Mind Break Novels & Stories

“What do you mean?” Dr. Watte thought about it and replied, “Let’s put it this way: She’s having a mental breakdown now and is trapped in a state where she’s being tormented repeatedly. The things that she cares about the most or the facts that she’s most unwilling to accept is playing in her mind over and over again.” To be precise, this had nothing to do with any disease, and there was no way he could cure her even if he wanted to. If he were to explain it even more clearly, this was equivalent to hackers suddenly attacking a computer that was running well. The firewall and defensive shields finally collapsed, and the computer was in a state of paralysis!

Tan stared down into the glass of whiskey he had in his hand. No matter how deep or how long he stared into the brown liquid, he couldn't get the image of Gabby's face, the last time he saw her, out of his mind. He really messed this one up big time. The memory of Gabby flipping free his hand was engraved in his mind. At what point would the alcohol stop the memories from intruding his thoughts, he often wondered and even after downing shot after shot. Even if he ever survived this phase of his life where he felt like his heart was ripped out of his cage whenever he was sober, his liver might have a hard time catching up.

I asked in a whisper of a breath so I didn’t crack in half from the pain. He knew what I meant, and gave me a sympathetic smile before dealing my fate. “Indefinitely. You’ll be on the medication until we get you going with some serious trauma therapy. This episode, this ‘parataxic distortion’ you experienced, it will come back. It always does until it’s dealt with. But with how fragile you are right now, we have to wait until you can handle it because it will dig at your core and bring up all sorts of nasty memories you’ve suppressed and buried for years.” Just say it…say the word… Broken. A step away from being institutionalized.

It was evident that she’s been crying and I didn’t need to ask why to know It was because of me and my stupid decision. While Lisa helped her mother, I decided I needed a break and left the house to go see Brandon. He was the only person I could talk to without losing my shit around while also getting sound advice. I got there before him and ordered a glass of strong whisky for myself. “If you’re drinking, then it's serious,” Brandon joked as he took a seat. I ignored his annoying ass as I took a sip of my drink. “You have no idea what I’m up against,” I replied dryly.

Oh no… I try to desperately wrack my brain to remember the moves he’s expecting me to display. But my mind isn’t home… or more so, the engine room of my brain seems to be on fire, and the little people inside my head that operate me, flail about, all screaming in confusion as to what to do. I can’t remember the moves!

The tightness at the base of her neck would lead to fireworks going off in her brain as the migraine progresses. “I’m tired, Misha. Can we finish this tomorrow? You can tell A I’d like it if he could come speak with me. I need to know all that he does.” Briar, said, soul broken and scattered on the floor of her room. Bri turned her back on Misha, indicating her wish to be alone.

Henry slammed the door as he exited the room. "Are you okay?" Lorraine helped Andy. "I'm fine!" He ignored her and was about to go out the door. "May I speak with you for a moment? I'll explain everything. Please have a seat." Lorraine requested, and Andy obeyed silently. "Based on our observations, Kimberly may suffer from emotional breakdown or dissociative amnesia once she wakes. Emotional breakdown is when the patient remains unresponsive, unable to speak or communicate. Her mind will be completely blank." She explained.

Jessica nodded knowingly, indicating that she understood. She paused, put on her customary smile, and made a reasonable suggestion. "I've seen it on TV and in novels. Usually, when the male lead has a car accident and loses his memory, it's because of a blood clot in the brain. Then, someone hits him, and inexplicably, his memory is restored. Mr. Marcus, how about you go out and find someone to hit you on the head with a steel pipe? It might help disperse the blood clot and restore your memory!"

Now. “Oh my god…” I grabbed my aching head, pulling out the drip tube. - I don't remember... I... I don't remember... I don't remember! The voice cracked. The pain broke off the leash and hit all channels. His heart pounded, breaking his chest from the inside. I did my best to drive away the annoying thought from myself, but it pecked out the brain with each new beer-beep-beep, announcing the verdict in every corner - it's empty here.

What happened after I killed my opponent? “Check your feet,” the voice echoes again, and I look down only to see the same blurry picture of nothing, but I do feel the ground. “You feel the floor, right? Firm, solid? Now, try to remember the color of your front door. Try to remember your last name.” I squint my eyes, shaking my head. “See? There’s a delay. A stutter. Like a scratched disc spinning in a broken player. That ‘hiccup’ in your head is the sound of your neurons misfiring, trying to bridge a gap that’s getting wider every time your heart beats.”