ESCAPE

Escape from traumatic memory?

Or escape from the controlling society?

Hello, this is Bruce. I am a PTSD patient.

I don’t know what your world looks like. But my world is kind of crazy. Here, everyone has a social score, which is determined by a series of indicators, such as family background, education level, etc. It determines what type of work you can do. For example, if your social score is above 80, you can be the Social Strategists who formulate strategies for social development, Politicians or Diplomatist… If your score is between 60 to 80, you can be the Dream Architects who create virtual scenarios for people, or like me, a Data Analyst… If the score is below 40, it means you are at the bottom of society and can only do some menial work.

Our society highly seeks orderliness and stability, and people with PTSD like me will be systematically considered ‘Error People’. Social Security Bureau said that we may be certain hazards to the society, so we need to be rectified, or our social scores will be greatly reduced. Before I fell ill, my social score was 62. I was working in a company called Fusion, and I had a wife and a lovely son. Our life were simple and happy.

But all this changed dramatically two months ago… My love, Marianne and my dear son, Geordie, lost their lives in an unexpected fire, and nothing could be saved when I arrived at the hospital. My world fell apart. I still cannot accept this fact. During that time, I was always depressed. Every night, I had nightmares, and I kept seeing Marianne and Geordie in my mind. I was afraid to go out for fear of seeing other happy families on the street. I often find it difficult to breathe as if I were drowning…

Two weeks later, I received a letter from the Social Security Bureau. It read:

After reading the letter, I kind of lost my head. Well…now.. I became the ‘error people’ of society. Once I were labeled as such, I would be regarded as the black sheep of the society, and my job and welfare would all be gone.

I was afraid. The letter told me to give them an answer within two days. I don’t have much time to consider. So, which treatment should be chosen?

I opened the drug box first and read the instruction carefully. It read:

I did hear about ‘OUBLI’ before. It’s expensive, and many rich people will take it regularly to prevent their social class from slipping. If I take this pill, I will never remember what happened to Marianne and Geordie. But what about our memories? Will they also be erased together? Will I forget that I ever had a wife and a son? I dare not think any more. I took the mysterious drug and then… put it back…

There was also an agreement for the Post-Traumatic Growth Project. I looked at it. It said:

The agreement mentioned that the success rate is only 20%, once failed I will be sent to Virtual Eden. I had never heard of this place before, so were all the people like me living there? Will I have a fresh start there?…

As if I had nothing to lose. So I signed the agreement.

The next day I was sent to a closed treatment lab where 100 miles from my home. There, I saw nine other PTSD patients.

31560. That’s my number.

I spent a whole month in that treatment lab. Day after day, the pain, as if the scars have been reopened again and again. I thought I could be saved and growth by the treatment, but…

Today, May 18^th, I was sent to the Virtual Eden. Finally, I saw what this mysterious island looked like. Sure enough, everything is a lie. Dream Architects created beautiful virtual scenarios for this island. I saw people were sleeping in power pods and their brainwaves serve as the energy of this society. I felt desperate as I thought of being stranded on this island for the rest of my life.

I don’t know whether my diary will continue, maybe this is the last one…

If one day in the future, you see my diary again, maybe then I have really liberated from all of it.