Laughing American comics, I am becoming more and more like a clown

Lucien was a little surprised when he heard the boy's name, but Bruce is a common name, just like John and Mary, it is a common name in the United States - just because Batman is Bruce Wayne does not change the popularity of the name itself.

But he took a bite of the burger helplessly, knowing that he was still thinking about Batman... Otherwise, why would he think so much about a name and argue about it?

……

Lucien's burns did not heal completely because the infection kept recurring. Many times, he had to lift the healed blood scabs to squeeze out the pus and heal again because of the pus.

...This will make the scar permanent and the appearance more terrifying.

He folded the toilet paper and wiped the yellow pus... It was also because of the pus that Lucian smelled bad.

So Lucien didn't expect that the boy would come to him again.

In a childish voice, he said, "You'll be fine."

Then a thousand paper cranes made of plastic candy wrappers were placed in front of him.

Lucien looked at the child, smiled, and accepted it: "Thank you."

"...Actually," the boy said hesitantly, "I wanted to give you some candy, but I ate it all... Sorry."

This is really not smart, and an adult would never say this.

Lucien looked at him, his smile growing wider. "I love this, no need to apologize."

He really wanted to give the boy something, but unfortunately there was nothing in his pocket except cigarettes, lighters, guns, bullets, burn ointment and toilet paper.

Chapter 152 Lucien's Day

After dinner, the boy and his mother left.

Lucien turned his head to look at the setting sun.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and he was feeling unusually empty and didn't know where to go.

He took out his cell phone, flipped through the address book, closed the page, opened YouTube, and what caught his eye was the Wood virus.

He put the phone on the table and turned his head away.

He looked at the sky outside, wanting to express his feelings, but after racking his brain, the only thing he could think of, apart from chemical equations, was mechanical gears. He frowned and forced himself to think of the poetry collections he had read.

What should I say? Use some beautiful and hopeful verses to express my current state.

...But his brain seemed to be rusted. Lucian thought hard but got no results...If there were results, at least he would understand his current mental abnormality, at least he would know where he should go now.

Metropolitan Hospital.

Psychological Clinic.

This is a plump, beautiful and gentle lady... Her academic degree is posted outside - a degree in psychological diagnosis and treatment from Yale University.

This was too similar, so similar that Lucian could hardly maintain his expression... He put the gun in his pocket, put his hand in it, and was ready to pull it out and shoot at any time.

"You can call me Dr. Rhine. Do you have any questions?" The lady gave a gentle and kind smile.

Lucien looked at her without saying a word, his fingertips rubbing the gun in his pocket, hesitating.

"Please rest assured, I will adhere to the principle of confidentiality and will provide a scientific assessment of your mental state. I also need to let you know that psychological diagnosis and treatment follow scientific procedures. You will need to answer questions later, and of course, your results will be kept confidential." The woman continued, "There will also be a brainwave test... There's no need to avoid it."

No need to escape.

Hearing this, Lucien narrowed his eyes slightly. He remembered that Ms. Taylor had said the same thing and then concluded that he had "anorexia nervosa."

He glanced at his red and white skin and smiled: "You mean I will hurt myself, am I talking about depression or low self-esteem?"

"That's not what I meant," the woman said seriously. "Psychology isn't subjective, and I can't make a judgment about your specific condition based on just this conversation... That requires further questions. I'm just giving you some precautions and simple matters to allay your concerns."

Lucien raised his eyebrows, then smiled: "Okay, what's the question?"

The questions included: feeling depressed, often feeling that life has no meaning, I eat as much as usual, I feel shy about the opposite sex, I often feel that someone will hurt me, I often feel angry, I feel uneasy in empty places...

Lucien spent several minutes making his choices, and soon, he could get the answers to many of them with just a glance... but he was indeed writing seriously, as if he already had the answers in mind.

After the three sets of questions were completed, a hood or something like that was put on their heads, with wires and sensors on it.

"Try to relax as much as possible and don't think about anything else," the woman said.

Lucian slowly closed his eyes, but he was not sure whether he was thinking about anything or how much time had passed.

"Okay, you can get up."

The lady took him to the waiting area and said, "Wait for the report. It will be out soon. We will conduct a detailed analysis and examination after it comes out."

"Okay." Lucien sat on a wooden chair. The corridor was empty and white throughout, with a roll of paper at hand... He guessed that many people would cry after completing the test.

This is indeed scientific, using data to analyze psychology and using fluctuations in the cerebral cortex to determine pathology.

Lucien took his hands out of his pockets, took a long breath, and closed his eyes... He also had tears in his eyes.

……

"Prefrontal cortex activity is significantly reduced, and executive function and emotional regulation are impaired." The woman pointed to the data in the table and said, "This is related to negative thinking and rumination."

"The reduction in the size of the hippocampus reinforces negative memories."

"Default mode network excessive self-referential thinking, accompanied by self-blame and catastrophizing tendencies."

Lucien listened, then remained silent for a long time before finally saying, "So, what's the result? What's my illness?"

“Major depression and severe anxiety.”

The lady looked at him and asked, "Do you remember when it first started?"

"Hmm..." This seemed a bit far away to Lucien: "Many years ago, there was a man who hurt me many times. Let's start, probably."

