Patience
Patience
"Dr. Carter, please answer the question."
A pounding heart, a loss of breath, a mind racing at high speed. But I'm not the one in trouble, so what causes me to act like this?
"Dr. Carter, answer the question," the once sly and smooth talking, suited voice now became gruff and threatening.
Looking over at the pale heap of flesh that I agreed I once knew, I could see a gruesome act taking place. An act of tearing a poor creature open and exposing him to a room full of justice-seeking strangers. Perhaps if they had seen the man's story unfold as I had, their stares might not be as harsh.
His story is going to be the one I will now have to tell. My words will make or break the outcome of his future, and that's a lot to put on someone. Although, saying that's not what I signed up for, might not be an appropriate phrase. To say that I should have tried harder to prevent the situation he is now facing would be.
I first met Mr. Jason Freese when he arrived in my office by the nagging requests of his wife, Amy. She had been the one to arrange the trial session, and all of the appointments thereafter. Jason never once took the matter of my therapy services into his own hands, but he never objected to showing up every Tuesday and Thursday at five thirty, either. He was my last session of those days and always left me quite a troubled feeling to go home with.
Meeting Jason for the first time, I saw initially another typical depression case on my hands. It was an obvious note to make, even from his casual behaviors in the waiting room. With each of my potential patients, I make it a point to discreetly observe them in the waiting room prior to formally meeting them. Standing secluded behind a two-way mirror, I can allow myself to observe the patients candidly, gaining insight to how they behave on their own in a typical situation. It's a method of first seeing one's true colors, because so often, patients will attempt to put on a show to prove, to others or to themselves, that nothing is wrong with them; a stage of denial.
Jason presented no show to me at all. His body language and general outward appearance did not shift between being alone, being with me, or even being with his wife.
'Shows clear indications of apathetic defeat,' I marked in my notes, the first of many pertaining to Jason. I did not know it yet, viewing this new patient as just another file waiting to be patched up and promptly tucked back in with all the others, but Jason Freese was going to be an important highlight in not only my career, but on a personal level as well.
A few more initial notes were jotted down before finally meeting Jason. After tugging at my clothes and hair to get them just right, I opened the door and flashed a cheesy, professional smile as I called his name. I’m still unsure as to why I put forth such effort with my appearance towards people who are so ridiculously miserable. I suppose you can’t blame a woman for trying.
As I called his name in an optimistic tone that he subtly winced at, Jason forced himself up out of his chair, almost as if it pained him to be acknowledged as anything more than just a lump in the room. He trudged past me; hands buried deep in his baggy jeans pockets, making no attempt at a greeting at all. I noted, this time only mentally, that every part of his attire was hanging loosely over his hunched over, skinny frame. A lack of self-confidence.
That first day, I led Jason back to my preferred session room, adorned with soft plush carpeting, rather than the stiff terrain my colleagues sported in their rooms. A small TV sat against a wall; sometimes being used for informational videos. The piece in my niche that I was most fond of though, was the large fish tank in the corner that I had supplied with fish myself. The rest of the room was predominantly unoccupied, save for the standard two furniture items: my pricey leather chair, and the faded floral printed couch. It was the kind of cheap thing you’d find in a cat lady’s garage sale, but it was all that was provided to me. It was for the patients anyway, and the fashionable state of my couch was the least of their worries.
Jason took a shy seat in the corner of the couch, sinking himself as deep into the cushions as he could. He held himself tightly together, arms glued to his sides, constantly messing with his hands and nails. I started to think he may be worse off than I originally thought, but I still didn’t think he stood out anyway. Another day, another depressed and broken soul I was expected to patch up. He seemed no different than any other patient to walk through my doors.
I flipped through his basic forms on my clipboard, which rested on my lap. His medical records were fine, showing no prior mental complications and logging injuries that only proved he probably never grew out of his reckless teenager phase. No red flags there. A basic physical had also been filled out, which dated back about six months. The mental health questions on the form did not seem to give off any warning signs either, so it was possible that the cause of Jason’s depression was a rather recent event. That, or he lied on the form, which was anything but unheard of.
I looked back up at Jason, suppressing a highly uninterested sigh. “Hello, Mr. Freese,” I greeted him finally, toning down the optimism in my voice. He said nothing, but simply nodded slightly, avoiding eye contact. “I spoke to your wife on the phone. Did she come with you today?”
He looked up at me for a split second, taken aback slightly by the casual simplicity of my question. Diving into the realms of emotional dysfunction wasn’t something you did straight away with a patient. It would have to escalate to that. But the patients themselves never saw it that way, especially the paranoid ones. The “shrink’s office” was an anxiety builder, and no matter who or what mental illness you were dealing with, the first session would never be an easy one. The awkwardness was always the first leap, and Jason’s case would be no different.
Jason didn’t verbally answer my question. Instead, I got a sliver of a headshake and even more determinedly avoided eye contact.
“How long have you been married?” I asked. I could practically see the tense anticipation churning his stomach around.
He hesitated a long time before answering, “Eight years,” in an almost indecipherable mumble.
I nodded and jotted the tidbit down. Jason stared at my moving pen, knowing that every time it moved, some note or other was being made about him. I could see the nervousness rising within him. He started bouncing his leg and wringing his hands, showing me he was highly self-conscious in my presence.
“Eight years is a long time,” I commented, and it was. Potentially, it could have represented the only happy or pleasing aspect of his life. “Do you have any kids together?”
He nodded, more surely this time, and answered, “One son, Tenn. He’s only a few months old.”
Not only had his communication improved when discussing the child, but I could see for a second a slight uplift in his demeanor as he spoke of him. I figured it would be wise to keep him on the subject. “How is it, then? Your first time as a father must be difficult.”
He shook his head and looked up at me with his icy blues glimmering with parental pride. “Oh no, he’s great. Really, we couldn’t have asked for a better first.”
I made another note, eliminating paternal difficulties as a contributor to his depression. But the moving pen reminded Jason of where he was and whom he was dealing with. He had cracked his doors open for me for just a second, but my tiny gesture opened his eyes to the vulnerability and he promptly shut them back up again.
As Jason shifted back into his constricted position, I made a final attempt to coax him out of returning to his shell. “Do you think you’ll want more children in the future?”
He shrugged his shoulders and still looking down, gave me a muffled reply of, “I don’t know. I really don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
The rest of the session remained that way, and even the majority of the second visit was spent with me knocking at those tightly locked doors. It wasn’t until third meeting that I got him to open up to me, at least on a casual level.
Jason came into my office acting oddly cheery and upbeat. I had never seen him come anywhere near this sort of attitude in my company, yet there he was that evening, strolling through the doors of my office as if his problems had suddenly vanished. Naturally, once in session, I inquired Mr. Freese as to the reasoning behind his sudden mood-shift. Ultimately, it proved to be simply a series of mildly pleasing events all adding up to a very good day.
“Tenn did the cutest thing today,” Jason explained to me.
I listened patiently, hardly getting a word in as he went on about his son, wife, and old friend he ran into, the lucky ten dollar bill he found on the ground, and something about a new potential job offer.
“And Amy and I are going out tonight for the first time in forever,” Jason stated with a smile.
Thinking over all that he had described, I found an interest in a factor of the “good day” that he and I had never really discussed before. “Tell me about this new job offer, Jason. What exactly is it that you do? You said some kind of musician?”
He nodded. “Yes, a musician. I do keyboards and brass, mostly,” he threw out casually. “But I play with everyone, though. I’m not in one specific band, but there’s a few that I continually tour with.”
“Anyone I would know?”
He looked upward, thinking to himself. “Mmm…well, the Goo Goo Dolls, Jewel, and,” he paused. “Most popular, Green Day.”
He hesitated when mentioning the last band, and I could sense a negative shift in his tone. He seemed to gain tenseness, and made it a point to quickly change the subject. It was very possible he was blocking any thoughts of the band or work, but I waited until the session was over before strongly noting his behavior.
The next week, Jason came back to me looking even more miserable than when I first met him. His constant and drastic mood swings were a bad sign. They were signs of mental instability, which could only hinder my therapeutic attempts on Jason.
He sat on the couch across from me as usual, but this time leaning forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, looking like he was fighting off tears...or worse.
"I can't do this anymore, doc," Jason's muffled voice uttered from behind the pale and trembling hands. He looked up at me, eyes glossy and filled with desperation, but the tears weren't quite flowing. “You've gotta fix me. I don't wanna be like this anymore."
