Dear Heart, with Love

the brain finally replies

Note: After a little delay, you are receiving the Brain’s reply to the Heart. If you haven’t yet read the first part of this series, click here. This is a two part series, a conversation between the two.

I wanted this letter from the Brain to be full of hope and positivity.

But that wouldn’t have been truthful.

Right now, my mind is a place where the trauma is still fresh. This letter is the only way I know to how show up in the storm that is my life today.

It’s heavy. It’s honest. And it’s real. But it’s also framed as a character speaking, to illustrate what it feels like after a life-changing illness.

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Dear Heart,

Sometimes I think we are in hell. But sometimes I think we must be in heaven.

But then I see our human, breathing. Alive. We made it.

We walked through the dark, scary woods and made it to a green meadow where the sun shines.

It doesn’t feel that way though.

The Starry Night by Van Gogh (1889)

I’m having a hard time to catch up.

I am the brain, I am the protector. I need to keep you, myself and our human safe.

The only way I know how to do this is to calculate all the worst case scenarios.

6%.

That’s the recurrence statistic.

For our human being.

I cannot stop thinking about this number. It means 6 out of 100 people get a recurrence.

It may seem like a small number to everyone around us, but to us it is a big number.

Where’s the guarantee that we won’t end up being in those 6 people?

This is my job. To calculate. To anticipate. To navigate any future scenarios that come up.

I have been designed that way.

Technically I know that I cannot control what happens in the future.

But it still is my job.

I am the leader, the driver behind the steering wheel.

I cannot make any mistakes.

But I’m afraid I’m not doing my job very well these days.

Everything seems jumbled up, like a bunch of cords tangled together.

I keep trying to pick them apart, trying to untangle all the feelings and thoughts that run through me 24/7. But they just get even more tangled up.

Sometimes I wish I could stop.

But I cannot. If I stop it’s the end of everything.

So I go on everyday.

Running. Computing. Calculating. Anticipating. Preparing.

Somedays I nearly forget what could happen.

And some days I forget what nearly happened.

But not really. Because all memories are stored inside me. Tucked away into a place called the subconscious.

They live there. Those memories are alive.

Even when the memories are in that box, they are constantly being replayed.

The memories keep playing in the background - while our human is walking, talking, cooking, eating, sleeping, watching tv, reading.

Like a silent reel that repeats over and over.

People keep throwing empty terms at our human.

Be positive. It’s all in your head. It only takes time. You have to be strong. It’s over. You’re cured.

And she tries. She really does. We all try.

But it never is really over right?

It’s actually all my fault.

Because I cannot and won’t stop. I keep running even against my will.

I make our human want to bury her face in a pillow and scream until her voice is gone.

I’m helpless. I’m trying.

Somedays I function almost normally.

But there’s always the worst case scenario lurking in the dark.

Watching. Waiting.

It never gives a warning before coming out.

It pounces on all happiness and steals it quietly.

And then I fall into a spiral.

I go down, down, down.

Until I make our human sick with fear and worry.

And I cannot stop.

I don’t know how to stop.

I wish I did.

You know, I was running a good system - a strong healthy system.

And then all hell broke loose. Something, somewhere went so horribly wrong.

One of our own, turned out to be a traitor. Broken cells they call them.

And it was all my fault.

It feels like a switch was turned off and everything went dark.

I think I really do need some time. Time makes everything better right?

It makes everything that we went through softer. I don’t know.

Only time will tell. Only time holds the answer to this.

I am so sorry, my dear heart.

I wanted to write an uplifting, hopeful letter.

But I’m afraid I’m not in that place right now.

I have failed.

I have failed so badly.

I am not doing my job very well, am I?

Or perhaps I am doing it exceptionally well.

Because my utmost wish is to protect us from harm.

And that’s what I’m trying to do.

Sometimes, I dare to consider the 94% statistic.

And even though 6% is such a small number, it hovers over me like a black cloud, waiting to burst.

It’s too scary, too painful to hope for the 94%.

I keep trying.

But I’m not there yet.

I know you’re the heart.

You will understand.

You always do.

Because you’re full of love.

And love always understands.

And one day, perhaps I won’t be such a bleak place anymore.

With utmost apologies,

Love,

The Brain.