we don't clean it."
You knew the voice you heard did not belong to Rainbow Dash but the usual accompanying symptoms of sharp pains or dizziness were absent. You were remembering the night you were admitted to the hospital.
The notes, the documents are helping me remember. They are unlocking old memories. If I keep reading, maybe I can induce a flashback. But, I know Sigmund would not have hid these documents from me without any reason. Maybe he was afraid of something that I would remember. Or maybe, he was simply trying to hide his trail of lies from me. I have to keep reading.
No visible wounds or lacerations were found on the patient. Medical history from patient retrieved from Cloudsdale Pediatric Clinic showed no pre-existing illnesses or conditions. Basic physical examination was performed. Patient was unresponsive and distant. Patient has been issued a psychological evaluation to be performed.
But nothing came. The rest of the document did nothing to help you retrieve a memory, only the voice of the nurse who cleaned you of your parents' blood. Then, you made the connection.
Only some of these notes hold any significant memories. The health assessment was not one of them. I just have to keep searching, keep digging until I find something.
And again, you tossed the document aside. The one after that was nothing more than an official write-up requesting the psychological examination. You scanned it quickly but it was littered with jargon and terminology that meant nothing to you. You passed it aside and moved on to the next document. The next document was similar in nature, more terms and vocabulary that flew over your head as you skimmed through the document. Only one segment of the document caught your eye and it was of the doctor who would handle Redacted's psychological evaluation; Sigmund. You quickly tossed it aside.
Rainbow Dash called out your name.
"You sure you're alright?"
You had almost forgotten about Rainbow Dash. Your focus on the documents had absorbed all of your attention. And you kept it like that as you failed to acknowledge her or her question. You looked upon the next document and saw that it was your initial psychological profiling.
Patient name: Redacted. Date: redacted. Almost everything about me and the date has been removed. Only his notes are still here and even then, they have been removed... Redacted is already exhibiting early signs of PTSD. Exposure to his parents' death, intense stress, recurrent thoughts and feelings about the trauma, social impairment and so on and so forth. However, a diagnosis cannot be given until the duration period has been met, which is of one month. Redacted is also expressing symptoms typical of a depressive episode. PTSD being comorbid with MDD is not uncommon and will likely happen in this case. But as with the diagnosis of PTSD, the duration period of two weeks must be met before a diagnosis can be given. No other anxiety disorders appear present. Redacted is to be admitted to the east wing and will be treated under my care.
You reached the end of the document and you waited. You waited for your mind to suddenly recall a memory. But nothing came to you. You just stood there and stared into the document of your initial psychological evaluation. There was no vision you had or voice you heard.
"Hey, I'm talking to you."
Except for Rainbow Dash's. Your frustration grew more with every document that failed to bring back a memory and with Rainbow Dash's prodding at your concentration, you became even more so irritable. You finally peeled your eyes away from the case file and turned towards Rainbow Dash. Her face carried a mixture of annoyance and concern, neither of which appealed to you. Your hooves remained pressed against the desk as you spoke.
"Listen Rainbow Dash. We came here in an attempt to uncover a memory of mine, correct?"
"Yeah but n-"
"And some of these documents that I am reading might have a memory," you interrupted, "so please, let me keep reading. This was your idea anyhow. You only have yourself to blame."
You turned back to the document at hoof and moved it aside. By now, it had become routine. But before you could even finish your motion, Rainbow Dash tried to get in one more word.
"Why ar-"
"Enough, Rainbow Dash!" you shouted as you slammed your hooves against the desk.
Everything went silent; the only present sound was the returned rain as it patted against the window in Sigmund's office. You readjusted your hooves to a more comfortable position as you let out a heavy breath. You rested your eyes for a moment before you returned to your systematic scan of the documents. The following document featured x-ray'd images of a brain with specific regions encompassed in varying colors. The documents mimicked its previous incarnations, having specific details such as the author and date removed. The trend had made itself readily apparent but still, you continued. Swiftly, you read the notes amended to the bottom of the page.