For a moment, I could only stare at him in disbelief. For the first time in my career, I could safely say that I hadn't the slightest idea what was wrong with this man. He was a head case I couldn't crack; a patient I couldn't easily diagnose, and even then he expected me to snap my fingers and make something I still had no knowledge of disappear. Unstable.
”Jason," I replied, still bearing my shocked expression. "What on earth do you expect me to do? You haven't told me anything."
He blinked a few times, contemplating my correct accusation. He had been stubborn and closed off, but that was about to shift entirely and I couldn't have possibly fathomed how deep I was about to get so quickly.
Jason nodded and lay out across the couch, his head resting on the sofa's arm, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed deeply and began painting me a complex web of a situation he was dealing with.
I sat back, armed with my clipboard and extensive years of college-level psychology in my knowledge, and simply listened.
"There's this guy..." Jason started after a long silence. "And I'm completely and totally in love with him."
And if I thought this was the most shocking thing to emerge during my time with Jason, I was sadly mistaken.
“His name is Mike and I work with him. He’s Green Day’s bassist,” Jason spouted a few fact s about the man. “I met him through work, obviously. We became friends pretty quickly and then…I don’t know. Suddenly it seemed like more.” A small nostalgic smile was creeping over his lips, but I was still at a loss of what to think.
“And your wife? What did she think of…the two of you?” I inquired unsurely, doing my best to keep my awkwardness hidden.
Jason sighed and the slight smile faded. “She…she was always supportive. She still is but…it’s still hard, you know? I mean, knowing that your husband wants something…someone else; it must have been so difficult for her. Especially since it’s…” his voice grew quiet. “Since it’s the opposite sex.”
The note-taking was going easier this time, due to Jason keeping his eyes on the ceiling above him, and believe me, my pen was flying. “But do you still love her?”
Jason was quick to answer. “Of course. Absolutely. That was…that was what I always wanted her to know. I’ll always love her; it’s just that…there are other things I want too.”
“Was she understanding?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Actually, she kind of noticed it before I came to accept it. She said it was the way I looked at him. She said I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.” Jason started to gain a dreamy distance in his tone as he spoke of Mike. He was longing for him. I didn’t have the whole story yet, but I knew that something between them happened and it was causing a lot of grief.
“I’m lucky,” Jason continued. “I’m lucky that I got to keep them both. I’m lucky that she agreed to…”
“An open marriage?” I finished.
He winced at my choice of words. “That makes it sound…so sleazy. It wasn’t like that.” He sat up and turned to me, speaking quietly. “I love them both. Equally, with…with everything that I am and that’s why…” Jason’s voice cracked, and the tears were just beginning to form again. “That’s why it’s so hard to live without both of them.”
I spoke softly, and with all sympathy I could rake up, fearing that he’d snap and close back up again. “Jason…what happened to you and Mike?”
He was silent and just blinked at me before curling back up on the couch, this time on his side, staring intensely at the ground. In an almost inaudible, miniscule voice, Jason described a second man in which the entire conflict centered around. “There’s this other guy…Billie. He’s…he’s Mike’s…boyfriend.” The words were spoken with a painful struggle. “They’re…they’re in love. They’ve been together for years; long before I met them. They’re the perfect couple. Everyone sees them that way.” It seemed like he was fighting off heavy sarcasm, though the pained annoyance was ever present still.
“But that didn’t stop you from loving him?” Again, the words felt awkward, but I did my best to put the discomfort aside.
Jason shook his head. “No…it didn’t stop me. It should have, but it didn’t. I fell for him anyway.” Now there was a hint of regret in his voice. The man was covering every dark feeling a breakup could throw at someone.
“How involved did the two of you become? If he was already in a relationship…”
“Well, it did take some initial persuasion,” Jason explained. “But eventually, and god knows how I managed it, he agreed to have us both.” He looked up at me, fearing negative judgment on my part which, truth be told, was getting harder and harder to fight off. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds! It was just…well,” he sighed and did some of his own figuring. “Ok, maybe it is. But it didn’t seem that way at the time. I thought…I guess I thought that it-”
“Meant something?” I answered, showing him my understanding. “You thought it meant he cared a little bit more than you had anticipated?”
He just stared at me for a bit, taken aback at my understanding. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I thought it meant he really wanted me.”
His eyes moved towards the clock above the door and mine followed. We only had five minutes left. With a heavy sigh, Jason lifted himself up off of the couch and gave me some final words. “But none of it matters anymore. In the end, one of us would have to go. To have us both and keep it that way was just a compromise I guess he couldn’t live with. He didn’t choose me; he never was going to choose me. It was a no-brainer.” He shrugged. “Billie’s just…better, I guess.”
Returning to his constricted posture, hunched over, head hanging, hands plummeted deep in his pockets, Jason turned from me and trudged on out of my office. Pen to paper, I scrawled one last for the day: ‘Hopelessness.’
The following morning, I received a phone call while at work from Mrs. Freese, saying that Jason would not be able to make it to his next appointment. The cancellation was alarming, considering the intensity of our last session, so I carefully interrogated her, hoping to uncover a more serious matter that might have caused a lapse in Jason’s routine. Amy only told me that “something work related suddenly came up” and my doctor-patient confidentiality clause gave me no choice but to leave it at that. What Jason revealed to me was strictly between us, whether Amy already knew or not, and my professional protocol kept me from fully voicing my concern. I did, however, strongly encourage a rescheduling of the visit, perhaps for sooner or later in the week, but she declined that as well, saying they simply had no time. In the end, I had to hang up in defeat, left only to hope that something really did come up and Jason wasn’t sitting around at home sinking deeper into his depression.
As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t shake that troublesome image from my mind. I was forced to ride out the rest of the week in anticipation for my next sit-down with Jason Freese.
I couldn’t focus. The other patients seemed unworthy of my time. I was eager to get Jason on a road to treatment and what a triumph it would be if I could pull it off! He became a psych project, a career goal for me. If I could fix this man and his severe depression over an obscure relationship, then I could fix anyone because his entire problem revolved around love. He was in love with a man who didn’t love him back. Wasn’t love supposed to be some kind of unbreakable bond? So it would seem that Jason’s depression was impossible to resolve. But what if I could defy all of that? What if I could help Jason defy love?
I had expected, when the day finally arrived, that my next session with Jason would flow with information just as easily as the last one. I was severely mistaken.
He sat down on my floral couch as usual; though this time he seemed bitter and resentful rather than depressive and sad. Something switched his self-pity to anger; a third mood shift to add to the pile.
He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, but then again, he hardly ever did. He sat with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, leg bouncing impatiently. He was constantly glancing up at the clock above the door, clearly eager to leave.
My first few casual questions were blown off with simple nods or headshakes. He uttered his first words to me, albeit unpleasantly, as he kept his eyes glued to the slowly ticking clock, as if he was trying to threaten it into moving faster. “You think we could speed this along? I gotta be somewhere.”
I sat back, patiently taking in his hostility. “Where to?”
His features let loose a tiny scoff and eye roll. “Work.”
Jason’s eyes traveled back down to the floor and I could see the negative thoughts starting to grow. ‘Work’ meant Mike, but at least I was getting somewhere.
“You don’t seem too thrilled about that,” I noted superfluously. Jason looked over and gave me a highly disinterested look then cast his lonesome eyes back to the floor, shaking his head along the way. Whether it was an answer to my question or disappointment in my words, I wasn’t sure, but I continued nonetheless. “Don’t you enjoy what you do?”
“Well yeah, the music part of it,” he quickly explained, but then he dropped in volume and spoke in a pained, hushed tone. “It’s just…the people.”
I nodded, intending to show my understanding, but the gesture was wasted, as he still was not looking at anything but the ground beneath him.
“I’m sure it’s difficult when Mike’s there.”
Suddenly, he shot up and snapped his gaze to me and just stared. It was as if he was utterly offended by the very words I had spoken to him. “When he’s there? There is no ‘when he’s there.’ He’s always there. Always. And what’s worse is it’s not just him anymore. Billie’s always there too. They’re both there; both there together and I have to see it, have it shoved in my face every day. That’s what’s difficult.” He finally slumped back, looked away, and, feeling satisfied with the rant bringing his point across, turned his tone down once more. “And the bastards wonder why I can’t just ‘get over it.’”
