---

I couldn’t hear anymore. I snuck upstairs into my room. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I sat there, thinking about the guilt I’ve caused, the mistakes I’ve made. Nothing made me feel worse. I couldn’t take it. I’ve done counseling, I’ve taken my meds- nothing. What hope did I have left?

I remembered that pamphlet that strange man gave me. It seemed so appealing now. No, I didn’t believe in these new age religious things, but seeing how my parents felt made me realize how desperate things had become. At this point I’d try anything just to get better.

I couldn’t believe I was about to resort to this…

---

Bzzz…Bzzz…Bzzz…

I slapped the snooze button on my alarm clock as a groggily fell out of bed. I don’t even know why I still keep that thing on, like I have anything to look forward to or something. I just lost my job last week; second one in a span of a year. Not like it really amounted to anything anyway- just a simple stocking job. Not much money from that, not enough to move out from under my family’s roof anyway. What’s the point?

So here I am, early thirties, and not going anywhere soon. Worried? Sure, join the crowd. I’ve heard the insults spewed my way: slacker, lazy good for nothing leach, spoiled brat. The truth is a little more difficult to explain. Really I just don’t have “it.” You know- the drive to succeed in life. It’s like everything I do is pointless, and between that and my impatience, if I don’t see results quick, I just stop.

And the worst part of it is, I don’t know why that is. My family is extremely caring, evident by putting up with me even at this age. I wasn’t really picked on or abused in school or anything. If anything life was pretty good. It just is, and that just boggles my mind. Why?

Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen I start my day following the same routine: eating my bowl of Cap’n Crunch while mindlessly walking over to the television, turning it on to today’s sporting news. I pretend to not notice my father, just like he pretends to sit at the dining room table reading his newspaper. I knew, he was watching me, worried about me like everyone else.

He decided to start the day by making conversation.

“Searching for a new job?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied, although he and I both knew I wasn’t searching as hard as I should.

He gave a look of disdain. He wouldn’t argue the point, but the disappointment was apparent on his face. Maybe a little tough love would be useful once in awhile. He was more of a support figure. He never was one to put the foot down when needed. Maybe that’s a weakness, I don’t know.

“You have an appointment with your therapist today?” he asked, switching the topic.

“Yeah,” I told him.

“Well, hopefully you’ll make a breakthrough today,” he hoped. Putting the paper down, he walked over to me and put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Good luck, son.” With that he grabbed his briefcase and may his way out the door.

That’s the worse feeling you can have. Much worse than having a father barking, stark raving mad as if he was about to erupt like a volcano. No, it’s that guilt. It’s the realization that my problems not only hurt me, but everyone else. That’s the worst feeling in the world. I wish I knew where the heart of the issue lies. I wish it was easy to say, hey, fuck it, I’m gonna go out there and make a difference, but it’s hard. Don’t ask me why it is, it just is.

And that’s the excuse for everything in my life: it just is.

---

“So, yeah,” I began, as I was lying down on a couch, talking to my therapist. “They fired me last week. Said it was because of my abrasive nature, but it’s not like I go out of my way trying to make enemies.”

“But you don’t go out of your way to make friends either,” he suggested.

“I suppose not,” I replied.

“So maybe the reason people assume you’re abrasive is because you don’t make the effort to prove to them otherwise,” he hinted.

“I don’t see why people automatically assume the worst in me,” I told him.

“It’s like everything else in life, Kevin,” he began. “Everything takes effort.”

“And if there was a panacea that could improve my motivation, then I’d gladly take it,” I retorted.

“And you know there isn’t any medication for such things,” he replied. “We can only provide what we can to help balance your depression, but the other half has to be through your own life’s changes.”

“So, in other words, I have to motivate myself to be motivated?” I mocked.

“You need to get your feet wet, Kevin,” he explained. “You’re 32 years old now, and the only way you can beat this is to accept your fears and just do it.”

“Easier said than done,” I reminded him.

He just sighed. “I’m gonna recommend an increase in your medication,” he insisted as he began to write my prescription. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again in the next 2 weeks.”

He gave me the paper and I got up and left. Like more medicine was going to make the difference.

Walking out the building I was stopped by a strange man.

“You seem rather down, son,” he began.

“Yeah,” I replied, stating the obvious. “That’s pretty common in a place like this.”

“Of course,” he replied. “But nothing they do seems to be helping, am I right?”

Okay, so he’s beginning to pique my interest.

“You aren’t some drug dealer, are you?” I questioned.

“Oh, me?” he replied. “Oh, nono!” He then handed me a pamphlet. “Perhaps we can offer an alternate solution.”