Functional magnetic resonance imaging shows decreased blood flow towards hippocampi... minor structural damage localized to dorsal hippocampus... varying degrees of damage to parietal lobe... indicative of episodic memory loss...
Structural damage. My brain really was damaged. Or still is... Dammit, why did Sigmund keep this from me? Or, perhaps he did not and I have merely just forgotten... Regardless, this is not feasible. I don't ever recall injuring my head. How could I even have done so? To sustain such injuries to my brain would require severe trauma and I do not remember such an event. This did not happen on the night either, I remember everything from the night clearly. If this truly is my brain, this must have happened here, in this hospital.
In this moment, the realization became readily apparent. The rationale behind the redacted documents and the hidden files revealed itself unto you.
"Something happened here. Something happened to me here and Sigmund tried to hide it from me. But what could have gone so wrong that would warrant him hiding it from me?"
You spoke your question out loud but to no one in particular. Rainbow Dash, who had yet to move, believed the question was meant for her.
"Oh, so now I can talk?"
You took no note of her comment and instead dove back into the papers to find a more revealing document. And all the while, a timid fear arose within you. You feared that whatever Sigmund had hidden from you was hidden for a reason, and yet you persevered. Your curiosity for the truth overwhelmed your dread but there still existed a tiny fragment of your mind that remained in terror.
It seemed that most of the documents consisted of jargon and terminology beyond your understanding. References to other case studies and letters between colleagues littered the file. You spent no more than a few seconds for each document before it was discarded in favor for another of its kind. And with each discarded document, your patience wore thinner and thinner. The constant shuffle ended when your scanning of the papers came across a particular paper. The clean edge had been replaced by a serrated edge and its color was ever so slightly tinted. The text was hoofwritten in cursive in a style that you recognized as Sigmund's. Within the short time that the document sat atop the pile, you could see that it pertained about Sigmund's personal thoughts in regards to a procedure. Even still, the connecting trait between most of the previous documents returned in a slightly alerted fashion. In place of the term "redacted" was a simple black streak of ink. It too darkened what you could only assume to have been sensitive information. And for a moment in time, the image of grey notebook cradled in Sigmund's hooves flashed in your conscience. Another image of the same notebook arose, only in a different setting. And another revealed itself.
This was ripped from a journal, his journal. The same journal he carried with him all those years. But to just rip out a single page and save it? What purpose does that serve? If he's trying to protect himself, why didn't he dispose of all this?
Blank days remaining until Blank's procedure. The EPRB would likely never approve of this, but they've already done away with my approval for the case study just over a year ago. That being said, whatever happens to me from here on out no longer matters. All that still matters is undoing years of damage.
I can sense resentment for me buried under his trust. A trust I've betrayed and yet he remains blind. Though the anger itself is rare, the bitterness permeates. It leaks into our conversations and seeps into our therapy sessions. He refuses to acknowledge anypony other than me unless absolutely required for his survival. His days have become dull and routine. The time spent away from me is spent reading books and novels in isolation. But these seem to serve no other purpose besides the passage of time. He lacks any emotional connection to any of his readings. When his current literature is taken away, he starts anew, no matter how far he had read or how much he seemed even remotely invested. Without anything to quicken the flow of time, he resorts to sleep. For the advancement of understanding of psychological disorders, he had to suffer. And even then, it will amount to nothing. With my approval revoked, none will accept my research as valid. Senseless waste is all this is now. An adolescent's life, ruined for naught.
Nevertheless, there still exists cause for optimism for Blank; that however many years that still lie ahead for Blank can be endured without the memories that have plagued him.
The belief that began as nothing more than a baseless accusation slowly gained more traction the more you deciphered from Sigmund's file. The air in the room began to chill but whether it resulted from the storm that raged outside the facility or the inner turmoil that rampaged in your mind was uncertain. Your shivering hoof tossed the page aside but you hesitated before filtering the documents once more. Yet with the truth of Sigmund's secrecy so nearly close, you could not bring yourself to pause. With half of the documents already screened and scattered about the desk, you returned to the remaining pile.