“They’re very…outspoken with their relationship?”
He nodded emotionlessly. There was only so much resistance a person could throw into a losing battle. “Among the people they know, yes.”
“Have you tried talking to them at all about any of this?” I proposed. Sometimes, the most obvious tactics go without being attempted.
He hesitated with his answer and his usual nervous behaviors ensued. “Well…kind of. I’ve dropped blatant hints, sharp comments that I know they’ve registered.”
“How can you be so sure?” Challenging him was important. He needed to start second guessing his own behavior, not just Mike’s or Billie’s. Gradually, I was stripping him of the comforting shell he put himself in. He had, this entire time, been identifying himself as a victim. He needed to see that the nemesis couple wasn’t solely at fault; he too shared some blame.
“I…I just do.” Leg bouncing, nail biting; the man knew I was right. “Look, the fact is, you just don’t mess with the ‘greatest couple in the world.’”
He spoke the last words with thoroughly disgusted sarcasm. His annoyance was heavy-set in his mind and it occurred to me that he was probably convinced that his opinion was a lone ranger amongst all others concerning the fairy tale pair. It was likely that Jason was distancing himself from anyone who saw Billie and Mike in a positive light, thereby turning almost everyone around him into an enemy. He put himself in a state of abandonment, and it would take time to get him to release himself from that blockade.
I would need to make him see that it was his own actions that caused him to lose good terms between himself and Mike. “Jason, do Mike and Billie ever try to talk to you as, say, just as friends?”
Jason sat thinking for a long minute and I hoped that meant I was getting through to him. “They used to. I think they’ve gotten the drift that I don’t want to have anything to do with either of them.”
“Is that true?”
“What do you mean?”
I spoke slowly, really allowing my words to make an impact. “Do you really want them completely absent from your life?” I leaned forward, offensive body language that added to the effect. “Jason, surely Billie was once a good friend, right?” Jason tightened his jaw and looked away. The answer was yes, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Don’t you miss that? And Mike…he was more than a lover; he was your best friend, was he not?” I detected the tiniest head nod possible; I was breaking in. “Jason, your hostility towards them has cost you their friendship.” I paused, and added a touch of sympathy to reassure him I was still on his side. “I know you want to be with him again. I know it’s difficult to see him with someone else, but if you could find a way to regain level ground between two, you could hold on to an important bond you should never lose: your friendship.”
There was only a tiny quiver in his voice. “It’s just not enough.” He closed his eyes, a single tear falling from his lashes.
“But isn’t it better than nothing?”
I did not expect an answer, but I waited anyway. Naturally, I did not get one, so I continued. “Jason, as you leave here today, I want you to leave something behind. I want you to, right now, abandon your pent up bitter hostility. When you go to work today, I want you to willingly and civilly communicate with both of them.” Of course, he looked at me like I was asking him to go on a life-threatening mission. “Now, I’m not saying go and make weekend plans or anything, just be civil. No snippy remarks; no ill intended comments. Speak to them with normalcy rather than striking anger. Just try it and you could very well feel ten times better.”
He was silent a long time, thinking over my proposition. “And if I don’t?”
I sat back. “Then you can treat them how you like and I won’t say another word.”
Jason nodded thoughtfully and then proceeded to leave and I was left to wait to see the outcome of my first treatment exercise with my most compelling case.
Thankfully, his next appointment was only a few days later. He came in and sat down like normal and I got right down to business.
“Well?” I immediately asked him. “How’d it go?”
He gave me a funny look at first. Straightforwardness was not something he knew me for. “Well…it started out ok.”
“Yeah?” I was excited. Be it a disaster or a success, it was still helpful material.
He nodded. “And it did feel…relieving.” He wasn’t lying. For just a second, I could see a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed back up by that lingering, bitter, negative shadow. “But I guess they saw it as a ticket to be even more all over each other than before!” He rolled his eyes and sat back in a huff. “You told me it’d work! You told me I wouldn’t care anymore! None if it’s helping. When am I gonna start getting better like you promised?”
“Jason, Jason, slow down!” I hushed him. “You have to have patience; these things don’t just happen. It’s a process. You have to gradually step into this. There are no shortcuts. I will help you find whatever peace you need to carry out your life, Jason, I promise I will. But it’s going to take time, understand?”
He seemed satisfied with my reassurance and began to calm down. “Yeah…patience.”
“Yes.” I smiled comfortingly. “Patience brings peace.”
I continued on that day to explain to Jason that the exercise had not been a complete waste. He had, he admitted, at least found some temporary comfort. Once I turned his mind on to an optimistic outlook, he took hold of the reins and was eager to get further along. He excitedly interrogated me about more mental exercises, simple tasks that could help along his daily life. He was very enthusiastic about all that I had to offer, so I was sure this was a key turning point in his mentality. After all, a series of sessions after that one proved to be nothing but progressive.
Things were looking up, to say the least. Jason’s stubborn and negative attitude vanished during our sessions and he seemed to be a new man, even to the point that his wife noticed a distinct difference in his behavior. Yes, things were nothing but progressively buoyant with the case and it seemed that only success was at the end of the road.
I was so enthralled with the case, that I started documenting my time with Jason more thoroughly, hoping that I could one day put it on the shelves of psychologists around the nation. I tried new tactics, new methods, that I was sure were unique to my thoughts. Jason became a fantastical psychological experiment that would profoundly lift my career. The impossible case taken on by the little psychiatrist that could. It’d be a bestseller; I was sure of it.
But all future hopes and dreams aside, I had to admit to myself that Jason was not entirely out of the woods yet. He was not cured; he was not yet at that perfect level I wanted him to be. I was reminded of this when one day, Jason came in with troublesome things on his mind- a first in weeks.
“They were talking about me,” Jason told me. The tiny, miniscule, helpless voice had made its way back into our sessions. “They…well; he was making fun of me and saying…things.”
“What kind of things, Jason?” I asked, also in a soft tone.
He was reluctant to tell me at first. “All…all kinds of things. He told Billie things…things about me.”
I simply sat patiently and watched him, knowing that he would let me in on the details without being prompted.
“I was listening to them,” Jason went on. “I shouldn’t have. They were alone and I was just…curious.” He looked up at me, expecting disappointment, but that was not what I was there to give. I gave him a neutral head nod, showing no judgment. “Mike told him everything; everything about us. All the secrets I told him. All the intimate moments we shared. Everything.”
Still speaking calmly and comfortingly, I questioned the severity of the situation. “Jason…why is that such a bad thing? Perhaps he was just sharing memories...like you do with me.”
“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” Jason pulled his legs up and curled up onto the couch.
In my mind, I was panicking. I had worked too hard to get him this far; I was not about to let it all go down the drain so quickly.
“I thought that too,” he continued. “But then I listened more.” A gut wrenching pause kept me on the edge. What could have happened to knock him down so hard? “They laughed at me. They thought it was funny. They thought I was funny.” Very subtly, the tears began to fall. “Do you know what he said? Do you know what Mike said? He said…he said, ‘I can’t believe I let it go on that long. I can’t believe he actually fell for me and he actually thought I did too.’ And then you know what he did? He laughed. He laughed at me. He said it was all a joke.” Jason grew quiet. I couldn’t even think of anything to say. “You were wrong, Dr. Carter. You were all wrong. He doesn’t care. He never did.”
Determination was probably the only thing that made me able to scrape up an argument against his claims. “Jason, I know this has to be partly exaggerated.” I spoke sternly now, and as he started to shake his head, I continued forcefully. “Yes, Jason, you don’t know the circumstances around the conversation. And even if he doesn’t care, or never did, why do you have to suffer for it? Why are you letting his take away your right to happiness?” I let the questions remain rhetorical and continued on back into a more comforting tone. “You’re going to see, Jason. You’re going to see that he doesn’t matter; that they don’t matter. Their voices and comments and actions aren’t going to cloud your mind anymore, but you have to make the effort. You have to be the one to silence them. Are you going to be willing to do that?”
Why that boy was continually shocked at my recurring empowering speeches, I don’t really know, but he did stare at me unsurely for a while before semi-confidently nodding his head. But it was enough for me that I could feel at ease again.
We talked more about the incident, but only briefly. Keeping that optimistic outlook was of the utmost importance. And at the end, as always, Jason asked me for some kind of helping action to take home and work out. Seeing as this would be the longer of our breaks between sessions, I had something a little different in mind for the week.
