The Therapist

“I am a doctor. I have patients who need me. I’m the hero. You crooked cops are not! I don’t have time for this. I have to get to my patients,” I say. Then I burst into tears and throw a fit as they attempt to handcuff me.

“Ma’am, we need you to calm down. And please stay still,” one of the two officers says firmly as we all stand in the living room.

“You calm down. I am calm,” I retort.

The other officer tightens the cuffs on my wrists.

“Loosen those things. You’re hurting me.”

“Ma’am, we need you to calm down,” the first officer repeats.

Candice catches my eye. “Brianne, calm down and listen to what they’re saying. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Shut your whining up, Candice. Now, one of you crooked officers, loosen these damn cuffs.” I kick my foot back, and the heel of my tennis shoe lands in one of the officers’ midsection.

“You just assaulted a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights?” The officer I kicked shoves me toward the front door. I can tell I angered him.

“I am not illiterate. I am a highly decorated therapist. Do you understand your rights?”

“Well, now you can decorate a jail cell,” the angry officer tells me as he and his partner escort me to the squad car.

What have I done? I panic. “Mr. Officer, I am so sorry. Please listen to me. If you put my name out there, I can lose everything,” I plead.

“It’s too late for that. You should have thought about that before you broke into that home and assaulted my partner,” the first officer tells me. “Now do us a favor and shut up.” Then he opens the back door to the squad car, puts his hand on the top of my head, and I sink down onto the backseat.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I know my rights. Help! The police are assaulting me!” I scream from the backseat as I kick my legs.

“It looks like the shrink needs some shrinking herself,” the first officer taunts.

* * *

“Brianne, this is serious. They’re charging you with unauthorized entry, resisting arrest, and assault. What the hell happened?” my longtime friend and attorney, Deborah Tompkins, says.

“I didn’t assault, resist, or enter anything unauthorized. I have no idea what they’re speaking of. Maybe I blacked out, because I don’t recall any of that.”

“Listen to me and hear me good. This is serious. For heaven’s sake, you attacked someone who was just raped! What in heavens came over you? I hope you know you won’t be able to get around any of this with your psychotherapy. If you want me to help you, I need you to be honest with me about everything, if you plan on ever seeing the light of day again.”

“Rape? She’s not the only one that has been violated. I didn’t hurt her. I asked her a few questions. That’s it.”

“Well, it is your word against hers, and you were in that house, unwelcome.”

“I knew where the key was. Candice told everyone where it was.”

“That’s great, but did she invite you in at that time? And you said she wasn’t the only one that was violated. Is there something you’d like to share with me? This could possibly help with your case.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Deborah.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me clearly. You could be facing jail time. Jenna is pressing charges against you for attacking her. The owner of the home confirms Jenna’s statement, and the officers put in their report that you assaulted her, kicked one of them. And to add insult to injury, everyone in the house confirmed these allegations.”

“After all I’ve done for those ungrateful sons of bitches.”

“Brianne! What has come over you? I have never seen you like this before. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to lose everything. I’ve worked so hard for all this. They will take my licensure away from me. You have to do everything in your power not to allow that to happen. I don’t care what you do. You cannot allow them to strip me of everything. Do you hear me, Deborah? You work for me. Now please do your job,” I snap, coming apart at the seams.

“As your friend, you’re scaring me.”

“That makes two of us, and that’s not good. I need you to be fearless and to save my livelihood. It’s all that I have left. They took everything else away from me.”

“They? Who is this they that you speak of, Brianne? Look, if you want me to do my job, I need you to help me. How can I stand before a judge and shed light on anything if you leave me standing in the dark? Now, please talk to me.”

“So you can judge me? Everyone isn’t equipped to handle the things I’ve gone through or the things I help others overcome. I’m a professional at all this, so I can handle it. I just need you to be the attorney you aspired to become and do your job.”

“Maybe you need other representation, as it appears you’re not comfortable being open and honest with me.”

