You get the impression that if you don’t do something quickly, today, they will be in the psychiatric ward tomorrow. It doesn’t seem possible that they will survive even a few hours of such agony. They may say such things as, “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my mind.” These statements are not simply casual remarks; they are confused and desperate attempts to describe the terrible suffering they are experiencing. However, it is not their description of their state but rather the state itself – the impression these patients convey by their presence as they sit before you – that is of significance in recognising the Helleborus image.
“How long have you been in this state?”, you might ask. They try to remember, but are unable to tell you. They cannot recall whether it has been two, or three, or five days. When they come to you in such an advanced state on their own, without a friend or relative to help, it is doubtful that you will be able to get much information from them.
As you perceive that they cannot describe their state themselves, you may suggest, “Do you feel that you are going insane?” “Yes”, comes their agonised response. Again, however, it is the state that is of paramount importance, not the words. Words are generally not forthcoming in these patients.
Helleborus patients often give you the impression that they are holding on to you. It is as if they are pleading with you to help them, but they don’t actually say, “Help me!”; they just look at you in such a way that you feel they want to hold on to you, to hold your hand. “Save me. Save me! You’re going to help me. Thank you. Thank you!” Such is the nature of the message that is conveyed through their expression.
Furthermore, these patients often look at the physician as if they want to thank him. With but a look they will say, “Thank you; you’ve saved my life.” The idea is that to them, you are a god, irrespective of your reputation or capabilities. “I’ve no other hope.