Countless more documents stacked upon each other were tossed away when you deduced their relevancy. Again, the majority of papers were nothing more than messages and memorandums to other psychologists or reports from various organizations. The phrase, 'redacted', saturated the documents, more of what you assumed to only be concealing Sigmund's personal information. The motions of scanning and discarding papers became an automatic process, resulting in Rainbow Dash's response.
"Find anything important yet?" Rainbow Dash asked.
You acknowledged her question without skipping a beat.
"Not yet."
All of the documents were discarded with no more than a few seconds' worth of consideration given to each. Upon the encounter of a three letter acronym however, you immediately halted. The letters on their own gave no meaning to you, their significance was evident when presented as a single entity.
ECT...
"Electroconvulsive therapy. No doubt you've heard of it before."
Your eyes darted towards the entrance of the room to identify the speaker. Yet, there stood nopony in the doorway. You threw your gaze around the entirety of the room only to find Rainbow Dash laying upon the couch in Sigmund's room, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, you considered asking if she had spoken but you already knew she had not. You swore that you had audibly heard the voice as if the speaker was in this very room and yet there were only two souls in this room. The voice that spoke came from an older male, somewhat gravely with an accent uncommon to the residents of Manehattan. The accent was unmistakable but you were not yet entirely certain as to who the speaker was.
"I thought that was only used for extreme cases?"
And again another voice appears, easily distinguishable from the other voice. Still from a male only much softer as well as having lacked the accent present in the first voice, it carried a vague familiarity.
"Yes, you are correct. And as unfortunate as it may be, you fall within that criteria," the former voice admitted.
It quickly became apparent to whom the voices belonged. The second hearing gave confirmation that the former voice belonged to Sigmund and the latter to yourself, albeit much younger. Having deciphered the owners of the voices did little to diminish the disorientation you experienced from hearing voices with no physical origin.
"Believe me, if there existed another alternative, we'd have undertaken it already. The only form of therapy that lies beyond this is the introduction of long-term medication, tricyclics or MAO inhibitors to be specific."
The realization that this may present an uncovered memory rapidly dawned on you. Your eyes closed and your attention was focused on the voices.
"And those are somehow worse than running an electrical current through my brain?" your younger voice questioned.
"I will not lie to you, electroconvulsive therapy is not without its side effects. Memory loss for the procedure and for the day is almost guaranteed. Anything past that is generally abnormal and memory loss spanning past six months is exceedingly rare. Alongside memory loss, you might experience some physical symptoms such as nausea and muscle aches." Sigmund explained, almost as if he was educating students rather than speaking with a patient. And still, no image or vision came to your mind. Only the voices could be heard.
"This may not seem advantageous but what you must realize is that these side effects can be mitigated. Physical pain is easily manageable and I do not suspect that you'd suffer from other complications following this procedure, save for memory loss. Compare this to a lifetime of medication and the side effects they will bring. Not only that, but developing a dependence for either of these can have dangerous consequences."
Normally the visions and memories would present themselves of their own accord, but the voices invoked nothing more than confusion.
Nothing yet. I know to whom these voices belong, but that does not seem to be enough for me to remember this conversation. If voices alone cannot help me remember, then I will just have to improvise.
Thus, you recreated the scenario in your mind to the best of your ability. Sigmund likely sat in his chair, as he always did, when conversing with patients while the patient sat on the couch.
"How severe do you assume the memory loss will be?" you inquired.
Sigmund took a moment to sigh before answering, "It is hard if not impossible to say. Memory is something that is not yet fully understood by neuropsychology."
"Very well then. In any case, you would know more about this than I would. If you're certain about this, then I'll follow through. What exactly will happen when the day comes?"
