Todestrieb
"We had your medical records transferred from the person you had been seeing at school, a Doctor, uh
"
"Fay. Doctor Fay."
"Yes, Dr. Fay. Man or woman?"
"Woman."
"Is it true what they say? Did you feel better understood by a woman than you would by a man?"
"No, not at all. In fact, sometimes I think I'm too masculine for a mere woman to handle."
"That's very interesting," Dr. Morton says with a half-laugh, noting something down on his blank pad. "So what was she treating you for?"
"She didn't know exactly."
"Also very interesting. If you could diagnose yourself, what would you say you had?"
"I'm a megalomaniacal sex addict with violent tendencies."
"Ok, I'm beginning to see why she mentioned that you, how did she say it 'dodges serious discussion with witty banter'."
You make a display of yawning.
"I thought you said that we were going to do something different than the usual shrink crap." Saying this out loud makes you taste the real disappointment that you have been feeling since he walked in the door. Dr. Morton hesitates for a moment.
"Get up," he commands.
You do as he tells you.
"Stand here."
Again, you follow his orders.
He grips you by the chin, pressing his thumb hard into your stitches. You wince and try to free yourself, but he has you in another bone-splitting bind with his other arm. He brings his face very close to yours, smiling triumphantly. The pain in your face fills up your entire head, making thoughts feel blurry and words turn in circles.
"I'm going to ask you some very direct and uncomfortable questions, and you are going to answer them. The more honest you are, the quicker this will be over. Ready?"
You nod. He relaxes his hand slightly, enough to allow you to speak but also enough to make him impossible to ignore.
"Did you love your mother?"
"Very much."
"Do you love your father too?"
"Not really."
"Why not?"
"Because he wasn't there for me."
"When wasn't he there for you?"
"When..during the when Uncle Frank..." You can't continue.
"Who's Uncle Frank?" Your eyes tear as you revive your efforts to get away from Dr. Morton. He holds you fast. "We'll come back to that later. How about your brother John? What do you think of him?"
"He betrayed me too," you whimper, letting your tears fall freely from your eyes, onto Dr. Morton's hand, down to the floor. "He he saw it all, but now he barely talks to me." The grip on your face relaxes. You close your eyes as the warm back of a moistened hand strokes your cheek.
"Where is your family from originally?"
"Ireland."
"When did they come to Boston?"
"At different times. On my mom's side when they ran out of potatoes."
He laughs gently, running his fingers up the length of your scar. You gasp slightly as an unexpected contraction tightens deep inside your body.
"Are you attracted to me?"
"Yes."
"Why did you hurt yourself?"
"I thought my body was too perfect. It didn't reflect what was inside."
"Did doing what you did make you feel better?"
"No, not really."
"Did you ever do anything like this before?"
"No."
"But haven't you slept with lots of men?"
"How would you know?"
"Because I've seen your type before."
"My type? What the fuck are you talking about?" You stare angrily at him, and he responds in kind by reinstating his death grip on your waist and your face. You cry out in pain.
"Do you think you sleep around for the same reason that you cut yourself?"
"No, that has nothing to do with it! I fuck people for revenge, you stupid asshole."
"Revenge for what, my dear? For what Uncle Frank did to you?"
Unable to control yourself any longer, you twist out of Morton's grasp, pushing him away from you with all your might. He stumbles backward a couple of feet, his lower back crashing into the edge of the examination table. His face twists in pain, an expression that changes imperceptibly over the next few seconds until you realize with a shock that it has transformed into a look of utter exultation. He breathes heavily, staring at you with fever-wet eyes.
"Thank you," he says, gripping the table for balance. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"
You just stare back at him dumbfounded.
"And now I know where we stand. Next time will be quite different, I assure you. Hope that wasn't just more boring shrink crap."
Without another word, Dr. Morton leaves the room.
Had a most illuminating conversation with Anna O. today. Her history is almost certainly one of serious abuse. She exhibits signs of PTSD and also seems to suffer from dissociative episodes. There is a possibility for a further diagnosis of Borderline Personality, but this and her dissociative symptoms are understood as secondary effects of her trauma, which I believe is the result not of her mother's death but of the abuse she has suffered at a presently unknown time in her life
Speaking of abuse, I need to go home and severely abuse myself or I am gonna fucking explode.
