Dr. Freudine Speaks To Colleagues About 29th~
Feb 09 '04
The Bottom Line Bottom lines go against my nature.
Author's Note--I revised and added to this, my second installment in my Dr. Freudine series. Seems to make it more part of the story. What do you think?
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“Dear Esteemed Colleagues:
I realize that you expect before you a factual report of my client, 29th_Candidate, based intelligently on my studied observation during hour-long sessions with him in my office, but it was my embarrassing discovery that the more I seemed to get to know him, the less I understood him. I mean this in the most positive sense of not being bored by him or able to predict what he would say. This quality of mystery does not lend itself well to statistical formulation or psychological analysis; however my report may be served quite astutely, I believe, by my many perceptions of the man, which you well know are telling images brought forth from an emotional-like connection made between two people or ideas. I now believe that perceptions are of more value in understanding a person than are facts.
For example, my client is an attorney with political aspirations as a Republican, but he fights for the environment and regular people while rollerblading everywhere. He writes legal proposals and also satirical, philosophical essays that make me giggle or wonder silently. What kind of conclusion could one make of such an unpredictable person?
My report, therefore, will attempt to describe the man as I have at one time or another perceived him during our sessions.
He reminds me of Robert Redford in The Candidate, The Great Gatsby and perhaps Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Indeed he had a Jay Gatsby complex when I first started working with him. McKay, Gatsby and Sundance all went after their dreams for better or worse. At least they gave it their best effort.
He probably loves goofy old comedy and sci-fi movies, but may more identify with One Who Flew Over The Cuckoo Nest and Clockwork Orange.
Socially he embodies the colors yellow and sky blue for his sunny personality and cherry red his passion; privately he’s more purple and chartreuse to reflect a sensitive depth of soul and nobility.
He’s a water sign, a Scorpio, which fits in with his flowing thoughts or stream of consciousness way of communication, not only with me during sessions, but close friends. Think of a waterfall. However, he doesn't take astrology that seriously, but only as amusement once in a while.
He’s like Peter Pan playing with his shadow and living to dream; like Tinkerbelle flitting around and being magical; like Wendy, Michael and John who learn to fly; like The Lost Boys who love being silly, adventuresome boys.
I hear the music of The Doors and Pink Floyd, a pyschedelic rock sound that overwhelms you with feeling and awe. Elton John’s Funeral for a Friend was played, actually, in one of our sessions.
To get a bit silly here, heh, I think he was a Siamese cat, a female stripper, a circus performer, a famous romantic poet, perhaps Thomas More, a sultan with thousands in his harem, a minstrel and Joan of Arc in past lives. Probably a brave knight, too, against fire-breathing dragons!
I also am reminded of “Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” sung by George Michael. It could be him singing of his frustrated need for understanding and love. I hear a wounded child, a sad child yet desperately hopeful. He’s had his fill of clingy, desperate women, of being stalked by some, but it’s a risk he feels he must take to find the right one, who he believes does exist.
Perhaps a poem can sum up my perceptions of my client:
Raindrops sweeten the air
They brush my shoots with their fingers
“Please won’t you grow?
Become all you can be.”
And oh! they sink into my roots,
What a seduction, a loving assault...
And grow I do swiftly,
As the jealous sun dries up the rain,
“Please won’t you come back?
Be my sweet lover always.”
Then oh! They drench me in lust,
what a fresh rain, a ticklish French kisser!
Lastly he seems the type to talk to himself, even in his snatches of sleep. So does this patient need more therapy or can he not heal himself through writing and talking to himself and friends? Has he really gained anything in our sessions? I asked him and he was adamant that he had considerably. He trusts me to be honest with him like few people are, so we shall continue the sessions and see what develops.
Are there any questions? Comments?”
“Yes, I have one of each, Dr. Freudine,” says a female doctor in the back out of sight. “The poem was a very lovely touch and really gives me an image of your client. Could I please hear it again?”
I relax and smile. At least one doctor appreciates my creative approach! “Thank you, Doctor...I’m sorry I can’t see you to know who you are.”
“Dr. Devience. I’d love to speak with you more about your client. He sounds like he could respond well to a controversial therapy I use to great success. It’s a hands-on approach that takes it beyond just talk, which is so limiting, especially if it flows without direction. See me later if you’re interested, okay?”
“Oh, that’s…most interesting, thank you,” I fumble and reread the poem quickly.
“Dr. Freudine,” sighs an accented, male voice. I find him in front, slouched and arms crossed, a pinched-mouth Englishman. “Your creative approach was somewhat amusing, but I think I can speak for the majority of us that you have wasted our valuable time. A psychiatrist is not just a best friend or potential lover as your little verse would indicate. I’m not finished. You seem content to disregard your professionalism by courting transference like a lovesick child. I advise you, little good will it do, to abandon therapy at once, even psychiatry. Good day!” He unwraps himself and is gone like a shot.
I’m unable to breathe. My chest is so tight that I wonder for a second if I’ve died. Suddenly, though, I push out the gasp plugging everything up and like my worst nightmare, tears roll down my face. “I...I...gotta go!”
Somehow I don’t fall flat on my face and manage to escape, becoming more and more angry. I wasted his time? Hey, he wasted mine! Transference! The very idea is an insult.
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Member: Jan Peregrine
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Farrah, I'm stunned. Play with the other angels, love.
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