The scene you had created in your mind remained static, the two figures spoke but their significance felt minute. In an attempt to salvage what remained of the conversation, you annexed more details of the room, such as the varying assortment of books in the bookshelf, furniture that was currently missing from the room as well as the stacking file cabinets that clung to the walls.
"Well, I will handle the majority of the paperwork but I do believe there will be some documents you need to sign. Nothing unusual, mostly consent forms and an inventory. After that, we shall move to the procedure room and wait for the physician."
Slowly the vision became clearer, so much so that you could see the scowl on your own face form at the mentioning of the physician.
"Physician... meaning you will not be administering this procedure yourself?" you queried.
Sigmund brought his hooves together and clicked them as he affirmed, "I am not licensed to do so. Do not worry, he is a friend of mine and I trust him. At any rate, what you will experience will be fairly straightforward. You will be given a general anesthetic that will cause you to fall asleep. Once the physician is certain you are asleep, you will then be given a muscle relaxant to manage the possibility of your muscles seizing. After that..."
Sigmund's trailing voice allowed for the opportunity for you to continue for him, "The physician will run the electrical current through my brain."
The clarity of the vision had not changed but you could see Sigmund nodding in affirmation. Silence presented itself for a few moments before Sigmund began again.
"The procedure is set for a week from today."
The vision had yet to clear but it became apparent that the conversation between Sigmund and you would end shortly, indicated by Sigmund's rise from his chair and his walk towards the door. Imitating Sigmund, you rose from his couch and proceeded to the door. As you arrived, Sigmund had a few more words to speak.
"I would like to remind you that this procedure is entirely your decision. If at any point before the moment of, you no longer wish to undergo it then I will not force you to do so. I have advised you to the best of my ability and I will support whatever decision you make."
"I will do it, Sigmund. I will do it."
"What?"
The vision faded abruptly, restored with Rainbow Dash's confused look. Only a fraction of a second was required for the realization that you had spoken the last sentence out loud. Stunned by this revelation, you were taken aback for a split second, but you hastily reconstructed your composure. In a desperate attempt to dismiss the issue, you stammered a response.
"N-nothing."
But Rainbow Dash would not have it.
"That was not nothing. Did you have another flashback or vision?" she mused.
Sensing that further avoiding the matter was futile you gave in and elaborated.
"Not exactly," you muttered, leaving much to Rainbow Dash's imagination, though her imagination would only sate her for so long.
"Then what exactly?" she said in a much more demanding tone than before.
You briefly mulled over precisely what you would reveal before speaking.
"I did see a vision but it was nowhere as distinct or transparent as the other visions I've had. The voices I heard... they belonged to me and my therapist. We were discussing my electroconvulsive therapy and whether or not it would be viable to go through with it," you confessed, the entirety of it had seemingly overwhelmed Rainbow Dash.
Only seemingly, however.
"Woah woah, slow down. Electro-what?"
"Electroconvulsive therapy," you restated, stressing the latter portion of the word.
Rainbow Dash had a basic concept of what electroconvulsive therapy entailed and decided to share it with you.
"I think I've heard of that before. Isn't that where they tie you up on a bed and shock you with electricity so that you get better?"
"Well..." you began, "it's not quite as barbaric as you described, but essentially yes."
Rainbow Dash's lips separated just slightly before closing while her gaze moved away from you only to return moments later. She hesitated once more before she posed a question.
"But it didn't work, did it?"
Without putting much conscious thought, you answered, "No, it didn't."
It was then that the metaphorical light bulb in your mind was lit. The connection between the hidden letters and files and Sigmund's secret became pronounced but in essence, and in your hopes, remained speculative. Yet the presented evidence felt overwhelming. On their own, the evidence would be dismissible if not excusable, but in conjunction they could not be ignored. The hidden files alongside the cryptic journal page removed from Sigmund's journal pointed towards some event that was kept hidden from you. But the event that they pointed towards was your electroconvulsive therapy.