“All right, Mr. Freese, this time we’re going to try something new. This time, when you go home, I want you to come up with your own exercise.”
“My own?” he seemed a little unconfident.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I want you to find something to do, something to think about, anything that will bring a little more light to your day and a little closer to a peaceful place.” I paused and watched his facial expressions. While he seemed unsure of his capabilities, he didn’t seem to reject the idea either. “Finding your own method of coping will be a big step for you.” I smiled warmly. “I believe in you, Jason. And I bet it’ll have an even greater effect than anything else we’ve done.”
Jason nodded silently, but I was used to the limited communication. He got up and started to leave, but before he was out of my office, I said, “And Jason…?”
He looked over and gave me a weak smile. “I know, I know. Patience brings peace,” he recited, then headed out.
It was our ritualistic dismissal. He repeated the words that helped keep him level-headed and optimistic. They were his source of hope and I never wanted him to forget that.
And such would conclude my normal sessions with Mr. Jason Freese.
Jason missed his next Tuesday appointment without warning. I double, even triple checked all messages made to the office and my personal contacts, hoping to find notification from Amy of Jason’s absence, but to no prevail. I only considered calling him myself for a moment. Checking up on him after one missed appointment could very well have dismembered his trust in me; something I was not willing to risk. I just needed to relax and anticipate his return on his Thursday appointment.
But he did not show up then, wither. Fighting off the worrying thoughts was becoming increasingly difficult. I managed to put it off until the following Tuesday; a third missed appointment. I broke my vow and called his home at least three times that day, completely unsuccessful in getting a hold of anyone. I even tried Jason’s cell number, but still, no luck. There wasn’t much more I could do except sit and wait.
Jason skipped a fourth session as well, resulting in two whole weeks I had gone without seeing him. My weekend was restless. There was no explanation for these absences. No indication whatsoever that he would be doing anything but showing great and tremendous progress. I could not fathom what the reasons behind it all were.
It was Monday evening before I saw Jason again. It was a dreadful night. A wretched storm had blown in rapidly and the roads were soaked and nearly flooded. Warnings of all kind were being issued over the area.
I had decided that instead of braving the terrible conditions, I would just work late instead. I hadn’t been much for sleeping at the time anyway, so why not make the most of it?
I was staring out the window, watching Mother Nature take out whatever vengeance she had against the world, trying to distract myself with this patient or that patient, but my mind kept straying back to the one I hadn’t seen in two weeks.
And suddenly, there he was. In a bold flash of lightning and piercing thunder, Jason stumbled in out of the blackness of the hallway. He was beat up and bloody, and the sight of him scared me to the point of shrieking out loud.
“D-Dr…Car…ter,” Jason barely managed to stutter. All I could do was stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. “I…I need help.”
His frail and quivering figure nearly collapsed onto the floor, and in a flash I found myself rushing to his aid. I helped the poor, fragile man onto the couch and immediately sprang into interrogation mode now that I had my wits about me.
“What on Earth happened to you? Are you hurt? Where is it bleeding? And for Christ’s sake, where have you been?”
He winced sharply, whether from my words or his injuries, I don’t know. “Accident,” he groaned. “Just an accident, I swear.”
I ignored his words and jumped to tending to his wounds. There was luckily a first aid kit in the facility, though I wasn’t sure how much it’d help. There were multiple blood stains over his navy shirt, particularly a rather large one spreading over his chest, yet most of the stains did not have accompanying wounds to match with. The only visible marks on him were a few gashed over his forearms, a small one around his leg, and another minor cut dripping down his forehead. The rest of him was just battered and bruised, but thankfully not broken. Where, then, did all the blood come from? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Jason, what happened to you?” I spoke as softly and calmly as I could, hoping it would improve my chances at a decent answer.
He looked away quickly, but I could tell he still felt my stare. He then shut his eyes, probably hoping to shut me out, but he still answered my question.
“My car,” he choked out, and that was all that I needed.
It was a car crash, clearly; I didn’t necessarily need the details. The psychiatrist in me obviously thought it best now to make the poor man recount the traumatic incident, given the obvious note that it had just happened. But why, of all places, had he gone there? Why not a hospital?
“Jason,” I started again, keeping the firm but calm approach. “Who else was with you?” My fear was that Amy and the baby were trapped out in wreckage in the middle of the dreadful storm.
At this question he tried to turn away from me even more, though due to his wounds, he did not get very far. His hands flew to his face in what appeared to be shame. The familiar sound of his sobs sounded out in the room. I took all these behaviors and concluded that what I feared must be true.
I went into a panic. “Jason, where are they?” I abandoned the calmness entirely. The sobs were louder and his whole body was shaking. “Where are they?” I pressed on more intensely. All he did was shake his head over and over. “Jason!” I grabbed his wrists and tore them from his face, forcing him to look at me. “Where did you crash?” My volume was toned down, but the intensity remained. “Where are Amy and Tenn?”
And suddenly, his mood changed entirely. He immediately fell silent, his icy blues looking up at me questionably. Shame was replaced by slight confusion. I realized, quite quickly, that I had been mistaken.
Along with the silence, came a calming sense in the room. Nothing but the rain tapping on the windows was heard for what felt like ages. “They weren’t with you,” I half-stated, half-asked quietly. Jason shook his head. I had inaccurately assumed he has his family with him and he had incorrectly assumed that I knew who he was with. Someone was hurt. But for the life of me I did not know who.
The silence hung around and all I did was stare at him, thinking. I could not analyze, explain, or work out this situation to make logic sense to me and give solid answers. It was so much to take all at once and it was driving me to the edge.
Jason broke the silence and brought me out of thought. His demeanor now carried nervousness; perhaps from my staring, though I didn’t mean anything by it.
“It was an accident,” Jason insisted. “I promise. I…I didn’t…but it happened and I’m so sorry.” I didn’t understand why he was pleading forgiveness from me. I did not doubt him, but he made it seem like I should have. “Really! I didn’t mean to! The car…it just…I thought that maybe I could-” He stopped abruptly and paused, then shifted his opinion and spoke with pure confidence and assurance. “No…you know what? I was just doing what you told me to.”
“Excuse me?” I had in no way recalled giving out instructions to go wreck anything. He seemed like he was drifting back into his unstable mind-set. I was very worried that it would all unravel unstoppably before me.
Jason stood and his eyes were wide. He spoke with great optimism that I had never heard before. “I did it, Dr. Carter. I did what you said. You told me to find my own peace and…well, it took a while,” he laughed lightly. “But I finally did it. I found my peace.”
Through the cuts and bruises, he was grinning with relief. His eyes were wild with an odd happiness and I didn’t know what to make of it; I truly didn’t. “Jason…I don’t…” Words seemed useless at this point.
“It’s going to be ok. I feel…God, I feel so much better! They’re not a problem anymore and they never will be again. Thank you.” Jason then proceeded to hug me, but I just stood there, unable to think, unable to make sense of anything, unable to comprehend what was happening in this man’s head.
Just as suddenly as Jason had come in, my office was swarmed by a wave of blue uniformed, weapon wielding, police men. Storming in, shouting orders, people all around. They grabbed Jason and threw him to the floor, apparently disregarding me entirely for the time being. In a flash, a pair of handcuffs flew from the belt of an officer to the wrists of my patient he was kneeling on. I did not dare intervene as they read the man his rights and violently walked him out of the building.
I stood there, in just absolute confusion and shock. And maybe it was my expression showing just that which led the police in the room to exclude me from having anything to do with whatever crime Jason had committed. Or I could only hope.
As quickly as they came, they vanished into the stormy night. Swift, focused, professional; I got not even a sliver of eye contact as they all shuffled out of my workplace.
Head pounding, exhaustion taking over, I fell to my chair finding no relief in the new empty silence in the room. “My God,” I breathed, ready to be in tears. “I did not sign up for this.”
“So in your opinion, Dr. Carter,” the snaky lawyer starts up again. “Was this man aware of his actions when he ruthlessly mowed down our two victims?”
“Well, I can’t really say if-”
Hands slam onto the ledge in front of me, but I evade a startled jump. “You were his psychiatrist, Dr. Carter! If anyone in this court could tell us what was going on in the defendant’s mind, it would be you, would it not?”
