Winter 2025 - Vol. 22, Issue 1

A Chemical Imbalance

Dr. Ernst Sullivan, Chief Terraforming Officer of NASA’s mission to Bahazar, sat in his office on the newly terraformed planet. He looked at his wall and observed a Venn diagram. It had four overlapping circles: “available solvent,” “energy,” “appropriate environmental conditions,” and “environmental requirements.” In the middle, the perfectly balanced center, overlapping all four circles, “habitable.”

Ernst turned quickly to the Para-Terraform 7.0, as it ran its elemental equilibrium equation. “The oxygen levels on Bahazar must decrease,” Ernst anxiously repeated three times like a wizard casting a spell. He flipped a switch; the oxygen levels were supposed to decrease…they didn’t.

Trembling, Ernst toggled on his keyboard through surveillance video of the 5 zones of Bahazar– agricultural, industrial, pleasure, fitness, and siderian. The siderian zone was malfunctioning.

In para-terraforming Bahazar, Ernst had recreated the Great Oxygen Event, which occurred on Earth 2.5 billion years ago and led from anaerobic life to aerobic life. He did this by first tapping into water sources beneath Bahazar and populating them with cyanobacteria. The cyanobacteria multiplied rapidly, but at a controlled rate, and started to produce the first oxygen on Bahazar. This was the beginning of a new Eden.

In scanning the siderian zone, Ernst detected that the cyanobacteria were multiplying at an exponential rate, rapidly producing excessive oxygen like an uncontrollable virus. At this rate, the atmosphere would become toxic in 2 hours. Bahazar’s 500 inhabitants would suffocate.

Terraforming. Terror Forming. The balance is off. They must have mutated.

Ernst crawled under his desk, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself, “Goldilocks. Goldilocks. Goldilocks.”

Just Right

As a child, Ernst would lie in bed as his mother read to him. Fairy tales. Ernst remembered them all vividly, but one among them captured his imagination: “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” At five years old, Ernst was transfixed by one line in particular:

“I’d like the porridge to be not too hot, nor too cold, but just right.”

The idea of “just right” deeply fascinated Ernst. He was obsessed with straightening things–soap bottles, cups, chairs, pencils, shoes in the mudroom, anything out of order. For Ernst, this meant adding order to chaos. The idea of a feel-good middle zone, a perfect medium, relaxed his anxiety. It could make the fear stop, for a moment.

Ernst suffered from unwanted sensations, obsessions that drove him to repetitions. 

OCD (Others’ Conceptions of the Divergent)

Patty

I wake up in the middle of the night one Saturday to come downstairs to see Ernst perseverating on the thermostat.

“The right temperature, right temperature, right temperature.”

Ernst is having another OCD episode.

“Lower the temperature to approximately 58 to 62 degrees. There’s no need for an excessive heating and cooling system. We just need enough heat to protect the pipes,” said Ernst while scratching his cheek. I noticed that his cheek was getting quite sore and red, on the verge of bleeding.

“Ernst, calm down; this is your obsession, not life-threatening.”

My words have little impact on him: he continues to chant his lines like a parrot mimicking an authentic human being. As his older sister, it pains me to see him a slave to his anxiety.

“Ernst, let’s get you out of this. 5-4-3-2-1. Focus on five things you can see. We’ve done this before. This will regulate you.”

Ernst turned reluctantly away from the thermostat, directly towards me.

“Thermostat.” he murmured.

“Great job, Ernst. What other things do you see?”

“S-s-space heater,” he stammered. “Pictures on the wall,” Ernst yelled out loud. 

“Shhhhhh, Ernst; the rest of our family is sleeping; keep going.”

“I see a window. I see my sister,” Ernst said. I could tell he was relaxing, his stress hormones no longer surging.

“OK, Ernst, now focus on four things you can touch.”

“The thermostat, I can touch the thermostat,” he said with rigid fixation, as he threw himself at the thermostat. “Let me press the button to turn it on and adjust the temperature,” he yelled.

“The right temperature, right temperature, right temperature.”

Ernst begins scratching his cheek again fiercely, while toggling the temperature control. I am losing him. I am not able to soothe him.

“Mom, Dad, wake up and come here right now. Ernst needs your help,” I scream out in desperation.