My ECT was not kept hidden from me. Sigmund had already told me what had happened. There was some malfunction... or the physician had incorrectly performed the procedure. Whatever it was, Sigmund did not keep this from me. I knew the truth.
The files inside the manila folder had dwindled and now consisted of only a mere fraction. With only so many items left, there would be no reason to overlook the remaining documents. You returned to the remaining stack one last time and continued your pseudo-automated search of the documents. As before, many of the documents were of no importance or major relevance to your suspicions. Medical reports and letters to colleagues of Sigmund were in abundance. You expected to find nothing more and for the mystery to remain as just that, a mystery. With the end being so close, you slowed down to assure no mistakes would be made. The headers were of no interest and with the quickly dwindling amount of documents left, your conflicting sentiments clashed. Your hunger for the truth would not be sated but your desire for ignorance might be appeased.
That is, if one of the final remaining documents had not maintained the word 'Electroconvulsive Therapy Report' in its header.
Upon encountering this document, you froze. You reread the title again and again to assure yourself that you had read it correctly. After the fourth time, you were certain of it. It was unlike the previous reports and documentation of your ECT; they all pertained to formalities and regulatory paperwork. This document, as you quickly scanned, was a report from the proctoring physician. His name, as yours, had been redacted. Still, you knew even without direct evidence that this ECT report pertained to you.
Date, redacted. Physician, redacted. Patient, redacted. Therapist, Sigmund. It has to be mine. There is no other reason why Sigmund would allow his name to remain while mine and the physician's are gone.
The more you scoured the document, the more the sense of familiarity came over you. You could swear you had seen this document before. It was then that an epiphany came to you.
I have this document in my own folder.
Your eyes widened and shifted towards your closed folder that lay upon the same desk where the current folder's documents were scattered about. You nearly ripped the folder in two by the sheer speed you opened it with. While you fanned the pages in your folder, Rainbow Dash had asked you a question, but the question itself was lost in your stream of consciousness. You were far too focused on finding the matching document. The incorrect documents from your folder were tossed aside without care, neither picture nor letter were spared. And by the time half of the papers had been searched, you had yet to find the document you had searched for.
Then it appeared, sitting upon the fractional documents of your own manila folder. It was nearly identical to the document you discovered in Sigmund's hidden folder. Both documents had the same formatting as well as the same font but your copy did not have the phrase "redacted" marked over its contents. Whether your version expressed the truth or lies was now unknown. You brought the two documents together at last to compare them, to discern the truth.
My name is on my document, as is Sigmund's full name. The name of the physician... redacted on the hidden document, but on mine his name Magic Bolt.
The name Magic Bolt resonated with recognizability, as you were sure you had heard it before elsewhere. And perhaps Rainbow Dash had as well, which inclined you to ask her.
"Rainbow Dash, have you heard of the name 'Magic Bolt' before?"
"Hmm," Rainbow Dash answered with her vision slightly deviating upwards, "yeah but it's a pretty common name. Like Strong Hoof for earth ponies or Long Wings for pegasi."
And that was what you feared.
A placeholder name. The name of the physician on my copy is nothing more than a fake name. All this time, Sigmund replaced the name of the physician with a placeholder. What else did he lie about? Just how many of my documents had been falsified?
With reality slowly unraveling, you grounded yourself in existence by returning to the comparison of the two documents. What you had hoped to find was no longer the truth, but an explanation for the discrepancies though you knew that the search for an explanation would prove fruitless. The chilling of your blood caught you off guard but you attempted to maintain your focus on the documents and nothing more. Reading lower into the document, you consciously read the lines of both documents.
As per regulations, the following document entails a brief summary of the electroconvulsive therapy performed on the patient. Following standard procedure, the patient was given the mandatory pre-ECT tests involving blood tests, psychological evaluations, and ECGs.
Again, as per regulations, the following document so on and so forth, psych evals and ECGs.
