Julius Caesar

08, May 2020

This is Sharon Abigail Martin.

This is a report about my last patient before retirement, Julius Caesar Black. It has been proven through his writing for this past year- that has been edited by me, Samara Orville, his wife, and Alexander Black, his father, who is now imprisoned in high state prison- that he has psychologically healed after the death of his brother, Augustus Black.

Julius suffered from acute depression that had resulted in his loss of speech and socializing abilities. Julius was scared of words in that moment of his life, and when it came to writing the entry describing his brother's death, he seemed to even hate them. I found his fear quite intriguing and worthy of attention. And I have found, with the help of Samara, an entry that portrays his chaotic thoughts at that moment [as will be attached below].

Writing had been his breather through the most intolerable days given the support he mainly got from his wife while she was expecting their first child. Julius explains his emotion in immense detail which gives an insight into the complexity of humans and their beauty in their vulnerability.

In his last visit, when he showed me his last entry, Julius explained his actions and reasoning behind not killing his father. Julius understands his father despite his complexity. He explained that his father is only a predator because he hid behind a shield of mystery and enigma. Julius believes that stripping his father of this shield and understanding his 'deviant' intentions was the only key to his downfall.

Julius thinks that death is an easy punishment for his father despite the strength of will it took not to 'blow his brains out'- as he had mentioned. And he admits that it was for the greater best for his family.

After all, Julius only and always sought normalcy. And that was what he gave himself.

This is published after Julius' permission to share his story with the world, hoping that someone, one day, might find his experience relatable and helpful. And for that, I would like to especially thank him and congratulate him for finally evading the darkest pits in his mind.

[Julius' Exclusive Entry on His Fear of Words]

All I wrote are words I didn't dare to spill. Feelings I told no one about because they are lodged right there. They are stuck right here in the expanse of my convoluted mind.

And I don't think they'll be out any time soon.

So when I sat there in that little tub with an empty bottle of scotch, again, the only thing I did was think about words. About how scary they are. A bunch of letters we made up for the sake of communication. Letters that take shapes, stand a meaning, have rules about how to be spelt and fitted in a word.

I find myself speechless. Not willing to speak- not able to speak, really, for I just knew their value. How they can fit together to convey a truth, a lie, a romance, a joke. How they're so, so important. How people's lives wouldn't make sense without them. But that's okay. Because at the moment? In their absence? My life made perfect sense.

Wait, I know- it's difficult to understand what I'm getting at, so I'm going to give you an example. My dead brother. Augustus. And I can't say more because I think I might've said it all in this word. His name. See what I did here? I mean just his name tells his story that's - God- so unimportant, it kills me. Can you see the power of words now? Hell, it kills me that the sun doesn't stop rising after his death. That the rain doesn't cease to fall and that trees continue to breathe.

He deserves more appreciation.

So when I sat in that tub, trying not to remember the promises he made me when I was sitting in that same bloody place. When I tried not to remember him take my scarf, my urge to speak dies and dies, and I end up thinking of you Sharon.

Is it a punishment that you're letting me write all that down? Or are you really trying to help me like Samara tells me every day? Will impregnating those papers with those unfaithful words help me overcome the fear of speaking them? The hate of making them explain my feelings? Because words to me are f.u.c.k.i.n.g snakes.

I don't think so, Sharon. Because what I do as I write this, is lie. I can never really express everything with words. I don't think that's fair. I don't think I did well enough. I don't think I portrayed him perfectly enough. If I captured enough of the warmth that radiated from his smile, the grief released by his tears. If I really, really understood him. I mean, after all, they're all hases, hads, wills, and maybes. All words trying so hard to be something they aren't. Explain something they can't. Snakes, I tell you.

So I ask myself, Sharon, how dare I? How dare I deliberately turn smiles to frowns, to glares, to disappointment, to death? How dare I not capture the stillness between the turns and flips? These moments of stillness when eye contact is made and so many things happen? Things I chose to omit because...I couldn't find the right words for?

I'm telling you, Sharon. I'm lying to you because do I even really remember how I felt? The moment when I knew that Augustus was my brother, the moment when Father got a heart attack, the moment when Samara regained her vision, the moment that f.u.c.k.i.n.g dagger killed my only brother? Do I really remember that 'easy smirk' Augustus was wearing when he gave me that nickname? Do I really remember the warmth of Samara's hug or this 'glint' in her eyes? Was it even a glint?

How the f.u.c.k did I know? Maybe she was crying and I failed to notice. And who told me that it was an 'easy smirk'?! What if my baby brother was pretending? What if he was petrified deep down from this monster disguised as a brother, that -yes, oh, yes, yes- was the cause of his death?

HOW CAN THOSE LYING WORDS HEAL ME, SHARON?

[End of text.]

Final thanks to you, Charlie, my grandson. I hope to see you a successful psychologist one day, capable of turning people's darkest days into stories they would one day tell with open hearts and proud selves because they've overcome them.

Finally, truly, my love, I love you.