Doctor’s Name: Dr. ████████ █████, Therapist
Date: [Redacted]
Log Entry:
Kanata...
It’s difficult to start this entry. Not because I don’t have words, but because after everything we've been through, I’m not sure what words are left.
When I first met you, you were a frightened, confused young woman. Your mind, fractured by trauma, was a maze of sharp corners, dark tunnels, and places that were too deep to explore. But you were still there—somewhere. I remember that look you gave me, the one where you hesitated just before you spoke, unsure if you should trust me, unsure if anyone could be trusted. There was hope in your eyes back then, a glimmer that maybe, just maybe, you'd find the peace you were seeking.
But as time passed, that hope dimmed. Your sessions became harder to conduct. I watched you spiral, your thoughts twisting in knots so tight that even I couldn’t untangle them. And I failed. I failed you.
I’ve read through the entries we’ve logged, and I can’t help but see the progression—how each one becomes more desperate, more distorted. You began to withdraw, then deny. Then, the silence came. And in that silence, I could hear your mind unraveling, piece by piece. You became a shell of who you once were, and in a cruel twist, I was left to stand by, powerless.
I’ll admit something here, something I haven’t told anyone: I thought I could fix you. I truly did. I thought, through my training, my experience, that I could unlock the door to your mind, help you make sense of the chaos you lived through. But now, as I sit here, pen in hand, I realize how naive that belief was.
Your trauma was not just something I could treat with my methods. It was deeper. It was so much deeper than I understood. I didn’t understand what it meant to be trapped in your own mind, to lose all sense of self, to watch reality bend and twist until everything was alien, even your own reflection.
And now... now I don't know what’s left of you. The Kanata I once knew—the one who made half-hearted jokes in our early sessions, the one who tried so hard to fight back the darkness—she’s gone. What remains is something unrecognizable, something I can no longer reach, no longer help.
I’m writing this because, as I’m sure you know by now, I won’t be seeing you anymore. The hospital has decided to transfer you. There are no words that can make this better, no words that can fix what’s happened. I’ve tried everything I could, Kanata. Every method, every therapy, every intervention. But nothing has worked.
And I can't pretend anymore that I can help you. Maybe I never could. Maybe I was never meant to.
I feel guilty. I feel like I should have done more, but I wonder if I could have done more. Could I have reached you? Could I have broken through the wall you built around yourself? Could I have seen what you were hiding before it was too late? Did I miss the signs?
But maybe there are no answers. Maybe the truth is that some minds can’t be fixed. Maybe you were never broken in the first place, just misunderstood.
You never truly spoke to me, Kanata—not the way I needed you to. You never let me in, not completely. And now... I wonder if I’ll ever understand the things you were trying to say. The things you saw. The things you felt.
But there’s one thing I know for certain: you were a person. A living, breathing soul with a voice that wanted to be heard. And somewhere inside, you still wanted to fight. Even when you couldn’t. Even when you were so lost that you couldn’t even remember what it felt like to speak.
I wish I could have given you the answers you were searching for. I wish I could have helped you escape from the maze that your mind became.
But now, all I can do is say goodbye.
Goodbye, Kanata. I’m sorry.
- Dr. ████████ █████, Therapist