I cast my eyes down and mumble a barely audible, “I suppose.”
But the vulture of a lawyer never missed anything. “All right then!” He turns away; taking steps towards the jury and shifting his gaze from me to them routinely. “Tell us, doctor,” his tone is menacing and I can’t help but let it irritate me. “When Mr. Jason Freese visited you but moment after the crash, did he seem like a maniacal psychotic, or a functional, rational, person?”
The truth is he seemed like both, or something in-between. My memory spouts up the sight of Jason’s eyes; the wild frenzy of excitement and relief behind his irises. Was it insanity? Could I sit here and call it that? Disturbing, yes, given the circumstances, but could I really call it psychosis?
He knew what he did. He was aware of what had happened and that it was his choice to do so. Regrettably, my professional opinion has no choice but to denounce the proposition of Jason being insane at the time of the incident. But that is what I am here for. I was called forth to bring my professional opinion, all emotional ties aside.
“I believe,” I finally begin to answer. “That Jason Freese was not significantly mentally impaired at the time of our meeting.”
The lawyer fails at hiding his smug smile. “There you have it!” I don’t dare look over at Jason as the man continues. “From his own psychiatrist! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I think it is clear that we have before us not a victim of a compulsive act of mental disease, but a cold blooded killer!” He then turns back to me. “One last question, doctor. When Mr. Freese spoke to you after brutally and fatally crushing and dragging Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Pritchard down Telegraph avenue with his car, then abandoning their shredded bodies on the side of the road, did he show any remorse?”
Again, those joyous blue eyes flash in my mind and suddenly, I feel angry. How dare he do such a treacherous crime and then claim he was following my instructions? How dare he try to credit me for his sins? All that my memories allow me to recall is how happy he seemed. “They won’t be a problem anymore,” his voice rings out in my head. “I found my peace.”
I look directly over at the jury, and answer a solid and confident, “No.”
The judge to my right then addresses Jason’s attorney and he rises slowly. “The defense rests your honor.” The aura of defeat is eminent.
The court is quickly dismissed and all I want to do is leave this place and return home as soon as I possibly can. Rising from my witness stand, I begin to rush out along with the rest of the court’s visitors, but to my dismay, I’m stopped by an officer before reaching the door.
“The prisoner would like to speak with you, ma’am.”
As much as I want to abandon the situation, I cannot help but agree to the request. “He was still your patient,” I tell myself with a sigh and slowly make my way over to Jason.
He is cuffed, and an officer remains at his side, but besides that, we are alone. His lawyer had shuffled out quite promptly, perhaps irritated at the obviously lost case and Amy had left in the middle of the trial, even before my testimony, clearly incapable of handling what is happening to her husband.
Jason bravely looks up at me with a defeated sigh. I only stare blankly at him for a greeting. “I’m sorry you had to do that.” I say nothing. “I’m not mad, either. You told the truth; it was what you had to do.”
My feedback is bitter. “Did you expect me to have guilt?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess you wouldn’t but…well, I just don’t want it to trouble you further.” My expression is cold and causes him to look down. “I would, of course, have preferred not to go to jail but…you did what you had to do.” The conversation seems utterly pointless and I’m starting to think he is only stalling. He looks up at me and lets loose something of a sarcastic smile. “Besides, rumor has it they’re seeking the death penalty now.”
His joke isn’t funny, and in fact, quite sadly accurate. Now as I look at him, I see something eerily familiar. While on the outside, the man before me carries himself calmly and uncaring, through his sorrowful eyes I can see straight through to his emotional core. The man in my presence is one that I have seen prior to this moment. Inside, he is the same miserable soul I met months ago. His heart still aches for a man; a man he has now killed, and his hopes of once again finding happiness seem even bleaker than before.
The crash had not brought him peace, as he had thought. Perhaps temporarily, in a lapse of judgment, the noisy and crowded feelings were silenced, but it has ultimately thrown him down an even deeper hole.
Now he stands, quite possibly facing death, and I almost wish it on him out of pity. The patient leaving my care is the same as the one I took in…if not worse.
He looks up at me once more, with acceptance of his fate radiating from every signal I can pick up. “You told me that patience brings peace. It was all I could think about for the longest time and…I don’t know, I guess I just got tired of waiting. I decided it was finally my turn to be happy and make everything else just finally leave me alone.” He pauses, not sad or fearful, just understanding. “I thought I could just make it happen.” He shrugs. “I guess I should have been a little more patient.”
The explanation doesn’t bring justice, but I take it anyway. With a shove, the various court officers begin escorting Jason back to his prison. I say nothing more; I communicate no further, and only watch as the man is taken away. He is the man I promised to help; the man I vowed to cure…and I utterly failed.
I turn and slowly walk out, and although he had wished otherwise, I cannot help but feel a growing inkling of guilt over the patient named Jason Freese.
A pounding heart, a loss of breath, a mind racing at high speed. But I'm not the one in trouble, so what causes me to act like this?
"Dr. Carter, answer the question," the once sly and smooth talking, suited voice now became gruff and threatening.
Looking over at the pale heap of flesh that I agreed I once knew, I could see a gruesome act taking place. An act of tearing a poor creature open and exposing him to a room full of justice-seeking strangers. Perhaps if they had seen the man's story unfold as I had, their stares might not be as harsh.
His story is going to be the one I will now have to tell. My words will make or break the outcome of his future, and that's a lot to put on someone. Although, saying that's not what I signed up for, might not be an appropriate phrase. To say that I should have tried harder to prevent the situation he is now facing would be.
I first met Mr. Jason Freese when he arrived in my office by the nagging requests of his wife, Amy. She had been the one to arrange the trial session, and all of the appointments thereafter. Jason never once took the matter of my therapy services into his own hands, but he never objected to showing up every Tuesday and Thursday at five thirty, either. He was my last session of those days and always left me quite a troubled feeling to go home with.
Meeting Jason for the first time, I saw initially another typical depression case on my hands. It was an obvious note to make, even from his casual behaviors in the waiting room. With each of my potential patients, I make it a point to discreetly observe them in the waiting room prior to formally meeting them. Standing secluded behind a two-way mirror, I can allow myself to observe the patients candidly, gaining insight to how they behave on their own in a typical situation. It's a method of first seeing one's true colors, because so often, patients will attempt to put on a show to prove, to others or to themselves, that nothing is wrong with them; a stage of denial.
Jason presented no show to me at all. His body language and general outward appearance did not shift between being alone, being with me, or even being with his wife.
'Shows clear indications of apathetic defeat,' I marked in my notes, the first of many pertaining to Jason. I did not know it yet, viewing this new patient as just another file waiting to be patched up and promptly tucked back in with all the others, but Jason Freese was going to be an important highlight in not only my career, but on a personal level as well.
A few more initial notes were jotted down before finally meeting Jason. After tugging at my clothes and hair to get them just right, I opened the door and flashed a cheesy, professional smile as I called his name. I’m still unsure as to why I put forth such effort with my appearance towards people who are so ridiculously miserable. I suppose you can’t blame a woman for trying.
As I called his name in an optimistic tone that he subtly winced at, Jason forced himself up out of his chair, almost as if it pained him to be acknowledged as anything more than just a lump in the room. He trudged past me; hands buried deep in his baggy jeans pockets, making no attempt at a greeting at all. I noted, this time only mentally, that every part of his attire was hanging loosely over his hunched over, skinny frame. A lack of self-confidence.
That first day, I led Jason back to my preferred session room, adorned with soft plush carpeting, rather than the stiff terrain my colleagues sported in their rooms. A small TV sat against a wall; sometimes being used for informational videos. The piece in my niche that I was most fond of though, was the large fish tank in the corner that I had supplied with fish myself. The rest of the room was predominantly unoccupied, save for the standard two furniture items: my pricey leather chair, and the faded floral printed couch. It was the kind of cheap thing you’d find in a cat lady’s garage sale, but it was all that was provided to me. It was for the patients anyway, and the fashionable state of my couch was the least of their worries.
Jason took a shy seat in the corner of the couch, sinking himself as deep into the cushions as he could. He held himself tightly together, arms glued to his sides, constantly messing with his hands and nails. I started to think he may be worse off than I originally thought, but I still didn’t think he stood out anyway. Another day, another depressed and broken soul I was expected to patch up. He seemed no different than any other patient to walk through my doors.
