Memory Cards

First posting of some of my fiction. Over the last few months I’ve been writing several short stories in a cyberpunk/scifi vein. This is a simple one that connects to a lot of emotions I have been going through after a c-ptsd diagnosis and some incredibly helpful therapy.

Memory Cards.

Memory Corp! For a Better Life!

So the card said. So I brought my cards — that’s what the chief psychiatrist — the head head — called them. You go through your life and your brain collects cards that it sends to future you as memories you can’t delete. And they’re not always the ones you’d expect, or want.

So I took mine along and he looked at me.

“This is… a lot.”

I nodded.

“This is what we call a full narrative reboot.”

From the words he used I figured that was about right.

“Everyone has similar memory points.” He explained. “Similar events, similar emotional responses that the mind keys into. What changes is the setting and the actors, so to say.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“So what seems to be the problem?”

“I just… this. I’ve come to this stage of my life and I haven’t done what young me thought I could do. The cards I hold, that I’ve collected are… disappointing.”

“Disappointing?”

“Disappointing. I’d say pointless.”

“That’s a pretty drastic assessment.”

“I saw so much I could have done. I still do. And I see the things others have somehow done in their lives, holidays, relationships, jobs and mine is just… this. And always has been.”

The head guy looked through the cards on his iPad less like a psychiatrist and more like a dentist choosing which tooth to start on.

“Problem is, we see a lot of other people’s lives through things like Facebook memories. And you’re trying to treat your own life like a dating app, swiping left or right on what you fancy.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s new. Not necessarily bad, but personally I don’t think we have psychologically evolved to cope with the internet yet.”

“How does that help me? Unless you un-invent the internet.”

“It’s one idea. But we also narrativise.”

“We what?”

“Try to turn everything into a story with an arc and a conclusion that is logical, and fair. But life is a lot messier than that.”

“And disappointing.”

“That depends on if you think the story is done.”

I sat back and found the desk and the floor safer to look at than the shrink’s eyes.

“I feel like it is.” I mumbled.

“Look, I know the world looks a tenuous place at best right now, but you have to remember, bad news makes clicks. And you’re doing a lot of clicking. So even given that, you look fairly health. You could have a good few decades!”

“Or I could -”

“Get hit by a bus tomorrow, I know. So could I. But instead I’m here talking to you.”

“I’m sorry!” I said sullenly.

He smiled.

“Why? I chose this. And I would say that’s your problem. You feel like you haven’t chosen any of your life.”

Ever had one of those moments where someone says something so startlingly obvious that you hadn’t seen that you actually feel embarrassed?

“So… what should I do?”

“You’ve done the first part. You asked what you can do, not what I could do.”

I was surprised I could still surprise myself.

“What I will tell you is to remember what the man said in the book: Timshel. Thou Mayest. You may — not you could have or should have. That gives you the choice.”

“Thou mayest.”

He never did any of the procedures. In fact, the only time I heard about the place again was a year later reading a news item in a cafe in Tokyo.

“Psychologist arrested for fake memory wipe program.”

Turned out it was all a story to get people in and treat them and analyse them.

Still, it worked.