Today I woke up and it was a beautiful day, since early morning: the sky was clear, the light very bright.
I went running to clear my head from the millions of thoughts that have been clogging it for weeks. Running makes my mind feel free: while muscles work, lungs breathe and the heart pumps blood all the way through my veins, my brain can take a break and see things more clearly. It always helps.
I went to work and focused on my patients, especially Mr. S, the highlight of my Wednesdays: seeing him progress from a lonely scared depressed man to a self-confident person makes me remember that my job has a meaning, and that I can do something really useful for my patients – maybe not for all of them, and maybe not always, but for most of them, most of the time.
Then I came home, and my worries for James came home with me. I try to look at things as they are, the pure facts: he didn’t know what he was doing, he was not himself, and the disease was speaking and acting for him. He has no guilt, no fault.
Now that I think about it, there’s a question I haven’t asked myself, yet: the people who sent him to the warehouse to commit the crimes he most likely committed, did they know the situation he was in? Did they know what he could be capable of during his hypomaniac episodes, if pushed in the right direction? This is the scariest thing of all: how did they know?
Let me call Counselor Chambers, right now.