“While you were fulfilling your dreams in law school, I suffered from a mental breakdown. I underwent a significant amount of therapy, and yet the pain is still present. It appears no matter how hard you try, you never get over the loss of a child, especially when you’re the sole cause of it. I struggle every day, wondering if it was negligence and if knowing who had fathered Sienna prompted me to be negligent. Either way, I cannot live with myself because of it. My practice is the only thing that has been my saving grace. So, as I have been saying, I need you to do everything in your power to save me from losing my other baby. My firstborn. My practice.”

“Brianne, I am not a doctor, but it sounds like the last thing you need to be doing is to be worrying about and practicing anything right now. You’re no good to yourself right now without the proper healing, so there’s no way you’ll be what any of your patients need at the moment. I am saying this to you as your friend.”

“Right now I don’t need or want you as my friend or my attorney. Guard! Please get this woman away from me. And, for the record, I’ve helped the woman whose house I was in, and she is doing great. I am a highly decorated therapist. An award-winning therapist. How dare you pass judgment?”

* * *

These past few days, I’ve learned the hard way that you have to be selective and cautious as to whom you consider a friend. Deborah is the last person whom I’d consider a confidante. She should be disbarred for violating attorney-client privilege. She petitioned the court about my case, saying it would be a conflict of interest if she stayed on as my attorney, and somehow she recommended that I undergo a mental health evaluation. Which is a barefaced lie, considering I fired her. How she was able to do this and not be stripped of her credentials to practice as an attorney is beyond me.

My new attorney, Jeffrey Scardingo, informed me Deborah did everything ethically and legally. He also suggested I take advantage of the opportunity to have a mental health assessment, as it could be vital to my defense in the case. He asked that I be open and honest, so that I can win this case and save my name. I wonder if he handed me a bag of bull. In any event, after I listened to the charges in depth, opening up to a court-appointed therapist might be my saving grace.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Brianne. Nice to meet you. I am Dr. Javier Reid.”

“Nice to meet you. I am Dr. Binet.”

“Excuse me. My apologies, Dr. Binet. Please have a seat. I am aware that you have been practicing for quite some time now, which makes you fully aware of how this works. So instead of trying to pick your brain to get you to talk, how about you try to take your Dr. Binet hat off and tell me about Brianne? I know it’s tough being both, so tell me about it.”

“Finally, someone that understands me. Usually, I decline male representation, whether its therapy or legal counsel. However, it appears I struck gold this time.”

“Do you want to tell me why you decline male representation?” Dr. Reid asks.

“The men that I’ve encountered use their power as a man to diminish and belittle a woman in order to assert their authority.”

“Do you mind elaborating?’

“I will get there. Don’t you worry.”

“Please continue.”

“You know, I often describe myself as a high achiever who wants to do everything right. Because of my profession, I am aware of the early signs of depression. However, despite me knowing the signs, I ignored them when I exhibited them myself. For instance, I’d talk to patients about being depressed, how they’re struggling with sleeping, and how waking up saddens them, because death appears more promising. As their therapist, I advised them to challenge their negative thoughts, and as a result, I have had great success stories with my patients.

“Naively, I thought I was immune to any mental challenges myself, and I didn’t know I’d succumbed to depression the way that my clients have. That was the situation I found myself in several years ago. I thought I’d recovered from being raped by my husband’s friend, up until I began seeing patients outside the facility I was practicing out of. Without realizing it, I crashed, and I have been in a sunken place ever since. All I ever wanted was for every person that caused harm to a woman sexually to pay for their sins. Death was my wish.” I take a deep breath.

I go on. “I hate men because none of you can be trusted. The only reason I’ve opened up thus far to you is that I know it will help my case. If it weren’t for this case, I wouldn’t say a word to you. I’m sure if we weren’t here, you’d try to use what I’ve shared with you against me and play on my weaknesses. That’s all you cowards are good for. Because of the male species, I lost a child, and if I had my way, every one of you would pay, whether you committed the act or not. The simple fact that you’re a man makes you responsible.”