Milo

Ernst and I park our bikes by the side of the field. Biking always relaxes Ernst. That is, until we have to park our bikes. This triggers him. He has to line it up exactly even with mine; it can’t vary at all; it can’t be on uneven ground.

I have to distract him, so I take his hand gently. “Big bro, listen to the wind blowing through the wheat field. Ernst, it’s ok.” We start to walk across the field together, a rich field of wheat we like to visit. It is a beautiful summer day; Ernst and I are wearing shorts and t-shirts; the wheat is rustling, the wind is blowing, and the birds are chirping.

“Ernst, what do you hear?” I asked him.

“I hear cicadas in the distance rubbing their wings together like high-pitched whines. They make nature fascinating with their endless swarming numbers each spring and summer,” Ernst’s voice echoed across the field.

“Good,” I said with encouragement.

Ernst is starting to soak up the world; this is good for him.

“Now, can you think of two more things that you can hear?” I asked him.

“I hear the birds singing their sweet song: it’s the glory of the pursuit of thriving. That sweet song that they sing. I love being outdoors with you, Milo.”

“Do you think you’re a poet, Ernst? I know you have that in you.”

“I now hear the wheat rustling all around us. It feels so good on my body; nature is an all-mighty being; she conjures up her own witchcraft to help produce a vibrating sound.”

Ernst’s eyes narrow: he drifts off into a dream-like state. I ask him, “What are you thinking about?” He answers, “I hear the jazz song Witchcraft by the Bill Evans Trio.”

Sobbing, I realize that even though I can’t fully seek to understand how Ernst is feeling, I feel for my brother, a deep abiding love.

Stephen

I clean the toilets at the Conference center, rotating the brush left to right, left to right, left to right, 3 times. That’s what it takes. I wonder if Ernst gets it from me.

Katherine

Opening the trifold blue and white pamphlet the doctor sent me home with, I read aloud to myself. Bold green letters jump off the page and assault my eyes:

OBSESSIONS, COMPULSIONS, ERP THERAPY.

The words begin to spread out like a map, charting a new direction for me.

“Exposure and response prevention therapy or ERP was created specifically to treat OCD, and it works by interrupting the cycle of obsessions and compulsions. In ERP, you’re encouraged to gradually and carefully confront your obsessions, sit with the discomfort you feel, and resist the urge to do compulsions.”

Confused, my mind rushes through all that was certain and all that I didn’t know. It was certain that Ernst had OCD: he received the diagnosis from his doctor. I didn’t need the diagnosis–all I knew was that he had been paralyzed with fear since he was five years old. But is it possible to help him? Will our insurance cover this?

Sit with the discomfort you feel; sit with the discomfort you feel; sit with the discomfort you feel.

I read on:

The 5-4-3-2-1 technique: focus the patient on five things they can see, four things they can touch, three things they can hear, two things they can smell, and one thing they can taste. It shifts the patient’s focus from anxiety-provoking thoughts to the present moment.

Maybe, we can do this ourselves.

Saving the World

Ernst’s repetitions assured him that catastrophic disasters would be avoided.

At one point, Ernst felt compelled to straighten every chair in the house, bursting into his siblings’ rooms to straighten their desk chairs, straightening every dining room chair even with people sitting in them. At another point, Ernst felt the urge to repeatedly say, “MC13 is the gene that makes my mother and older sister’s natural hair red.” He would say that line every time he walked through a doorway in his house. If he didn’t, he feared death. Another ritual he performed was rubbing his eyebrows every time he had a thought about world destruction; with every thought, he would rub his eyebrows intensely fifteen times, until they eventually fell out. At some point, like his eyebrows, the habit faded away, leading only to another one.

Terror Forming

Fifteen-year-old Ernst hid, shivering under the table in the large conference room. His eyes had to be closed perfectly. No light could come through or else the Earth would be destroyed. Ernst hoped that his father wouldn't find him. A janitor at the local conference center in Houston, TX, Ernst’s father brought Ernst to work with him to give his siblings a break. Ernst challenged his siblings; they were perplexed by his obsessions, repetitions, and rigid behaviors. At his father’s work, Ernst would escape to hide in private, dark, soothing spaces in the conference center. These spaces relaxed him–for at least a moment, he could feel a lack of terror.