"How many years ago?"

Two years ago in this world, twenty years ago in -32, and half a year ago in -22.

"Twenty-three years ago?"

The lady looked at the report in her hand, focusing on the age column. "That's when you were five years old. This is considered childhood trauma. Could you please tell me the details? Don't worry, I'll keep it confidential. I'll just analyze the experience scientifically, which will make subsequent treatment more convenient and scientific."

But this made Lucian hesitate. It wasn't that he couldn't tell these experiences, as there was nothing to hide. He was just worried that the doctor wouldn't be able to judge objectively. "Can I lie to you?"

"It's better not to. Please trust my confidentiality."

"I do not want to say."

When Lucian thought she would continue to persuade him, she hesitated for a moment and said, "Since you don't trust me enough, then you can selectively tell me what you think I can help you with."

This made Lucian breathe a sigh of relief.

……

The sunlight shines through the thin curtains, bringing a drowsy warmth. The green ivy by the window coils around and stretches out its leaves.

"I've always felt like I was living in an environment of surveillance—I have evidence. I feel like my every move is being monitored, and your actions aren't from your heart. Your proximity to me is the result of a plot...and no matter how hard I struggle, I can't break free—I've done so many things just to prove that I'm not fit to be the person trapped in this story."

"This script, comic, or novel should all be finished, and should be a pit..."

The lady was taking notes and didn't interrupt him.

Lucian should have smoked a cigarette at this time, but he even forgot about it and looked diagonally above his field of vision - it was the clean ceiling.

"Besides that, I often lose some of my memory. What I mean is, although there are many reasons, each of which is valid, but I just lose my memory."

"Can you tell me more about it? When was the last time?"

"The last time was in Gotham." Lucien didn't hide it. "I had a complete identity as soon as I opened my eyes, but I didn't know what my job was, or my relationships. Luckily, I woke up at home... Then I regained my memory. I regained my memory when I woke up from a dream."

"The other time, it was also in Gotham. When I opened my eyes, I had a gun in my hand. In front of me were the parents and their children who were shot by me—I'm not sure if it was me—but I still don't know what happened during that time..."

"And the very beginning, still in Gotham, was when I suddenly opened my eyes one day on a neighbor's balcony. I had no memory of the past, and I still don't have any now. I only remember my name, and even my gender is new."

Lucian's expression was somewhat helpless: "Are these diseases? I mean, could this be something that objectively exists?"

……

The lady stopped writing and smiled. "Sir, there are many strange diseases in this world. What you are describing is indeed rare, but please don't underestimate me. I have heard of them in my short medical career."

……

"Truman syndrome, also known as 'reality show delusion', is a rare delusional disorder in which people believe their lives are being monitored, programmed, or broadcast live around the clock."

This corresponds to the feeling Lucian mentioned at the beginning.

Dissociative fugue is a rare dissociative disorder characterized by sudden, unplanned departures from familiar environments, accompanied by loss of memory of one's identity or past experiences. This behavior is often associated with psychological trauma or a major stressful event. Patients may live under a new identity during the fugue period and have no recollection of the experience upon recovery.

The lady said softly, concern in her eyes: "I can't guarantee that you really have these two conditions... This requires a more detailed diagnosis, but these are similar possibilities."

If it can really convince the locals from the pathological level of reality.

Lucien looked at the elegant psychiatrist in front of him and wanted to sigh - if he had first sought out a psychiatrist like her: "If I had met you earlier... If it was you who diagnosed me."

"Maybe there wouldn't be so many tragedies, and I wouldn't be so powerless... Maybe I would succeed, I mean, succeed in every aspect."

In Jenny's play that gave birth to the clown, in her struggle with a determined future, and in the subsequent empty murder.

With a long sigh, Lucien placed the gun in his arms on the table - this made the lady raise her eyebrows in surprise.

"I know you noticed," he said. "You noticed I had a gun, and you must have noticed that I was going to shoot you at first, doctor."

"You've impressed me." Lucian looked at the woman before him. "I'm grateful to you, whether you feigned ignorance and made a scientific assessment of me, or offered a sincere analysis... Have you called the police?"

"No." The lady smiled. "I thought you were just uneasy."

"Well, I have one more thing to add: thank you for thinking of me in such a kind way."

Lucien didn't like to smile much. For him, positive emotions were more like relaxing his facial muscles, with a very small arc. "If I had met you two years ago... I wouldn't have had to travel so far."

"Three months ago? A month ago? A week ago? Three days ago?"

"Anyway, it's a little late for me to meet you now."

"My wife is dead, my friends are dead, my elders are dead, my like-minded people are dead... all my connections in this world are dead."

"I killed him—will you really keep it a secret? Not report me?"

"People with mental illness will only be sent to a mental hospital." The lady smiled soothingly. She never thought that someone would tell her in front of her that he had killed someone and ask her if she would report it.

"...It's okay, don't be afraid. You can report me." Lucian saw her fear and shook his head indifferently: "But can it be after we finish talking?"

"I mean... I feel lonely even if I'm away from them for just one day... I don't know who to tell these things to, and I don't know what I should do."

"I've been through a lot." Their hands were tangled together, and their fragile skin was rubbed repeatedly.