I didn’t bother reading it, at least not in front of him. Honestly he seemed kind of peculiar and I didn’t want to spend more time with him than I already had. “Uh, thanks,” I said, as I walked to my car.
Now that he was out of the picture I stared at the pamphlet with a little more curiosity. I picked it up and began reading:

People for thousands of years have suffered and battled many forms of mental disorders: depression, anxiety, schizophrenia. Today many rely on western medicine to quell many of these symptoms. However, what these medications lack is the ability to actually get to the heart of the issue, and while many therapists attempt to find it through counseling and other practices, sometimes the issues are more complex than what is simply told.

The fault of western medicine is the treatment for these disorders are focused directly in the mind. However, what they fail to realize is that the mind is but a relay from where depression acts. Much like walking or talking, everything is orchestrated by the mind based on your commands. Depression is much like you, a driving force in which orchestrates its desires in a similar matter.

Then, what exactly does this mean? Where does the root of depression lie? The answer lies deep within the human soul. Its will is what commands the brain to unleash its actions. However, most science cannot accept the idea of a “soul” without scientific evidence. Therefore they cling onto their western medicinal treatments to this very day.

The Mesmer Foundation seeks to snuff out the root of depression permanently, by combining science and spiritualism into a single, comprehensive treatment plan. Explore parts of your soul that you’ve never thought existed before! With deep introspection and understanding both spiritually and mentally, together we can find the cure.

Okay, I thought to myself. That guy was worse than a drug dealer. He was one of them fruity religious types. I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the back seat of my car. Obviously a clean car wasn’t something I cared much about.

---

Night fell, and I slowly opened the door, carrying my medication and other stuff I got from the store. I seemed to have walked into a rather personal conversation going on in the dining room. My parents were so into it and the family room was so dark I didn’t think they noticed me walking in. I made it not hard for me to eavesdrop.

“I just don’t know what to do,” My father began. “I mean, this is what, his second job he’s been fired from?”

“Just need to give him time dear,” My mother suggested him.

“Melissa, he’s 32,” he told her. Like I haven’t been reminded so much already. “I want to believe it to be true but, I just don’t know anymore.”

She just looked at him and frowned.

“And me,” he continued, “I should be retiring by now. I thought things would be easy once I reached this age, but it’s just one headache after another.”

“You’re still going to help him, aren’t you?” my mother asked.

“Of course,” he answered. “I love him, dear. But there’s only so much I can do and I don’t even know where to start! I’ve never felt so hopeless in my life.”

“Roger,” she said.

“Were we…” he began, “were we bad parents?”

“I believe we just did the best we could,” she answered. “Nobody’s perfect.”

I couldn’t hear anymore. I snuck upstairs into my room. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I sat there, thinking about the guilt I’ve caused, the mistakes I’ve made. Nothing made me feel worse. I couldn’t take it. I’ve done counseling, I’ve taken my meds- nothing. What hope did I have left?

I remembered that pamphlet that strange man gave me. It seemed so appealing now. No, I didn’t believe in these new age religious things, but seeing how my parents felt made me realize how desperate things had become. At this point I’d try anything just to get better.

I couldn’t believe I was about to resort to this…

---

Following the directions that were listed on my crumpled up piece of paper, I made my way to this “Mesmer Foundation” place. I was relieved to find that at least it wasn’t located in a temple or church or something to that effect. It was located in what seemed to be a regular old office building located downtown.

Entering the place I could feel a strange aura about the place; tranquil, if not a little nerve-wracking. I was looking around, wondering if there was a sign in sheet or receptionist desk something. I didn’t notice the man at the corner, whom when he first spoke caught me off guard.

“Welcome,” he simply said in his Indian accent, “I am Anub Singh.”

“Whoa!” I cried as he startled me.

“Forgive me,” he said with a smile, “Sometimes I’m much quieter than I realize.”

Shrugging it off, I asked, “Is there someplace here to sign up at?”

He simply replied, “There’s no need for such mundane procedures. Aren’t there much more important things in life?”

Great, another crackpot. Sorry, I just can’t see how people like him can be so happy all the time.

“Uh…okay,” I said. “So then, what now?”

“Come,” he told me. “Let us talk.”

So I followed him side by side as he began to converse.

“Isn’t this simple?” he conversed. “It feels like people never have time appreciate simple conversation like this anymore.”

I just digressed. I wanted to get to the point, for my family’s sake as well as my own. “You said you know how to defeat depression.”

Again he just responded with another one of his warm smiles. “You had read the pamphlet my associate gave you, no?”

I nodded. “Seemed like a lot of hocus pocus to me.”

He chuckled as he heard that. “I like you,” he replied. “You have quite the sense of humor. However, I assure you, this is not a magic trick.” He opened a door into his room, which was lined in silk and pillows. The incense was surprisingly pleasant to the nose.