Under the table in the conference room, as he rocked back and forth, Ernst heard footsteps filing into the conference hall. He could hear a microphone squeal as someone began:

“Good morning, welcome to the tenth lunar and planetary science conference and the first terraforming colloquium. We all know that current global climate patterns are unusually inhospitable and can be expected to worsen even without artificial damage unless purposeful steps are taken to counteract these natural trends.”

I must be dreaming.

Ernst's paralyzing fear of global crisis was the topic of a day of speeches and conversations from a range of scientists, astronomers, and industry experts. He held tight to the base of the table, avoiding the flailing feet of these strange adults. As they scrawled in their notebooks and clinked their glasses for hours upon hours, one phrase among the millions struck Ernst:

“Other worlds in the solar system can be transformed to host earth-like biospheres, to become ‘new earths.’”

The earth wouldn’t just die? Could a nearby earth replace it?

Another speaker bellowed, “The traditional science fiction term for this concept is ‘terraforming.’ Its definition includes the artificial introduction and maintenance of ‘earth-like’ conditions on other planets in the solar system and beyond to serve as new habitats for future humanity.”

Ernst’s mind went numb.

Terror forming. Terraforming. Destruction could lead to creation?

Suddenly, Ernst’s anxious body was calmed.

A Chemical Balance

Mr. Ricardas walked to the front of his tenth grade classroom. A metal table was piled high with a mysterious sand-like substance.

Ernst was panicked while he watched: orange sparks threw the oxide crystals into the air, producing an effect that looks like a miniature volcanic eruption. He saw a world exploding.

Then, his teacher wrote this equation on the board:

Ammonium dichromate, (NH4)2Cr2O7, decomposes when heated to produce chromium(III) oxide [Cr2O3], nitrogen gas, and water vapor:

(NH4)2Cr2O7(s) ——> Cr2O3(s) + N2(g) + 4H2O(g)

A balanced equation. A chemical equation could bring order to chaos. He relaxed in his chair and breathed deeply.

This will solve so many problems.

5-4-3-2-1

Thirty-two years later, pioneering a mission to escape a dying Earth, Dr. Ernst Sulivian sat under his desk, beguiled and terrified.

What chemical reaction could reduce oxygen? Carbon dioxide; how do I produce it? His colleague, Dr. Clementine Sandoval, had developed the agricultural sector on Bahazar.

Ernst realized that the most expedient way to reduce oxygen was through rapid production of carbon dioxide. The most available resource to reduce carbon dioxide was the biomass on the planet.

Ernst crawled out from under his desk. He had to do the unthinkable: to burn the crops. 

What would she think? Would her heart be broken?

He looked for his pill bottle on his desk; he fumbled for it and tripped, striking his head against the desk. He felt the rush of blood and a warm trickle from his forehead into his eyes. Bleary eyed, he opened the bottle and gulped down 3 tablets of Paroxetine. “Goldilocks, Goldilocks, Goldilocks,” he anxiously repeated three times.

He looked at the control panel with angst and fury. Overwhelmed, he thought about the balance of oxygen on Bahazar. Ernst’s finger hovered above the turquoise button–the vaporize protocol. He contemplated pressing it. A range of mixed emotions washed over him, as he considered destroying Clem’s beautiful crops.

How would Clementine feel if I did? How would she feel if I didn’t? How will we survive without them?

Ernst remembered earlier that day seeing Clementine going about her routine in the agricultural sector. He was struck by her dazzling beauty, her long flowing bright red hair, gorgeous alabaster skin, and pale blue eyes. In the seven years since they met, Ernst’s ardor had not lessened; instead, he had grown more captivated like a clownfish paralyzed by a sea anemone. Foolish in love, Ernst was so enamored of Clem that he could never imagine destroying what she had worked so diligently to create.

Ernst crawled out from under his desk and stood with resolve.

5-4-3-2-1

Author’s Note: OCD is not just a stereotype of being neat; it means imbalances between chemical messengers, or neurotransmitters. Glutamate and gamma-aminobutyric acid (Gaba) in certain brain regions. Chemical imbalances can transform a planet; these imbalances can also transform a person.