Dear Cheryl van Tricht and Junus
Please find attached the following document, which contains a summary of our meeting on Thursday, August 8, 2024 and Tuesday 13, 2024.
This document outlines the key points discussed, the next steps, and any additional information that may be relevant. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.
Sincerely, Abel Marcel
Otto von Bismarck
A short recording captures a moment when the police take my document which prove I didn't do anything. It's just a small part, but it helps illustrate what I'm going through.
In December 2020, I wrote to my lawyer informing them that I had sought medical assistance, but nothing worked. I also mentioned that there was much more going on, marking the beginning of my total deterioration. After that, new incidents didn't occur until February 2024
13 Aug 2024 21:38
This morning you asked if I heard voices. And I told you no. But the truth is... I do. I hear voices, doctor. I hear the voices of my sadness, my silent screams, my cries lost in the vast emptiness... Where there's no substance, no reception, where you see me but can't hear me..."
This morning you asked if I heard voices. And I told you no. But the truth is... I do. I hear voices, doctor. I hear the voices of my sadness, my silent screams, my cries lost in the vast emptiness... Where there's no substance, no reception, where you see me but can't hear me..."
The doctor looks at him intently, his expression unwavering, but his eyes reveal a mix of compassion and concern. It's the umpteenth time he's heard something similar, yet each story has a unique shade, a peculiar darkness that compels him to keep digging.
"Can you describe those voices?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.
The patient shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as if the words he's about to utter weigh him down.
"They're not like regular voices," he continues, his voice trembling. "They're more like... echoes of something that shattered long ago. Sometimes, I don't even know if they're mine or if they come from some deeper place, a place I can't reach but that's always there, whispering, reminding me I'm not alone in my solitude."
A heavy silence fills the room. The doctor maintains his professional demeanor, but something in the air has shifted. The patient's words hang between them, creating an invisible chasm, a space where the darkest emotions find refuge.
"And what do these voices tell you?" the doctor asks, aware that each word is a step into the unknown.
The patient looks down, his hands shaking slightly. He takes a deep breath before replying.
"They tell me that no matter how hard I try, I'll never escape this. That all my efforts are futile, that... I'm stuck in an endless cycle. They tell me there's no way out, that what I feel is the only reality. And that silence, that damn silence, is the only place I can find anything resembling peace."
The doctor jots down a few notes, but his mind is elsewhere. He knows the patient's words are a cry for help, a plea that needs urgent attention. The challenge is to find a way to extend a helping hand, to pull him out of the abyss without pushing him further in.
"I want you to know that I'm here for you," he says finally, his voice calm but firm. "Together, we can find a way to silence those voices, or at least, to make their whispers more bearable. But for that, I need you to trust me and keep working with me. Does that sound alright?"
The patient nods slowly, as if the idea of trusting someone is foreign and new. Yet, deep within his eyes, a flicker of hope shines, small and fragile, but it's there.
"Alright, doctor," he replies with a sigh. "I trust you."
And with those words, a door opens, a possibility, a new beginning.
—Esta mañana me preguntó si escuchaba voces. Y le dije que no. Realmente…realmente sí. Si Escucho voces, doctor. Escucho las voces de mi tristeza, de mis gritos en silencio, de gritos hechos mudos en el universo abierto… Donde no hay materia, donde no llegan, donde me ves, pero no me escuchas...
El médico lo mira con atención, la expresión en su rostro se mantiene imperturbable, pero sus ojos reflejan una mezcla de compasión y preocupación. Es la enésima vez que escucha algo similar, pero cada relato tiene un matiz único, una oscuridad particular que lo empuja a seguir indagando.
—¿Podrías describir esas voces? —pregunta, inclinándose un poco hacia adelante.
El paciente se remueve en su asiento, incómodo, como si las palabras que debe pronunciar cargaran un peso insoportable.
—No son voces como las de otras personas —continúa, la voz temblorosa—. Son más como… ecos de algo que ya se rompió hace mucho. A veces, ni siquiera sé si son mías o si vienen de algún lugar más profundo, un lugar que no puedo alcanzar, pero que siempre está ahí, susurrándome, recordándome que no estoy solo en mi soledad.
El silencio llena la habitación, denso y pesado. El médico mantiene su postura profesional, pero algo en el aire ha cambiado. Las palabras del paciente flotan entre ellos, creando un abismo invisible, un espacio donde las emociones más oscuras encuentran refugio.
—¿Y qué te dicen esas voces? —pregunta el médico, consciente de que cada palabra es un paso hacia lo desconocido.
El paciente baja la mirada, sus manos tiemblan ligeramente. Toma aire antes de responder.
—Me dicen que no importa cuánto lo intente, nunca podré escapar de esto. Que todo esfuerzo es inútil, que… estoy atrapado en un ciclo sin fin. Me dicen que no hay salida, que lo que siento es lo único real. Y que el silencio, ese maldito silencio, es el único lugar donde puedo encontrar algo parecido a la paz.
El médico toma nota en su libreta, pero su mente está en otro lugar. Sabe que las palabras del paciente son un grito de auxilio, un clamor que necesita ser atendido con urgencia. El desafío es encontrar la manera de tenderle una mano, de sacarlo del abismo en el que se encuentra sin empujarlo más adentro.
—Quiero que sepas que estoy aquí para ayudarte —dice finalmente, con una voz calmada pero firme—. Juntos, podemos encontrar una manera de silenciar esas voces, o al menos, de hacer que sus susurros sean más llevaderos. Pero para eso, necesito que confíes en mí y que sigamos trabajando juntos. ¿Te parece bien?
El paciente asiente lentamente, como si la idea de confiar en alguien más fuera algo nuevo y extraño. Pero en el fondo de sus ojos, brilla una chispa de esperanza, pequeña y frágil, pero ahí está.
—Está bien, doctor —responde con un suspiro—. Confío en usted.
Y con esas palabras, se abre una puerta, una posibilidad, un nuevo comienzo.
August 8th,2024