Chapter #16: Aggravating Behavior
Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Chapter #16 Posted 2nd July 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
Letters of Import: Aggravating Behavior — Chapter #16
Tuesday, January 15th, 2008
I think Annie, I know why I wrote such an emotionally intense letter last week. It is Alison. Her joining the therapy group last week really disarmed me. There was no notice or warning of a new member starting the first of the year. Our glorious leader, Dr. George, yes, I am using his given name, fuck Mr. Xxx, he deserves to be identified. He failed to ask whether we wanted someone new.
Seems the Doctor wants full control or he would have mentioned her and not made the decision on his own. This group has full rights to decide if someone joins at any time. Writing this is not to complain about Alison. She mesmerizes me. It is Dr. George’s lack of inquiry with us. To late, it’s done. Not appropriately, but déjà fait. He bloody displeases me, not Alison.
Alison triggers memories of Tosh. Their resemblance is beyond uncanny. And her boldness is refreshing. No hesitation to proclaim herself a lesbian. But I saw her depth of attraction and knew. Sensed it in her gaze when her eyes caught mine, in a timeless moment. Her eyes were steady. All I knew was the feeling from Alison felt as though Tosh’s eyes were loving me. The time portal opened to the past.
Who is Alison? Where did she come from? And why now? The pressure is building up inside of me. Not sure I’m handling it well. I feel like my world is about to explode. Flashing on Tosh’s murder. Getting attached to you. Not knowing if I will lose you if this all crash and burns. Now Alison, a ghost, a practical joke, Dr. George, the bastard, is fucking with me. He knows what Tosh looks like, and magically Alison springs up.
I’m sure you’ve notices the group is in disaster mode. Dying and almost dead as Jacob Marley’s Ghost. It’s in a retrograde of self-destruction. Hold it together, Annie, please, just long enough, or it will disintegrate by the hand of Machiavelli, himself, Dr. George. Maybe it should self-destruct. Solves one major problem. Poof! Dr. George disappears. So does everyone else in this miserable group. Exceptions are Alison and Kristina. Soon, I will tell you about Kristina. Right now, I’m just waiting for Mount Vesuvius to erupt. That would be Brad, my totally rad alter. He’s not afraid of anyone. Plus he promised me Dr. George is going down. Soon. The time is near.
He sucks as a analyst. He’s not deserving of the honour of calling him a psychoanalyst or doctor. What a joke. He’s so out of touch, I don’t think he knows he’s treating clients. But, it’s his job to listen. Instead, he monopolizes a session by telling his own stories. It’s negligence and even worse, his stories are sexually perverse, going into detail about gay male sex. Please do not misunderstand, I am not homophobic. That’s not it, it’s that he tells these stories to me, when we are alone. I am a lesbian client, I emphasize, and an abuse survivor . His other clients, some share similar backgrounds. I, certainly, have no desire to hear about balls, or a man’s prick. Who the fuck wants to hear that kind of bull shit.
His sense of protocol is fucking aggravating. It’s inappropriate. Clearly sexual harassment, he thrusts upon female sexual abuse survivors. Having my analyst compound his ignorance with the subject at all is disgusting and depraved. The only appropriate time would be if I were talking about an abuser raping me. Enough with the perverse humour. Dr. George’s list of disgusting behavior grows longer, probably unlike his dick. It’s not my thing. Being raped by pricks do not make lesbians appreciate the existence of dicks, nor do they fantasize hearing about them or seeing them. Does he forget or not understand that element of our experiences?
I just need to end my therapy with him completely. His relationship with me is a travesty. He’s outrageous, obnoxious and destructive in our private sessions. Plainly, he is just a disappointment. He doesn’t even pretend any longer not to support me. He sides with his pets in the group, particularly Angie, who gets on my last nerve. I dread seeing them both. And God forbid I should question her intentions or prejudices or anyone elses.
In a private session, only recently, when I accused Angie, his precious fucking pet snake of being a homophobe and racist, he came down on me, accusing me of being cruel and unfeeling. His evil seethed through his teeth as he tried destroying me with his words. Turning me in on myself, made me out to be the insensitive one. Every fiber and muscle in my body struggled with my mind, trying to walk out in the middle of his vicious outbreak of rage, but instead stillness set in. His verbal abuse caused such extreme fright, I became catatonic.
That was the final time I ever intend to allow him to rape my mind again. Next time, instead of facing me down, he will meet Brad, in his fully engaged rage. Dr. George will finally be laid out. Don’t worry, no one is going to do violence. But I would definitely make a grand exit, quite Gloria Swanson, but with a male flair and the burst of a fiery rage. And it truly would be the last one. You will know it and you will hear it, when it is over.