"Sit up straight for a moment, son. Need to wrap this around your forearm," directed a truly unfamiliar voice. A monotonous beeping accompanied the voice but lingered even after the voice ended. Suddenly the light in the room became much brighter, almost blinding, forcing you to shield your eyes for a moment. When you pulled your hoof away from your eyes, you found yourself sitting on a bed with a medical lamp being moved aside as a unicorn adorned with a surgical mask greeted you.
"Sorry about the light, didn't realize it would be so bright," he apologized.
He lifted up your right forearm and wrapped a cuff uncomfortably tight. On your left stood a much younger Sigmund, overseeing you and the masked unicorn. The vision was blurred, similar to the vision you experienced earlier. Some details could be made out however. A wire ran out the cuff into a small plastic box that laid on a table right next to the bed. The masked unicorn lifted up another cuff - albeit much smaller and made entirely of plastic - with his magic and asked for your left hoof.
"Don't worry, both of these are just to monitor your blood pressure and heart rate," he explained as he slipped the plastic cuff past your left hoof. "Now, he hasn't had anything to eat or drink in the last six hours right?"
Sigmund uttered "No, he has not," adding nothing more.
As the masked unicorn continued to fumble about behind you, you turned to Sigmund who picked up on your concern and reassured you.
"You will be fine, I promise."
The vision remained blurred but the masked unicorn returned on your left as Sigmund shuffled aside. He carried a number of small square pads with his magic and levitated them over you.
"Lean back onto the bed for me, please," he instructed as he motioned backwards. You did so and the small pads were lowered and placed, two on your chest and three on your forehead. They clung firmly to your coat. He explained the purpose of these small pads, "They'll monitor brain wave activity so we can record the results." In truth, most of this mattered little to you and you would rather the entire procedure be done with as quick as possible. But it was not from anxiety of the procedure but more from agitation to see the efficacy. The beeping continued as he returned behind the bed once more. He reappeared quicker than before and this time he brandished two small syringes.
"Now I'm going to give you two injections, an anesthetic and a muscle relaxant. After that, you'll fall asleep for a little while, I'll perform the procedure and then you'll wake up soon afterwards."
The masked unicorn seemed almost too cheerful to be performing this procedure but you were given little time to analyze his motivation. Quickly after his explanation, you felt the piercing sensation of a needle right above your left hoof. Your eyes darted towards your left hoof. You winced slightly but the needle was swiftly extracted only to return once again for only a moment. It too was taken away in a moment and before a bandage was hastily applied, you could make out a few drops of blood. Following the two injections, you stared back into the light as your vision blurred even further. The doctor rambled something but your consciousness slowly slipped from your grasp. You could see some sort of mask being lowered towards your muzzle but you could barely acknowledge its existence let alone understood its purpose. Your breathing became easier but your hearing worsened. The beeping quickened and became distorted. The sudden realization that this was the moment where something had gone wrong slowly crept over you like a brooding evil. Agitation was replaced by anxiety. You could feel your heart begin to pound faster and the beeping slowly morphed into one continuous tone. Your mouth dried and you tried to speak but nothing would be spoken. You heard a voice speak to another. You tried to open your eyes but the weight of your eyelids became far too heavy to bear. Slowly your eyes closed and darkness encroached. Total numbness emerged. Your breathing was no longer under your control. The tone disappeared and total silence reimbursed it. In a desperate attempt to undo what would be done, you used your remaining strength to awaken yourself. All you could muster was a couple more seconds of sentience. Your eye opened slightly. The mask that was placed earlier had been removed. Some other item was lowered towards your muzzle. The loss of feeling prevented you from knowing where it landed. Your hearing returned for a few seconds. You heard one voice speak. Another voice spoke after the first. As your consciousness lost you, the last sound you heard was the whining of an electrical generator.
The absence of both noise and picture gave you a sense of calmness.
Blinding light and ear-piercing cacophony materialized, destroying the silence and disjointing you from reality. A familiar voice could be heard through the noise and it quickly gained volume. It repeated your name over and over.
