Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [103]
I asked Casey what she thought about her dad’s remarks. She was cheerful and agreeable. “I do drink quite a bit.”
We talked some about the history of the family. Casey was the second child. Her older sister had died as a baby two years before Casey was born. Losing a baby made Casey’s parents protective and indulgent, “worrywarts,” as Casey called them. Her parents worried about her health, her relationships, her schoolwork and her tendency to chubbiness. She’d seen many doctors, had tutors and been sent to special camps for the chubby and socially awkward. Her parents had worked to cushion Casey from the slings and arrows of ordinary life, and now they had a daughter who had no confidence or experience in meeting challenges.
We talked about Casey’s upcoming high school graduation, her summer plans and her new part-time job as a waitress. Her parents were happy she had a job, but worried that she wouldn’t show up for work or that the stress might be too much.
I thought that Casey was being killed by too much kindness and concern. Her parents were “inflicting help” on her. I wanted them to back off and let her take care of herself. Certainly she would make mistakes, but she would have a chance to learn from them and grow. Right now, except for her size, Casey wasn’t growing much at all. I, decided to see Casey alone. Meanwhile I predicted she would do fine at her waitressing job.
At our first individual session, Casey plopped down on the couch and groaned, “I got drunk again last night. I’m scheduled to wash dishes and mow the lawn until I die of old age.”
I decided to save alcohol questions for later and asked what concerns she had about herself. Her face reddened and she was quiet. “I’m fat,” she said. “That’s why I took the pills. I want a boyfriend.”
She told me about her first date her sophomore year. Stan picked her up for a movie, but instead of driving downtown, he opened a beer and headed toward the country. A more experienced or confident girl would have told him to take her home, but Casey was paralyzed. She had no idea what to do. She plastered herself to her door and stared out the window. Stan stopped by a state lake and opened another beer. He turned up the radio and pulled Casey toward him. She was terrified and stiff and Stan tried to warm her up with kisses and joking, but she stayed unyielding. She was afraid he might rape her, and this could well have happened had not another car of lovers pulled up. He swore and called her a lesbian. Then, much to her relief, he started the motor and drove her home.
After that Casey wondered if she was a lesbian. She knew very little about sex and was afraid to tell her parents what had happened. She was afraid to talk to other girls because they might think she was naive. Casey determined that the next guy who asked her out would realize she was sophisticated and a 100 percent heterosexual. When Sam asked her out, she got loaded and offered to have sex with him before he even asked. After Sam, there were others. Always she got drunk and then “did it.” Finally she quit dating. She knew she wasn’t handling things well and she was afraid of getting AIDS.
Alcohol was a way of deadening her anxiety so that she could have sex, and also of killing her guilt feelings afterward. If Casey learned to deal with her sexuality, she would have less need to drink. As we talked, it was clear that Casey had allowed guys to define her relationships with them. She felt so badly about her appearance that she was grateful that anyone wanted her. She was so eager to please that she never considered whether her needs were being met. As an assignment, I asked her to think about what kind of men she liked. What qualities would they have? What would be their interests? How would they treat her?
The next time Casey came in with a list. She pulled it out of her pocket and smoothed it on her knee. She read aloud, “I like guys who are handsome, athletic, caring and good listeners.” She paused. “I know this is