“I’m considering a sabbatical,” I say.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“It’s not a total surprise,” he says, “considering how you’ve been struggling.”
“It took Monica to intervene, point out how stressed and rotten I’ve been. I’m not sleeping. Dreaming a lot, but not sleeping.”
I blow my nose. I sense a cold emerging. My throat already raw from a night’s worth of dry coughing.
“I’m sorry,” Mohsin says, scanning the room. “Let’s order. Then we’ll talk.”
In pursuit of the Pretty Freckled Waitress I too glance around the room, but it appears she is not here today. Maybe she’s got the day off, I think, picturing her on the back of some boyfriend’s motorbike, her strawberry curls catching the wind.
“I can’t get up in the mornings,” I begin.
“That’s not like you.”
“Find myself making all manner of excuses not to go to work. Just like when Clara died.”
“I see.”
A pause.
“So maybe it’s nothing to do with your practice,” he says, fingering his tie—a Windsor knot. “Maybe it’s you. What’s going on, Daniel?”
“I wanted to drink last week,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says firmly. “Not an option.”
A waitress finally arrives at our table. Pretty, but not freckled.
“Large bottle of sparkling mineral water, please. Two glasses. Thank you,” Mohsin orders.
The waitress nods and walks away.
“Were I to refer Alexa on, what would be the protocol?”
“Just Alexa?”
“I feel she needs specific analysis.”
He squints at me, notes a flicker in my lower lip.
“What’s really troubling you?”
“I just don’t feel equipped.”
“Go on.”
“I should let someone else take care of her. I’m too involved. Too attached. Part of me wants to go to the Electra and—”
He sighs. “So now you’re some vigilante shrink?”
“I should refer her on to someone else, probably a woman.”
“That’s not the answer.”
“I feel impotent.”
“Literally? Or metaphorically?”
“The latter. And just with her, I might add. I have fifteen patients, most of them steady and improved. But with Alexa, it’s different. This crippling disorder of hers, it’s too much.”
“It could be harmful if you give up on her now.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’re more than equipped to do this piece of work. You’re tired. She’s traumatized. What’s happening with your countertransference?”
“I feel both powerless, ineffective, and without agency.”
“That’s three.”
“Sorry?”
“You said both, then gave three.”
“Oh. Well, mostly powerless.”
“Which is how Alexa feels, only a hundred times more. Listen to your countertransference. It’s the best tool you have, apart from that big brain of yours. Remember, we can read as much as we like and consider ourselves incredibly clever with interpretations and insight, but in the end it’s authentic feeling and countertransference that informs the work. A direct result, a window into the patient’s unconsciousness.”
A pause.
“Look. Alexa’s inability to control her desire and the course of her life is a moral problem. One might say her pathology is political. You need to make her aware of this.”
The waitress arrives with our water. Lands two glasses and pours.
“What would you like?” she asks, taking out her notepad and pen.
“The crab,” Mohsin answers. “Times two.”
“Very good,” she says, turning on her heel.
“You were saying?” I ask.
“You need to make her aware of her pathology.”
“I agree. But it’s when I’m faced with Dolly, her youngest personality, that I unravel. She’s so vulnerable.”
“And what does that say about you? Your inner boy? Maybe there are some things you need to work through?”
I nod, agreeing.
“I miss Clara and I barely see my mother,” I say, a swell of sadness finding my throat. “And now Monica wants a baby.”
“Quite a trio.”
I nod again, sipping the bubbly water.
Mohsin places his palm on my wrist.
“You’re overwhelmed. Flooded.”
I feel myself wanting to cry but hold back, fearful Mohsin will become exasperated with me. Instead I reach for my briefcase, the distraction soothing my hurt.
“Alexa left these at reception for me, just before my holiday,” I say, offering him the manila envelope.
To Mr. Talky,
I drew these for you. Love, Dolly
Mohsin smiles.
The first picture is of an orangutan. A large, scrawly but immensely accurate line drawing. Its markings with an amber-colored pencil capturing the swinging ape almost perfectly. Long hair blowing, the orangutan hangs from two beetling vines. I note the intense concentration that has gone into its face, particularly the eyes. The second picture is of a gibbon, again drawn with tremendous detail. Its sinewy arm stretched toward what appears to be a thick rope. The third is of a rhesus and her baby—mother and child—both resting with the aid of hunched legs and open palms, their arms clinging protectively. While it’s not as accurate as the orangutan and the gibbon, I favor this one most, which I imagine is due to my respect for psychologist Harry Harlow and his observations of the wire-monkey mothers, his discoveries changing how we understand early attachment.
“She’s talented, this younger part. Creative.” Mohsin smiles, placing mother and child on top of the other two.
“The drawings are representative of her loss,” I say, “her mother in particular.”
“I see. And what about her stepmother, Anna?”
“I suggested Alexa ask her for help with her medication, which she was open to.”
“Good. You could even schedule a call with Anna, maybe.”
“Really? Might that not jeopardize trust between Alexa and me?”
“Mm, possibly. Have it as a backup plan, then.”
I picture Alexa clinging to a surrogate wire monkey mother, realizing she was instead thrown to wolves.
“Look, no one said this work is easy,” he says, handing back the manila envelope.
“I know.”
“And there are certainly easier ways to earn a living.”
“So it seems.”
Mohsin loosens his tie and leans back.
“Intervention is needed,” he says. “Clear your mind. Sooner or later you need to make some decisions. All this conflict with Monica—it’s impinging on your work and well-being. If you don’t want another child, tell her. If you do, then great. But try to level out. Visit your mother. Figure out what you want. Regarding Alexa: You’ve been colluding with her neurosis, allowing her to act out with little challenge. All this evidence gathering and risky behavior—it has to stop. She’s repeating a pattern of abuse and needs to extricate herself from that club and anyone who’s associated with it. While she continues to be involved she remains in trauma time, not real time. Encourage her to cut contact. And quick.”
I pause. “So more intervention.”
“Precisely.”