"Fay. Doctor Fay."
"Yes, Dr. Fay. Man or woman?"
"Woman."
"Is it true what they say? Did you feel better understood by a woman than you would by a man?"
"No, not at all. In fact, sometimes I think I'm too masculine for a mere woman to handle."
"That's very interesting," Dr. Morton says with a half-laugh, noting something down on his blank pad. "So what was she treating you for?"
"She didn't know exactly."
"Also very interesting. If you could diagnose yourself, what would you say you had?"
"I'm a megalomaniacal sex addict with violent tendencies."
"Ok, I'm beginning to see why she mentioned that you, how did she say it 'dodges serious discussion with witty banter'."
You make a display of yawning.
"I thought you said that we were going to do something different than the usual shrink crap." Saying this out loud makes you taste the real disappointment that you have been feeling since he walked in the door. Dr. Morton hesitates for a moment.
"Get up," he commands.
You do as he tells you.
"Stand here."
Again, you follow his orders.
He grips you by the chin, pressing his thumb hard into your stitches. You wince and try to free yourself, but he has you in another bone-splitting bind with his other arm. He brings his face very close to yours, smiling triumphantly. The pain in your face fills up your entire head, making thoughts feel blurry and words turn in circles.
"I'm going to ask you some very direct and uncomfortable questions, and you are going to answer them. The more honest you are, the quicker this will be over. Ready?"
You nod. He relaxes his hand slightly, enough to allow you to speak but also enough to make him impossible to ignore.
"Did you love your mother?"
"Very much."
"Do you love your father too?"
"Not really."
"Why not?"
"Because he wasn't there for me."
"When wasn't he there for you?"
"When..during the when Uncle Frank..." You can't continue.
"Who's Uncle Frank?" Your eyes tear as you revive your efforts to get away from Dr. Morton. He holds you fast. "We'll come back to that later. How about your brother John? What do you think of him?"
"He betrayed me too," you whimper, letting your tears fall freely from your eyes, onto Dr. Morton's hand, down to the floor. "He he saw it all, but now he barely talks to me." The grip on your face relaxes. You close your eyes as the warm back of a moistened hand strokes your cheek.
"Where is your family from originally?"
"Ireland."
"When did they come to Boston?"
"At different times. On my mom's side when they ran out of potatoes."
He laughs gently, running his fingers up the length of your scar. You gasp slightly as an unexpected contraction tightens deep inside your body.
"Are you attracted to me?"
"Yes."
"Why did you hurt yourself?"
"I thought my body was too perfect. It didn't reflect what was inside."
"Did doing what you did make you feel better?"
"No, not really."
"Did you ever do anything like this before?"
"No."
"But haven't you slept with lots of men?"
"How would you know?"
"Because I've seen your type before."
"My type? What the fuck are you talking about?" You stare angrily at him, and he responds in kind by reinstating his death grip on your waist and your face. You cry out in pain.
"Do you think you sleep around for the same reason that you cut yourself?"
"No, that has nothing to do with it! I fuck people for revenge, you stupid asshole."
"Revenge for what, my dear? For what Uncle Frank did to you?"
Unable to control yourself any longer, you twist out of Morton's grasp, pushing him away from you with all your might. He stumbles backward a couple of feet, his lower back crashing into the edge of the examination table. His face twists in pain, an expression that changes imperceptibly over the next few seconds until you realize with a shock that it has transformed into a look of utter exultation. He breathes heavily, staring at you with fever-wet eyes.
"Thank you," he says, gripping the table for balance. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"
You just stare back at him dumbfounded.
"And now I know where we stand. Next time will be quite different, I assure you. Hope that wasn't just more boring shrink crap."
Without another word, Dr. Morton leaves the room.
**********************************
Had a most illuminating conversation with Anna O. today. Her history is almost certainly one of serious abuse. She exhibits signs of PTSD and also seems to suffer from dissociative episodes. There is a possibility for a further diagnosis of Borderline Personality, but this and her dissociative symptoms are understood as secondary effects of her trauma, which I believe is the result not of her mother's death but of the abuse she has suffered at a presently unknown time in her life
Speaking of abuse, I need to go home and severely abuse myself or I am gonna fucking explode.