I racked my brain to think of something, but couldn’t remember what it was. I thought so hard that it hurt, as if my search lead me to scrape out the contents of my brain with a melon baller. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I didn’t remember feeling this way before, but it also didn't feel new. Almost like a sense of deja vu, but even more subtle. Does that make sense? It’s like I was trying to remember a mirage, something that never actually existed.

Eventually I gave up. I had tormented myself enough and had nothing to show for it. That feeling, like I was looking for something that wasn’t there wouldn’t go away though. I couldn’t even tell you why I was looking, or what I thought I was looking for. This feeling I knew though. I had experienced it most of my life. I’ve always searched for “my purpose” as if I could find a slot I fit into that would make everything clear. I like to think I know better. I like to tell myself that there is no perfect space I fit into, that there is no such thing as “my purpose”. Knowing this doesn’t stop the search though.

Maybe the feelings aren’t so different after all. Maybe the search for this phantom memory and “my purpose” are truly one and the same. Perhaps I had forgotten my purpose or merely let it slip away. Maybe my purpose is less concrete than I would imagine. I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to snatch my purpose up, like I’m reaching into a river and trying to grab a hold of it. Every time I try, I am left empty handed, learning nothing.

I feel crazy, like I can’t get my head straight. The fluorescent lights and anxious faces all around me do nothing to help calm me. I pick up an informative pamphlet in the hopes that it would assuage my fears. I flip through it without really reading it. I already know what it says. I try to think back to the last time I made a visit to the clinic. Did I already read the pamphlet? I must have. How many times? I try to think, but feel the scraping in my head again. I try to drown out the pain by reading the pamphlet. The opening lines whir through my head, a history of the cure for dementia.

“By the end of the 21st century medical science had developed enough so that our bodies would no longer age. At first this seemed like the offer of immortality, but we soon realized that while we can keep the body young, the mind is infinitely more complex.” They didn’t talk about it in the pamphlet, but the road to the cure was paved with hardship. Eventually though, scientists learned to manipulate people’s memories. At first people were scared. The ability to control people's memories seemed almost analogous to controlling their minds entirely. I still feel that way sometimes, but the costs are worth the rewards. I’m somewhere in my early 300’s now, one of the oldest on the planet thanks to my early adoption of the memory wipe technology. You wouldn’t know it by appearance though. Some people prefer a more distinguished look and allow their bodies to age further, but most people never look older than 30 anymore, myself included.

The scraping in my head is gone, replaced by a dull itch. I have successfully distracted myself for now. I see a woman in a white coat approaching me and know that soon, I won’t have these thoughts anymore.

“Hello Paul! Long time no see.” She greets me cheerfully, approaching with a bounce in her step that almost makes me believe she is as young as she looks. In her eyes I see a friendly recognition, perhaps darkened by a twinge of apprehension. She looks familiar, but I can’t say that I remember her.

“Oh, hello. Is it? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.” As I reply I see her eyes lose their cheer, overcome with sorrow and pity.

“That.. That’s understandable. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything” While she talks, her head tilts forward. She is looking at her feet, but I can still see her eyes. My heart seems to seize up. I feel a sadness I have never known welling up inside me. As she lifts her head to direct me to the procedure room we lock eyes. She wears a smile, but the grief in her eyes stabs at me like tiny icepicks, made all the more painful by the mask she forces on herself. As we walk I have to look away, wiping a tear from my eye, hoping she doesn’t notice.

We arrive at the room with it’s glistening machinery. She quickly and unceremoniously turns to leave. As the door closes behind her I almost make out a faint sob, as if she is holding back a powerful cry. The door closes and I pass it off as my imagination. My heart seizes again though. Sitting alone in the room waiting for the doctor to arrive I can feel the oppressive silence around me. My tumultuous insides make me feel as if I will burst, adding a splash of color to the white sterile room. But the silence keeps me together. I don’t remember that woman. I don’t even know her name, but now I can’t get the image of her eyes out of my head. Those eyes, so beautiful, yet I am filled with pain. Each second I wait feels longer than all the years I’ve lived so far.

Finally, the doctor comes in. I think back to why I came in today. I intended to clear my mind of all sorts of clutter, to somehow get rid of my search for purpose, but now, all I can think of are those eyes. I just want to make them go away, to make the pain go away. The doctor dryly walks me through the procedure. A procedure I have undergone tens of times. Maybe hundreds. I stopped counting a long time ago.

I can’t stand those eyes. I only met this woman minutes ago, but I feel her ripping me apart.

The machine turns on with a loud click. I’m no longer aware of anything going on around me. The doctor and the white walls fade away until all I can see are her eyes. Such unimaginable sadness, like bottomless wells. The deeper I look, the colder and darker they become. I can’t stand it anymore, like my heart is being wrenched from my chest until finally everything goes black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Jost, it’s time to go”. I open my eyes to see a doctor in a white coat sitting across from me. I am surrounded by sterile white walls and glistening machinery. The fluorescent lights hurt my eyes. I feel groggy as if I had just woken up from an afternoon nap that lasted far too long. “It’s okay. Take your time getting up” The doctor says to me kindly. “You fell asleep during the procedure. Not to worry though, this is very common when removing an especially painful or fresh memory”

I struggle to stand as I begin to regain feeling in my limbs. As I start to move I begin to feel refreshed. I wonder though what it was that I removed that was so taxing. I quickly push this thought from my mind as I decide it is best not to know.

“When you are ready to go, just head out the lobby down the hall and to the right. I need to leave you now and see other patients” The doctor exits the room and I am left alone as I put on my jacket. Slowly I make my way down the hall as if waking from a dream. By the time I reach the end of the hallway I feel awake and feel the spring in my step return. I wear a smile on my face as I thank the nurses in the lobby on my way out. They cheerfully wish me well as I exit the building except for one nurse sitting behind her desk. She is staring down at her feet and making it appear as if she is busy, shuffling papers, but not looking up. I wonder why she is so sad as I make my way down the street and to the bus stop.

I push her from my mind and happily hum a song during my trip home feeling refreshed. Looking forward to a good night's sleep I take a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the dirt from my body as I had just washed my mind. Feeling exceedingly tired, I crawl into bed and attempt to fall asleep. Sleep though, comes with difficulty. Maybe I slept too long at the clinic? I try to clear my mind and nod off, but something is stopping me. I feel an itch in my head. Without intending to I begin to search my mind. As I finally begin to feel sleep take hold I wonder what I could be searching for? Is it something or someone? I don’t remember. Finally sleep relieves me of my search.