“Much less stuffy here than in an office, huh?” he commented. He had a seat on one of the pillows, and with his permission I had a set myself. Reaching for his coffee pot he offered me a cup? “Do you like chai tea?” he asked.

Well, at least I can be thankful for the hospitality.

Pouring him and me a cup, he got down to business. “That man who gave you this pamphlet was once like you,” he explained. “He would go back and forth from the same clinic, getting medicated and seeing counselors without really seeing any progress.”

“And what made him seek you out?” I asked.

“Much like you did, I suppose,” he replied. “But no matter, this is about you.” He sat his tea down. “So how long have you had this depression?”

“It’s hard to say,” I answered, “and I don’t know what caused it either.”

“Good,” he said, “you helped answer my next question for me.”

“Huh?” I wondered.

“Causation is the root of the problem,” he continued. “If we know what was causing this, then we can deal with it. But the problem with depression is you’re fighting blind against an enemy unknown. So they treat you endlessly with things you may have never needed in the first place.”

“So you referenced in your little brochure,” I reminded him.

“Then you know where I’m going with this,” he said. “Sometimes it may be as easy as talking your problems out with your counselor, particularly if the cause was initiated within this lifetime.”

“This lifetime?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he stated. “In my religion, I believe in a thing called Karma. Obviously you should know the gist of it, what goes around comes around.”

“Yeah,” I responded.

“Think of yourself as a three step machine,” he told me, “soul, mind, body. Everyone one of them serves a function. The soul gives out its desire, the mind picks up that information and the body executes it. Now, your mind doesn’t have any problem telling its body what to do, correct?”

“Not really,” I stated.

“So then in reality only one thing could restrict the mind from truly giving out the information, and that would be your soul itself.”

“And why is that?” I asked.

“Self doubt,” he started, “resignation, defeatism. Whatever is the cause for the soul’s interference.”

“Are you sure this just isn’t some imbalance between neuro exciters and inhibitors?” I suggested, hoping he’d see the science of things.

“Even neurotransmitters don’t just appear from thin air,” he told me, “and obviously the medications you’ve been taking haven’t helped to make things any better, no?”

He had a point there.

“Willpower comes from within,” he claimed. “Without will the soul will always be at odds with its brain. You can never get better.”

“So we’re back at square one,” I said with a sigh.

“Now wait just a moment, my young friend,” he continued. “Don’t be so certain.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“So you know I’m Hindu and a believer in karma and reincarnation,” he assumed. “What makes you believe that the cause of your ailment is tied into this life?”

“You’ve lost me there,” I admitted to him.

“Karma, remember?” he explained. “Perhaps the choices and events from your previous life may have shaped the way your soul acts in this one.”

“This is getting a little farfetched,” I told him.

“Why?” he asked. “Because it cannot be proven? Or is it because you’ve already shut yourself out from the idea?”

“Even if it was possible,” I countered, “it’s not like I can just magically remember things from century’s past!”

“You can’t?” he raised the question. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“What are you getting at?” I wondered.

“What if I can tell you you can?” he suggested.

“I’d say you’re crazy,” I replied bluntly.

“Then would you humor me then?” he asked.

“What’s the point?” I countered.

“That sounds like the defeatist attitude you aspire to beat,” he reminded me. “What will it hurt? If nothing happens you can just blame it on this crazy old man.”

I sighed. I really hate being pressured into doing something. Guilt can do that to you. After all, that’s why I sought out this lunatic.

“Fine,” I relented.

He gave me a warm smile. “Very good,” he commended me. “Please, lie down.”

Well, at least the pillows were comfy. Reluctantly I did what he asked.

“You see,” he began, “All the thoughts, feelings, memories of your pass lives still exist within you. They are just locked up, shackled, if you will, inside the very essence of your soul. These memories build up the template to who you are right now. All I need to do is give you the key, and with it, you can relive those moments. Perhaps from there, you can uncover the truth about yourself, and what ails you. So just close your eyes, and focus inward.”

With my eyes closed, I could hear him chanting. It seemed to resonate to the very fabric of my being. It was like I was being carried away…slowly…gently. I had a strange feeling of peace as I floated along the ethereal winds…back…back.

---

I popped up from my sleep. Unaware that I was sleeping on a hammock I immediately fell out of it and onto the ground below. It felt strange as my body impacted the ground, as if two air bags collided with my chest and swallowed the blow. Unlike air bags, however, this hurt like holy hell. What the?

The burning sensation led me to take a quick look at what just happened. I landed on my breasts.

My breasts? What the hell?

Pulling the hair from my eye, everything was beginning to sink in. Who am I? Where am I? What am I?

The last question was easy to answer, and I was immediately frightened by it.

I was a girl.

No words could properly explain the whirl of emotions that were running through my head, so I did what I felt was natural:

I screamed.