"Are you alright?!" Rainbow Dash practically shouted directly into your ear.
The blinding lights disappeared and the noises departed. Your sensation of touch returned. You could feel Rainbow Dash's hooves on your leg as she stood right beside you. You looked around only to find yourself back within Sigmund's office leaning on his desk with various papers from both folders scattered about, with the two ECT documents sitting in the middle. The windows displayed that the night was still present as was the rain. The light pounding of the rain against the glass could now be heard. Having returned to the appropriate state of mind, you needed a moment to compose yourself.
Just what was that?! That was almost as horrible as remembering the night...
With Rainbow Dash still attached, you responded to her.
"I-I'm fine," you unconvincingly replied.
"You are clearly not fine, you started having a panic attack or something. Now you're all tense and sweating and... is that blood coming from your mouth?" she questioned although it felt more akin to an interrogation.
You swallowed the saliva that had built up, likely to re-salivate your dried mouth, and noticed that you indeed were still fully tense. Your elbows rested on the table and everything else including your wings were fully flexed. You took in a shaky breath and simultaneously relaxed most of your body, allowing Rainbow Dash to release you from her grip. You used your wing to wipe off the sweat that had built up while also checking for the square pads. Finally, you brought your hoof to your lip only to find blood smeared across the lining of your hoof. It was then that you could taste the iron in your mouth. Pain shot across the vertical edge of your tongue, leading to the conclusion that you had bit into the edge of your tongue. As you rubbed the side of your tongue against the edge of your teeth, Rainbow Dash had not finished her questioning.
"So what happened?"
But your answer still lacked validity. The vision itself proved nothing more than the procedure of the ECT, not what Sigmund had meant to keep secret from you. You had yet to finish reading both reports, however. And in those reports was the truth.
Just put it out of your mind for now. Why did Sigmund keep this report from me, that is what I need to uncover!
So you ignored Rainbow Dash to her dismay and returned to examining both documents. You heard her grunt in anger as you dismissed her question, but with the answer so close, your patience for her was minimal. As before, both reports were nearly identical, with Sigmund's hidden file being cluttered with the phrase “redacted”. You continued to scan for differences but nothing arose from the text. With the end of the page rapidly approaching, a small bead of frustration began to awaken within you.
There are no differences. There is nothing different between these two documents! Why would Sigmund hide this from me? Just to save the identification of the physician? Was all this merely a ruse?
As you had done before, you mentally read both documents line for line and you had just now approached the final section: additional notes.
Additional notes: Malfunction of electrical generator resulted in slightly higher level of current applied to patient. Regional damage to unspecific brain areas expected. So it was a malfunction, not malpractice.
Additional notes: Procedure completed according to... Sigmund's specifications...
Sigmund's specifications...
You could not bring yourself to believe what laid before you. Your copy of the document as well as Sigmund's testimony from himself explained that an accident had occurred when you underwent ECT. That the end result of what had happened to you was purely accidental.
And the Sigmund's hidden document revealed the opposite. That it was no mistake, it was by design. It was intentional the damage that was done to you.
No... No no no. Sigmund... Sigmund had always told me that it was an accident that happened that day. That the therapy had not gone as planned. He would not do this, he would not betray me.
Yet, in your mind, you could hear his voice reading what you had read today.
"Nevertheless, there still exists cause for optimism for Blank. That however many years that still lie ahead for Blank can be endured without the memories that have plagued him."
"I will not lie to you, electroconvulsive therapy is not without its side effects. Memory loss for the procedure and for the day is almost guaranteed. Anything past that is generally abnormal and memory loss spanning past six months is exceedingly rare."
And the muddled voice you had heard during the final moments of sentience before your ECT procedure became crystal clear.
"Last chance to back out, Sigmund. Are you sure you still want it done this way?"
That was... the masked unicorn. Please, Sigmund. Do not answer him.
But the truth had already been revealed.
"Yes. Make him forget everything."
The electrical whining followed.