I flipped through his basic forms on my clipboard, which rested on my lap. His medical records were fine, showing no prior mental complications and logging injuries that only proved he probably never grew out of his reckless teenager phase. No red flags there. A basic physical had also been filled out, which dated back about six months. The mental health questions on the form did not seem to give off any warning signs either, so it was possible that the cause of Jason’s depression was a rather recent event. That, or he lied on the form, which was anything but unheard of.
I looked back up at Jason, suppressing a highly uninterested sigh. “Hello, Mr. Freese,” I greeted him finally, toning down the optimism in my voice. He said nothing, but simply nodded slightly, avoiding eye contact. “I spoke to your wife on the phone. Did she come with you today?”
He looked up at me for a split second, taken aback slightly by the casual simplicity of my question. Diving into the realms of emotional dysfunction wasn’t something you did straight away with a patient. It would have to escalate to that. But the patients themselves never saw it that way, especially the paranoid ones. The “shrink’s office” was an anxiety builder, and no matter who or what mental illness you were dealing with, the first session would never be an easy one. The awkwardness was always the first leap, and Jason’s case would be no different.
Jason didn’t verbally answer my question. Instead, I got a sliver of a headshake and even more determinedly avoided eye contact.
“How long have you been married?” I asked. I could practically see the tense anticipation churning his stomach around.
He hesitated a long time before answering, “Eight years,” in an almost indecipherable mumble.
I nodded and jotted the tidbit down. Jason stared at my moving pen, knowing that every time it moved, some note or other was being made about him. I could see the nervousness rising within him. He started bouncing his leg and wringing his hands, showing me he was highly self-conscious in my presence.
“Eight years is a long time,” I commented, and it was. Potentially, it could have represented the only happy or pleasing aspect of his life. “Do you have any kids together?”
He nodded, more surely this time, and answered, “One son, Tenn. He’s only a few months old.”
Not only had his communication improved when discussing the child, but I could see for a second a slight uplift in his demeanor as he spoke of him. I figured it would be wise to keep him on the subject. “How is it, then? Your first time as a father must be difficult.”
He shook his head and looked up at me with his icy blues glimmering with parental pride. “Oh no, he’s great. Really, we couldn’t have asked for a better first.”
I made another note, eliminating paternal difficulties as a contributor to his depression. But the moving pen reminded Jason of where he was and whom he was dealing with. He had cracked his doors open for me for just a second, but my tiny gesture opened his eyes to the vulnerability and he promptly shut them back up again.
As Jason shifted back into his constricted position, I made a final attempt to coax him out of returning to his shell. “Do you think you’ll want more children in the future?”
He shrugged his shoulders and still looking down, gave me a muffled reply of, “I don’t know. I really don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
The rest of the session remained that way, and even the majority of the second visit was spent with me knocking at those tightly locked doors. It wasn’t until third meeting that I got him to open up to me, at least on a casual level.
Jason came into my office acting oddly cheery and upbeat. I had never seen him come anywhere near this sort of attitude in my company, yet there he was that evening, strolling through the doors of my office as if his problems had suddenly vanished. Naturally, once in session, I inquired Mr. Freese as to the reasoning behind his sudden mood-shift. Ultimately, it proved to be simply a series of mildly pleasing events all adding up to a very good day.
“Tenn did the cutest thing today,” Jason explained to me.
I listened patiently, hardly getting a word in as he went on about his son, wife, and old friend he ran into, the lucky ten dollar bill he found on the ground, and something about a new potential job offer.
“And Amy and I are going out tonight for the first time in forever,” Jason stated with a smile.
Thinking over all that he had described, I found an interest in a factor of the “good day” that he and I had never really discussed before. “Tell me about this new job offer, Jason. What exactly is it that you do? You said some kind of musician?”
He nodded. “Yes, a musician. I do keyboards and brass, mostly,” he threw out casually. “But I play with everyone, though. I’m not in one specific band, but there’s a few that I continually tour with.”
“Anyone I would know?”
He looked upward, thinking to himself. “Mmm…well, the Goo Goo Dolls, Jewel, and,” he paused. “Most popular, Green Day.”
He hesitated when mentioning the last band, and I could sense a negative shift in his tone. He seemed to gain tenseness, and made it a point to quickly change the subject. It was very possible he was blocking any thoughts of the band or work, but I waited until the session was over before strongly noting his behavior.
The next week, Jason came back to me looking even more miserable than when I first met him. His constant and drastic mood swings were a bad sign. They were signs of mental instability, which could only hinder my therapeutic attempts on Jason.
He sat on the couch across from me as usual, but this time leaning forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, looking like he was fighting off tears...or worse.
"I can't do this anymore, doc," Jason's muffled voice uttered from behind the pale and trembling hands. He looked up at me, eyes glossy and filled with desperation, but the tears weren't quite flowing. “You've gotta fix me. I don't wanna be like this anymore."
For a moment, I could only stare at him in disbelief. For the first time in my career, I could safely say that I hadn't the slightest idea what was wrong with this man. He was a head case I couldn't crack; a patient I couldn't easily diagnose, and even then he expected me to snap my fingers and make something I still had no knowledge of disappear. Unstable.
”Jason," I replied, still bearing my shocked expression. "What on earth do you expect me to do? You haven't told me anything."
He blinked a few times, contemplating my correct accusation. He had been stubborn and closed off, but that was about to shift entirely and I couldn't have possibly fathomed how deep I was about to get so quickly.
Jason nodded and lay out across the couch, his head resting on the sofa's arm, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed deeply and began painting me a complex web of a situation he was dealing with.
I sat back, armed with my clipboard and extensive years of college-level psychology in my knowledge, and simply listened.
"There's this guy..." Jason started after a long silence. "And I'm completely and totally in love with him."
And if I thought this was the most shocking thing to emerge during my time with Jason, I was sadly mistaken.
“His name is Mike and I work with him. He’s Green Day’s bassist,” Jason spouted a few fact s about the man. “I met him through work, obviously. We became friends pretty quickly and then…I don’t know. Suddenly it seemed like more.” A small nostalgic smile was creeping over his lips, but I was still at a loss of what to think.
“And your wife? What did she think of…the two of you?” I inquired unsurely, doing my best to keep my awkwardness hidden.
Jason sighed and the slight smile faded. “She…she was always supportive. She still is but…it’s still hard, you know? I mean, knowing that your husband wants something…someone else; it must have been so difficult for her. Especially since it’s…” his voice grew quiet. “Since it’s the opposite sex.”
The note-taking was going easier this time, due to Jason keeping his eyes on the ceiling above him, and believe me, my pen was flying. “But do you still love her?”
Jason was quick to answer. “Of course. Absolutely. That was…that was what I always wanted her to know. I’ll always love her; it’s just that…there are other things I want too.”
“Was she understanding?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Actually, she kind of noticed it before I came to accept it. She said it was the way I looked at him. She said I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.” Jason started to gain a dreamy distance in his tone as he spoke of Mike. He was longing for him. I didn’t have the whole story yet, but I knew that something between them happened and it was causing a lot of grief.
“I’m lucky,” Jason continued. “I’m lucky that I got to keep them both. I’m lucky that she agreed to…”
“An open marriage?” I finished.
He winced at my choice of words. “That makes it sound…so sleazy. It wasn’t like that.” He sat up and turned to me, speaking quietly. “I love them both. Equally, with…with everything that I am and that’s why…” Jason’s voice cracked, and the tears were just beginning to form again. “That’s why it’s so hard to live without both of them.”
I spoke softly, and with all sympathy I could rake up, fearing that he’d snap and close back up again. “Jason…what happened to you and Mike?”
He was silent and just blinked at me before curling back up on the couch, this time on his side, staring intensely at the ground. In an almost inaudible, miniscule voice, Jason described a second man in which the entire conflict centered around. “There’s this other guy…Billie. He’s…he’s Mike’s…boyfriend.” The words were spoken with a painful struggle. “They’re…they’re in love. They’ve been together for years; long before I met them. They’re the perfect couple. Everyone sees them that way.” It seemed like he was fighting off heavy sarcasm, though the pained annoyance was ever present still.
“But that didn’t stop you from loving him?” Again, the words felt awkward, but I did my best to put the discomfort aside.
Jason shook his head. “No…it didn’t stop me. It should have, but it didn’t. I fell for him anyway.” Now there was a hint of regret in his voice. The man was covering every dark feeling a breakup could throw at someone.
