Monday, May 13, 2013

Living on Mercy


Living on mercy

   Why don’t you try medication?
  No.  I did once. Never again.
   And, didn’t it help?
   Well, obviously not. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here talking to you.
   There is no need to be aggressive.
   I am not being aggressive. I am just stating my feelings.
   And what are they at the moment? Apart from your pathological anger towards me. We can go into that later, because you seem to have a problem with those in authority over you.
  Excuse me? Don’t kid yourself that I am angry at you. You are not that important in my life. It’s not anger, it is frustration and… pain.
   Frustration and pain? Why? What have you got to be frustrated about? All your needs are taken care of.
   My needs? What do you know about my needs? You know nothing…
   I know more than you think. I have read your files. They are pretty extensive. Two wheelie suit cases of them.
   I’ll bet they are.  You people are a bunch of pricks with your psycho mumbo jumbo.
   (Laughs) Getting agro again, are we? They go right back to kindergarten.
   Really? What deviant qualities did I show then?
  Here I will read you an extract.  ‘Helen has all the making of a true psychopath. She often hits other children unprovoked. She threw a brick at another girl splitting her head open and this is why I have recommended the school psychologist’s evaluation. She seems to have a very low IQ and fails to understand what is going on in the classroom. If this is what she is like at four years of age, I fear for her future in school environment. indeed in society.’
   Really. I remember what they used to do to me in that kindergarten. Two kids used to pinch the skin of arm above the elbow or on the neck or push me over when the teacher wasn’t looking. They also called my mother a slut. Said she was such a pig, no man would touch her.  But I loved her. They also said my father was a brave man. He left her when she was four months pregnant with me. He found someone else much younger. He told her she would miscarry. I understood very well what went on in that classroom. The teacher did not.  She used to ask me questions in front of the whole class and when I could not answer them, she would say poor Helen and then give the answer to the class and laugh at me. Everyone else would laugh at me. Parts of me would die in side then. I would feel my whole world was splitting into pieces. I would feel that no one loved me or my mother. In fact, they hated my mother and hurt me because of my mother. They did not know her.
   Is your mother still alive?
   You have the files? Can’t you read? Look it up.
   No. I want to hear it from you. Is she?
   You know very well she’s dead.
   Ok. How did she die? Cancer? Suicide? Natural causes? She would not have been that old.
   Yes, she was sixty eight, nearly sixty nine. Three months before I turned twenty. I was to be married the week after she died.
   Her biological family wanted her cremated. It was to be their last act against her. She was an Orthodox Jewess. She would not have wanted that at all. They took it to court.
   But surely you as the daughter had the final say. I mean, didn’t you count?
   No. You see I was an egg donor baby. They said I really wasn’t a blood relative. They said that my true mother was the woman who donated the egg to my mother and my father. Until the judge ruled that she was my true mother in all aspects but one, I was not allowed to bury my mother, nor were they allowed to cremate her.
   And what is the one aspect that did not make her your real mother in the Judge’s esteemed opinion?
   A minute amount of biological material donated by a very special woman to enable my mother to have a child. But in every other aspect, she was and is my mother.
   So, you don’t regard that woman as your true mother.
   No. I honour the act of generosity. I applaud it, without it I would not be, but it does not make her my mother.  I don’t think she or her family would want me to regard her as my mother. They have their own children and to regard her as my real mother would be insulting to the woman that carried me in her womb and nurtured me for the first nearly twenty years of my life. She also believed in me when very few people did and defended me. That took a lot of courage.
   You appear to be dealing with a lot of things. Very emotionally traumatizing. You are sure you do not want to try something to dull the pain. Why don’t we try a little Zoloft maybe or another antipsychotic medication might help you through the day. It will stablise your emotional state.
   I have read a little about antipsychotic medication.  I am not sure I want to put myself at risk of brain atrophy or Tardive dyskinesia. I have also seen people in my anti bullying group who have taken medication  
. She pauses and scrapes a finger nail pushing the cuticle back against the flesh of the finger.  
   Or gone down the route of electro shock treatment for depression. It’s not pretty. Their speech is slurred. They are walking zombies. It reminds me of an old horror movie. The return of the living dead. Some of them are so unaware of what has happened to them.  They love their happy pills. They don’t have to think. They just do.
  Let’s explore some other issues before time is up. Sexuality. When was the last time you had sex?
   Excuse me?
  Sex. When was the last time you had sex?
  Is that any of your business? I am divorced now for nearly five years. What do you think?
  Well you are still entitled to a sex life. Loss of libido is a classic symptom of depression.
  Oh, get out. And what about love? What if I am not looking for sex, but real love – and a lasting love, at that. Let’s not confuse the two.
   The two?
   Sex and love. They are radically different and the world is very confused at the moment about what they are.
   Don’t you think you are the one who is confused. Sex is a biological function after all. Every healthy body needs sex. The benefits of sex are many fold.
   So, now you are my sex therapist. Any animal can have sex at the drop of a hat. I am not an animal.
   No one is saying that you are. But you need sex to be healthy. Many people with depression have a loss of libido. It is a classic symptom.
   So, I get it. You think if I go out and hump the first willing male I come across, it will be a cure for my depression. Unfortunately due to mobile phones, there are no telephone boxes anymore.  It would be less than discrete to throw someone down behind a tree in a park and have my way with him. Besides, I don’t want that sort of relationship. You have all the classic symptoms of what I call psycho bullshit artist.
  Well, I have suggested that you have medication to help you. You don’t want it. I have suggested enter the dating scene and establishing a connection that will fulfill a physical need that might brighten your life up. You don’t want that either.
   You did not suggest I enter the dating scene. You suggested I go out and have sex. You talked about sex. Sex and love are two different things.
  So you have said. But they are connected. 
  Not really. Love is above sex. Sex is only 25 % of love. The other 75 % is the hard part. The easy part is sex. Anyone can have sex. Dogs have sex. Horses have sex. So do guinea pigs and rabbits. Have you ever seen the testes of a guinea pig? They are well hung little buggers. Along with Billy goats and rams, they have some of the biggest balls in the animal kingdom. It ensures the survival of their DNA. They stup anything that moves sideways and has a womb or not.
   So what gives you peace?
   Do you really want to know?
   Yes. I do. What is your secret to peace? If it is not medication or sex or food?
   I pray.
  You what?
  I pray to God.
  Really? Does He or She answer you?
   How? How does the sky fairy that you believe in answer you? Do you have proof?
   I guess you are an atheist then.
  Yes. I am a rationalist. I believe in science and facts. Not fantasy.
   Do you believe in yourself?  Do you believe in the miracle of creation?  Do you have a child?
  No. I don’t want children. This world is too stuffed to bring children into. STOP right here. We are talking about you. NOT me. You are the patient, not me. You are the sick one. You are the one who has depression.
  Are you married? Do you have a partner? Are you having sex?
  That is none of your business?
  That picture of the woman on your desk, is that your sister? Is that your mother? Is it your partner? Are you a lesbian?

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