A word of encouragement from you, Annie, would help push me over that line to find my courage. His condescension in our private sessions should be enough. But I am too insecure to terminate without feeling support to catch me. An abusive relationship has gradually been created with him and I did not stop it when I realized what was happening. I let it take over my world. He makes me feel like the abusers did. I float on the ceiling to escape him and become powerless.
It always bothered me that he reminded me of an abuser. He used transference in place of accepting his role in creating my feelings of insecurity and making me feel I wasn’t seeing what I felt as being accurate. He was being abusive, constantly undermining my sense of identity and confidence. My belief in trusting my own feelings. My writing came to almost a stand still after starting to see him. My soul felt strangled. My muse abandoned me for an indefinite length of time. I fell into the deepest depression. Started having increasingly stronger panic and anxiety attacks and the depression led to feeling suicidal most of the time. How many times I felt so close to the edge, were far too many.
Just the thought that the next day I would have to see him freaked me out. I would start to shake and found it hard to breathe. He would rationalize it by saying I was afraid of therapy and what disturbing memories might come up. Bull shit. He is such a fuck head and liar. He wanted to have power over me. Sound familiar, it is exactly what abusers do to the children they abuse. Win their confidence and then slowly undermine their sense of self as an independent person, until the abuser can do anything they want with their prize possessions. Does he get his kicks having power over his clients, controlling them and how they feel inside. Making them want to kill themselves. Life and death. What an ultimate power trip.
Somehow, Scottie broke through the barrier.It was built up high and strong to protect myself. She fought with me to see reality. That I was having delusional thinking. For years she has driven me insane with her persistent urges to get me to stop seeing him. Deep inside I knew she was trying to protect me, but I was too frightened to walk away. I felt too crazy and feared leaving him would cause me to completely lose my mind. Talk about control or confusion. What was I letting him do to me? What was I doing to myself staying with him? Fear is my only excuse or reason. Terror. I was too terrified to live or to leave. Life was too frightening. I trembled at the thought of being part of the world. Going out. Being around people. Pure panic.
Now I want to make him disappear and group to end. Working with you, Annie, would be a great alternative. There is only one thing that would be fucked up if this all collapsed, which it will. Alison, if it all ends, she would be gone. How will I be able to get to know her. There has got to be a way to make some kind of personal connection before it happens. Everything will crumble when I confront him. Not sure exactly when and how I’m going to do it. But it will happen and I’ve got to be lethal.
I don’t want Alison to go away. It may seem odd. I met her last week, I’ve seen her twice. Yet, there is an intense need to know her. Jennie Fields, a character I love from the John Irving book, The World According to Garp, says this two word phrase. It cracks me up. She would look someone straight in the eyes and seriously state, “It’s lust.” As simple as that. “It’s lust.” I am in lust with Alison. It’s a really strong attraction. Not something I have any way of explaining but say I am attracted to her.
Well, fuck it if I am. Alison rocks my world at this very moment. Nothing wrong with those feelings. But, seriously, it feels more meaningful than an orgasmic connection. She reminds me of Tosh. I can’t let that go. There is something between us. I’m not letting her walk into my life so fucking briefly and not have a say as she walks back out again.
Don’t you think she’s awesome. She has me awestruck. I am numb in the brain. My feelings are all muttled around her. I can’t think or speak in a complete sentence without tangling up the words. You noticed that, I’m sure. It’s embarrassing, especially in front of that group from the vicious circle.
We need to figure this all out. I need your help, Annie. Please, let me assure you, do not worry about Scottie. She understands my bipolar. I have attractions but I can’t do anything about them. In due time, I will explain what Scottie fully knows about me. I don’t share with many this secret. That’s why Scottie trusts me.
Before I end my letter, I want to remind you of the secret from a few letters ago. Lets end this letter on a mysterious but still high note. It involves Scottie’s new film. Mine, too. Still working on finalizing the title. I don’t know what the problem is with making a decision. I liked my choice but can’t tell you yet. Maybe next time I’ll have a go.
But that’s not what I want to tell you. I, actually, want to tell you a bit more about the film. I’d like to sound it out on you further. See if it sounds like a good script. Would love the feedback. How about if I write a touch about it each week. A sneak preview when I remember. That would benefit me too. I would hear what it is that I have created. Bounce it off of you. Maybe I will feel more confident about my work.
In review, I remember telling you the lead character is a novelist, the character’s name, I will tell in a future letter. She is quite the brilliant writer. What else did I tell you. I lost it. Sorry. That’s all I remember from the other letter. Have a terrible memory, even for what I write.