“How involved did the two of you become? If he was already in a relationship…”
“Well, it did take some initial persuasion,” Jason explained. “But eventually, and god knows how I managed it, he agreed to have us both.” He looked up at me, fearing negative judgment on my part which, truth be told, was getting harder and harder to fight off. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds! It was just…well,” he sighed and did some of his own figuring. “Ok, maybe it is. But it didn’t seem that way at the time. I thought…I guess I thought that it-”
“Meant something?” I answered, showing him my understanding. “You thought it meant he cared a little bit more than you had anticipated?”
He just stared at me for a bit, taken aback at my understanding. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I thought it meant he really wanted me.”
His eyes moved towards the clock above the door and mine followed. We only had five minutes left. With a heavy sigh, Jason lifted himself up off of the couch and gave me some final words. “But none of it matters anymore. In the end, one of us would have to go. To have us both and keep it that way was just a compromise I guess he couldn’t live with. He didn’t choose me; he never was going to choose me. It was a no-brainer.” He shrugged. “Billie’s just…better, I guess.”
Returning to his constricted posture, hunched over, head hanging, hands plummeted deep in his pockets, Jason turned from me and trudged on out of my office. Pen to paper, I scrawled one last for the day: ‘Hopelessness.’
The following morning, I received a phone call while at work from Mrs. Freese, saying that Jason would not be able to make it to his next appointment. The cancellation was alarming, considering the intensity of our last session, so I carefully interrogated her, hoping to uncover a more serious matter that might have caused a lapse in Jason’s routine. Amy only told me that “something work related suddenly came up” and my doctor-patient confidentiality clause gave me no choice but to leave it at that. What Jason revealed to me was strictly between us, whether Amy already knew or not, and my professional protocol kept me from fully voicing my concern. I did, however, strongly encourage a rescheduling of the visit, perhaps for sooner or later in the week, but she declined that as well, saying they simply had no time. In the end, I had to hang up in defeat, left only to hope that something really did come up and Jason wasn’t sitting around at home sinking deeper into his depression.
As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t shake that troublesome image from my mind. I was forced to ride out the rest of the week in anticipation for my next sit-down with Jason Freese.
I couldn’t focus. The other patients seemed unworthy of my time. I was eager to get Jason on a road to treatment and what a triumph it would be if I could pull it off! He became a psych project, a career goal for me. If I could fix this man and his severe depression over an obscure relationship, then I could fix anyone because his entire problem revolved around love. He was in love with a man who didn’t love him back. Wasn’t love supposed to be some kind of unbreakable bond? So it would seem that Jason’s depression was impossible to resolve. But what if I could defy all of that? What if I could help Jason defy love?
I had expected, when the day finally arrived, that my next session with Jason would flow with information just as easily as the last one. I was severely mistaken.
He sat down on my floral couch as usual; though this time he seemed bitter and resentful rather than depressive and sad. Something switched his self-pity to anger; a third mood shift to add to the pile.
He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, but then again, he hardly ever did. He sat with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, leg bouncing impatiently. He was constantly glancing up at the clock above the door, clearly eager to leave.
My first few casual questions were blown off with simple nods or headshakes. He uttered his first words to me, albeit unpleasantly, as he kept his eyes glued to the slowly ticking clock, as if he was trying to threaten it into moving faster. “You think we could speed this along? I gotta be somewhere.”
I sat back, patiently taking in his hostility. “Where to?”
His features let loose a tiny scoff and eye roll. “Work.”
Jason’s eyes traveled back down to the floor and I could see the negative thoughts starting to grow. ‘Work’ meant Mike, but at least I was getting somewhere.
“You don’t seem too thrilled about that,” I noted superfluously. Jason looked over and gave me a highly disinterested look then cast his lonesome eyes back to the floor, shaking his head along the way. Whether it was an answer to my question or disappointment in my words, I wasn’t sure, but I continued nonetheless. “Don’t you enjoy what you do?”
“Well yeah, the music part of it,” he quickly explained, but then he dropped in volume and spoke in a pained, hushed tone. “It’s just…the people.”
I nodded, intending to show my understanding, but the gesture was wasted, as he still was not looking at anything but the ground beneath him.
“I’m sure it’s difficult when Mike’s there.”
Suddenly, he shot up and snapped his gaze to me and just stared. It was as if he was utterly offended by the very words I had spoken to him. “When he’s there? There is no ‘when he’s there.’ He’s always there. Always. And what’s worse is it’s not just him anymore. Billie’s always there too. They’re both there; both there together and I have to see it, have it shoved in my face every day. That’s what’s difficult.” He finally slumped back, looked away, and, feeling satisfied with the rant bringing his point across, turned his tone down once more. “And the bastards wonder why I can’t just ‘get over it.’”
“They’re very…outspoken with their relationship?”
He nodded emotionlessly. There was only so much resistance a person could throw into a losing battle. “Among the people they know, yes.”
“Have you tried talking to them at all about any of this?” I proposed. Sometimes, the most obvious tactics go without being attempted.
He hesitated with his answer and his usual nervous behaviors ensued. “Well…kind of. I’ve dropped blatant hints, sharp comments that I know they’ve registered.”
“How can you be so sure?” Challenging him was important. He needed to start second guessing his own behavior, not just Mike’s or Billie’s. Gradually, I was stripping him of the comforting shell he put himself in. He had, this entire time, been identifying himself as a victim. He needed to see that the nemesis couple wasn’t solely at fault; he too shared some blame.
“I…I just do.” Leg bouncing, nail biting; the man knew I was right. “Look, the fact is, you just don’t mess with the ‘greatest couple in the world.’”
He spoke the last words with thoroughly disgusted sarcasm. His annoyance was heavy-set in his mind and it occurred to me that he was probably convinced that his opinion was a lone ranger amongst all others concerning the fairy tale pair. It was likely that Jason was distancing himself from anyone who saw Billie and Mike in a positive light, thereby turning almost everyone around him into an enemy. He put himself in a state of abandonment, and it would take time to get him to release himself from that blockade.
I would need to make him see that it was his own actions that caused him to lose good terms between himself and Mike. “Jason, do Mike and Billie ever try to talk to you as, say, just as friends?”
Jason sat thinking for a long minute and I hoped that meant I was getting through to him. “They used to. I think they’ve gotten the drift that I don’t want to have anything to do with either of them.”
“Is that true?”
“What do you mean?”
I spoke slowly, really allowing my words to make an impact. “Do you really want them completely absent from your life?” I leaned forward, offensive body language that added to the effect. “Jason, surely Billie was once a good friend, right?” Jason tightened his jaw and looked away. The answer was yes, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Don’t you miss that? And Mike…he was more than a lover; he was your best friend, was he not?” I detected the tiniest head nod possible; I was breaking in. “Jason, your hostility towards them has cost you their friendship.” I paused, and added a touch of sympathy to reassure him I was still on his side. “I know you want to be with him again. I know it’s difficult to see him with someone else, but if you could find a way to regain level ground between two, you could hold on to an important bond you should never lose: your friendship.”
There was only a tiny quiver in his voice. “It’s just not enough.” He closed his eyes, a single tear falling from his lashes.
“But isn’t it better than nothing?”
I did not expect an answer, but I waited anyway. Naturally, I did not get one, so I continued. “Jason, as you leave here today, I want you to leave something behind. I want you to, right now, abandon your pent up bitter hostility. When you go to work today, I want you to willingly and civilly communicate with both of them.” Of course, he looked at me like I was asking him to go on a life-threatening mission. “Now, I’m not saying go and make weekend plans or anything, just be civil. No snippy remarks; no ill intended comments. Speak to them with normalcy rather than striking anger. Just try it and you could very well feel ten times better.”
He was silent a long time, thinking over my proposition. “And if I don’t?”
I sat back. “Then you can treat them how you like and I won’t say another word.”
Jason nodded thoughtfully and then proceeded to leave and I was left to wait to see the outcome of my first treatment exercise with my most compelling case.
Thankfully, his next appointment was only a few days later. He came in and sat down like normal and I got right down to business.
“Well?” I immediately asked him. “How’d it go?”
He gave me a funny look at first. Straightforwardness was not something he knew me for. “Well…it started out ok.”
“Yeah?” I was excited. Be it a disaster or a success, it was still helpful material.
