Quiet Room - Lori Schiller [98]
I thought about punching him in the face. But finally I decided to confront him instead.
“What are you doing listening in when I'm talking with my therapist?” I demanded.
He wasn't listening to anything, he said. It was Dr. Fischer's feet he was interested in. He was just sitting there watching them. They were so tiny and pretty in her high heels he couldn't help himself. He just had to stare at them.
His revelation didn't make me feel better. It made me feel worse. The guy was a pervert. I didn't like anyone thinking about Dr. Fischer like that. But the truth was, his behavior rang all kinds of uncomfortable bells for me. I was beginning to like Dr. Fischer. I was beginning to find her attractive myself. From being frightened of her, I had begun to obsess about her. I found myself thinking about her a lot. What was wrong with me? If he was a pervert what did that make me?
The strange feelings I was having for Dr. Fischer frightened and revolted me. I had been locked up inside my own crazy world for so long, I didn't know what it felt like to come out. All my feelings of affection and closeness blew up to gigantic proportions. From hating and fearing her, I grew to think I was in love with her.
I tried to tell my journal about the thoughts that were haunting me:
June 18, 5:40 P.M. — I'm still having thoughts about Dr. Fischer. They scare and upset me …
The first time such thoughts popped into my head, I was shocked. I tried to drive the thoughts from my mind, but completely unbidden they kept forcing themselves back.
The Voices jeered at my discomfort.
“You want to touch her, don't you?” they shouted at me while I was trying to stay calm in session. I couldn't look at her face. Sometimes I couldn't look at her at all. I looked at my sneakers, or at the ground, or stared off into space. Sometimes the combination of my own strange thoughts and the Voices’ taunting was too much to bear and I would suddenly cut off the session and flee to the safety of my room.
In the mornings I filled my journals with my lovesick yearnings for her, and counted the hours until I could see her again. By afternoon I refused to see her. I couldn't face her with these perverted thoughts circling through my brain. And then I was consumed with guilt and pain. She would hate me. She would leave me. What could I tell her? What could I say to her?
June 20, 11:00 P.M. — You know what's the worst part about sitting alone in my room all day? It's sitting alone with my crazy, confused thoughts. I don't write them all down because I can't write when I'm feeling so bizarre and because I'm afraid and paranoid that people will know what kind of world I retreat to.
July 1, 8:00 P.M. — I feel like spattering myself on the [highway] after jumping off the bridge … I really feel like having a violent death. Maybe I could use gasoline, pour it over myself, light myself on fire and jump off the bridge onto the highway. I think these thoughts when I'm very angry.
July 2, 2:50 P.M. — Do you know I have to fight to keep from going crazy every day? Who says I don't work at getting better. What should I do, listen to every voice? Act out every impulse? What about my fantasies? Should I make those sick thoughts a reality? I'm working hard, damn hard.
Whenever I was feeling really bad, I turned to Dr. Doller. Because I somehow trusted her, I felt safe telling her my worst fears. With Dr. Fischer I was experimenting with trust. But instead of feeling better, I felt worse than before. I felt invaded, taken over. I felt I didn't know who I was and I didn't know who she was. I swung back and forth with passionate intensity between feelings of love and caring and feelings of fear and hate. All these feelings I brought to Dr. Doller.
Actually, she came to me. It was late in the evening of one day when I had had a troubling session with Dr. Fischer. I was sitting on the unit and I was shaking. Dr. Doller must have seen something on my face, for she stopped and sat down beside me. There was no shrink talk, no