Well, let me continue. She is a literary novelist, mixed with a touch of the psychological element and a dabble of mystery. Her problem is she can’t find a publisher. Just finds rejection notices in her mailbox but doesn’t give up. She keeps sending out her novels. She’s accumulated several manuscripts already. If it weren’t for the Estate her Grandmother left her after she died, our author wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury of being a full time writer. The wonderful home she lives in, with her three babies, was her grandmother’s home. You’ll meet the babies later. She spent many weeks there, every summer, when growing up. It was her favorite place on the planet.
One weekend, she goes to an Estate Sale. While rummaging around, she finds a briefcase. It’s an old leather one with a broken lock, jammed shut, with no way to look inside. She made the decision, it looked mysterious. Her thought was, it would be a great place to store her latest manuscript. She purchased it, not even sure she will ever be able to open it, ever. But she thought, if she was unsuccessful, it would make a great decoration, plus an uncanny inspiration for her writing room. It would add to the old English decor. But, she was certain, being quite a stubborn woman herself, she wouldn’t give up without a real attempt to break it open. It wasn’t her intention to give up trying that easily.
After returning home from a long drive, once in the house, she placed her new find on the dining room table while she went to feed the cats. The three, of them, practically knocked her down, when she came in the front door. Once Jasper, Jax and James were fed, the three young neutered male Savannah cats, spotted like leopards, enormous in size, all settled down in the family room. Snuggling, each in their special place, taking up most of the stuffed, soft, velvet sofa. They waiting for their Mum, while she fixed herself a quick bite to eat, for her own early dinner.
She was hurrying. Her curiosity wanted to get cracking on breaking inside her new acquisition. It may be old, but it was heavy, and definitely felt the weight of being filled with something, maybe a treasure of unknown value, so she fantasized. “Why would someone just abandon this briefcase? It gave off the vibe of containing something of value”
The answer would be found out soon enough. Carrying the briefcase under her left arm, and a plate, with a simple meal of salad and cheese, in her right hand, she joined her babies, Jasper, Jax and James, in the family room. She got cozy, finding her spot on the sofa, snuggling amongst her soft, sweet babies.
She studied the briefcase on the coffee table as she ate, and shared treats with her brood. Her imagination began to wander. It filled up with all sorts of magical imagery. What would she find? What should she wish for? Money or something more imaginative?
That’s where I’ll end it for this week. I want to keep you wondering.
Until next time.
ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.
Maksim — Somewhere In Time — Theme Song #1 For “Letters of Import”/>
Written by Madison Taylor
January 14th 2008
Reaching out a hand with a flower in it
Is not verging upon hysteria waiting for a sign
Has life frightened away wanting tenderness
Or the fragile one who is patiently waiting
Will a response be returned in recognition
Of a genuine gesture of love and friendship
Or does the heart identify with one of those characters
Wanting and needing attention who will be lost without it
In the wilderness of lost dreams and nightmares
Forever wandering wondering what was missed
What path was it meant to take but turned the other way
Reaching for the stars shining high up in the darkness
The farthest thing away from reaching a heart desired
Turning around and going deep inside the soul
There is where the heart will find a resting place
Part of all in the world have turned away
Losing all sense of day or night or play
Talk for a moment about all the dreams
Seeking them takes the mind away from finding them
They are before the eyes right here inside the soul
Inside of every thought and feeling the heart possesses
Out there is only the illusion of what will not be found
© madison taylor 2008
CREAM: WHITE ROOM — Theme Song #16 For “Letters of Import: Aggravating Behavior — Chapter #16
Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey, Toker and Patrick
The White Room
Maksim — Somewhere In Time (A New Version-with Quotations by Rumi-of the Theme Song for Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
QUOTATIONS from: LETTERS of IMPORT
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor
“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”
“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist
“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe
QUOTATIONS on AGGRAVATING BEHAVIOR:
“Never hide things from hardcore thinkers. They get more aggravated, more provoked by confusion than the most painful truths.” ― Criss Jami
“He is being nibbled to death by ducks. –More Later, Less the Same” ― James Tate, Selected Poems
“I suppose an analyst not getting that you are the client and he should be listening to you, not telling his own stories and being sexually perverse talking about gay sex with a lesbian who has not desire to hear about balls, and not the kind you find being tossed about on a playground, but the kind that go with the package of junk men have. Don’t misunderstand, a cliche, but one of my best friends is a gay male. This is aggravating and if I thought about, it also borders on inappropriate behavior and sexual harassment. Michael Fassbender can show his junk. It is actually quite lovely, but I don’t want my analyst going anywhere near that subject unless I am talking about an abuser raping me. Enough said.” — Madison Taylor, Letters of Import: Aggravating Behavior 16
“I suppose I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.” — Tennessee Williams
“When you reach for the stars, you are reaching for the farthest thing out there. When you reach deep into yourself, it is the same thing, but in the opposite direction. If you reach in both directions, you will have spanned the universe.” — ― Vera Nazarian