He nodded. “And it did feel…relieving.” He wasn’t lying. For just a second, I could see a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed back up by that lingering, bitter, negative shadow. “But I guess they saw it as a ticket to be even more all over each other than before!” He rolled his eyes and sat back in a huff. “You told me it’d work! You told me I wouldn’t care anymore! None if it’s helping. When am I gonna start getting better like you promised?”
“Jason, Jason, slow down!” I hushed him. “You have to have patience; these things don’t just happen. It’s a process. You have to gradually step into this. There are no shortcuts. I will help you find whatever peace you need to carry out your life, Jason, I promise I will. But it’s going to take time, understand?”
He seemed satisfied with my reassurance and began to calm down. “Yeah…patience.”
“Yes.” I smiled comfortingly. “Patience brings peace.”
I continued on that day to explain to Jason that the exercise had not been a complete waste. He had, he admitted, at least found some temporary comfort. Once I turned his mind on to an optimistic outlook, he took hold of the reins and was eager to get further along. He excitedly interrogated me about more mental exercises, simple tasks that could help along his daily life. He was very enthusiastic about all that I had to offer, so I was sure this was a key turning point in his mentality. After all, a series of sessions after that one proved to be nothing but progressive.
Things were looking up, to say the least. Jason’s stubborn and negative attitude vanished during our sessions and he seemed to be a new man, even to the point that his wife noticed a distinct difference in his behavior. Yes, things were nothing but progressively buoyant with the case and it seemed that only success was at the end of the road.
I was so enthralled with the case, that I started documenting my time with Jason more thoroughly, hoping that I could one day put it on the shelves of psychologists around the nation. I tried new tactics, new methods, that I was sure were unique to my thoughts. Jason became a fantastical psychological experiment that would profoundly lift my career. The impossible case taken on by the little psychiatrist that could. It’d be a bestseller; I was sure of it.
But all future hopes and dreams aside, I had to admit to myself that Jason was not entirely out of the woods yet. He was not cured; he was not yet at that perfect level I wanted him to be. I was reminded of this when one day, Jason came in with troublesome things on his mind- a first in weeks.
“They were talking about me,” Jason told me. The tiny, miniscule, helpless voice had made its way back into our sessions. “They…well; he was making fun of me and saying…things.”
“What kind of things, Jason?” I asked, also in a soft tone.
He was reluctant to tell me at first. “All…all kinds of things. He told Billie things…things about me.”
I simply sat patiently and watched him, knowing that he would let me in on the details without being prompted.
“I was listening to them,” Jason went on. “I shouldn’t have. They were alone and I was just…curious.” He looked up at me, expecting disappointment, but that was not what I was there to give. I gave him a neutral head nod, showing no judgment. “Mike told him everything; everything about us. All the secrets I told him. All the intimate moments we shared. Everything.”
Still speaking calmly and comfortingly, I questioned the severity of the situation. “Jason…why is that such a bad thing? Perhaps he was just sharing memories...like you do with me.”
“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” Jason pulled his legs up and curled up onto the couch.
In my mind, I was panicking. I had worked too hard to get him this far; I was not about to let it all go down the drain so quickly.
“I thought that too,” he continued. “But then I listened more.” A gut wrenching pause kept me on the edge. What could have happened to knock him down so hard? “They laughed at me. They thought it was funny. They thought I was funny.” Very subtly, the tears began to fall. “Do you know what he said? Do you know what Mike said? He said…he said, ‘I can’t believe I let it go on that long. I can’t believe he actually fell for me and he actually thought I did too.’ And then you know what he did? He laughed. He laughed at me. He said it was all a joke.” Jason grew quiet. I couldn’t even think of anything to say. “You were wrong, Dr. Carter. You were all wrong. He doesn’t care. He never did.”
Determination was probably the only thing that made me able to scrape up an argument against his claims. “Jason, I know this has to be partly exaggerated.” I spoke sternly now, and as he started to shake his head, I continued forcefully. “Yes, Jason, you don’t know the circumstances around the conversation. And even if he doesn’t care, or never did, why do you have to suffer for it? Why are you letting his take away your right to happiness?” I let the questions remain rhetorical and continued on back into a more comforting tone. “You’re going to see, Jason. You’re going to see that he doesn’t matter; that they don’t matter. Their voices and comments and actions aren’t going to cloud your mind anymore, but you have to make the effort. You have to be the one to silence them. Are you going to be willing to do that?”
Why that boy was continually shocked at my recurring empowering speeches, I don’t really know, but he did stare at me unsurely for a while before semi-confidently nodding his head. But it was enough for me that I could feel at ease again.
We talked more about the incident, but only briefly. Keeping that optimistic outlook was of the utmost importance. And at the end, as always, Jason asked me for some kind of helping action to take home and work out. Seeing as this would be the longer of our breaks between sessions, I had something a little different in mind for the week.
“All right, Mr. Freese, this time we’re going to try something new. This time, when you go home, I want you to come up with your own exercise.”
“My own?” he seemed a little unconfident.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I want you to find something to do, something to think about, anything that will bring a little more light to your day and a little closer to a peaceful place.” I paused and watched his facial expressions. While he seemed unsure of his capabilities, he didn’t seem to reject the idea either. “Finding your own method of coping will be a big step for you.” I smiled warmly. “I believe in you, Jason. And I bet it’ll have an even greater effect than anything else we’ve done.”
Jason nodded silently, but I was used to the limited communication. He got up and started to leave, but before he was out of my office, I said, “And Jason…?”
He looked over and gave me a weak smile. “I know, I know. Patience brings peace,” he recited, then headed out.
It was our ritualistic dismissal. He repeated the words that helped keep him level-headed and optimistic. They were his source of hope and I never wanted him to forget that.
And such would conclude my normal sessions with Mr. Jason Freese.
Jason missed his next Tuesday appointment without warning. I double, even triple checked all messages made to the office and my personal contacts, hoping to find notification from Amy of Jason’s absence, but to no prevail. I only considered calling him myself for a moment. Checking up on him after one missed appointment could very well have dismembered his trust in me; something I was not willing to risk. I just needed to relax and anticipate his return on his Thursday appointment.
But he did not show up then, wither. Fighting off the worrying thoughts was becoming increasingly difficult. I managed to put it off until the following Tuesday; a third missed appointment. I broke my vow and called his home at least three times that day, completely unsuccessful in getting a hold of anyone. I even tried Jason’s cell number, but still, no luck. There wasn’t much more I could do except sit and wait.
Jason skipped a fourth session as well, resulting in two whole weeks I had gone without seeing him. My weekend was restless. There was no explanation for these absences. No indication whatsoever that he would be doing anything but showing great and tremendous progress. I could not fathom what the reasons behind it all were.
It was Monday evening before I saw Jason again. It was a dreadful night. A wretched storm had blown in rapidly and the roads were soaked and nearly flooded. Warnings of all kind were being issued over the area.
I had decided that instead of braving the terrible conditions, I would just work late instead. I hadn’t been much for sleeping at the time anyway, so why not make the most of it?
I was staring out the window, watching Mother Nature take out whatever vengeance she had against the world, trying to distract myself with this patient or that patient, but my mind kept straying back to the one I hadn’t seen in two weeks.
And suddenly, there he was. In a bold flash of lightning and piercing thunder, Jason stumbled in out of the blackness of the hallway. He was beat up and bloody, and the sight of him scared me to the point of shrieking out loud.
“D-Dr…Car…ter,” Jason barely managed to stutter. All I could do was stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. “I…I need help.”
His frail and quivering figure nearly collapsed onto the floor, and in a flash I found myself rushing to his aid. I helped the poor, fragile man onto the couch and immediately sprang into interrogation mode now that I had my wits about me.
“What on Earth happened to you? Are you hurt? Where is it bleeding? And for Christ’s sake, where have you been?”
He winced sharply, whether from my words or his injuries, I don’t know. “Accident,” he groaned. “Just an accident, I swear.”
I ignored his words and jumped to tending to his wounds. There was luckily a first aid kit in the facility, though I wasn’t sure how much it’d help. There were multiple blood stains over his navy shirt, particularly a rather large one spreading over his chest, yet most of the stains did not have accompanying wounds to match with. The only visible marks on him were a few gashed over his forearms, a small one around his leg, and another minor cut dripping down his forehead. The rest of him was just battered and bruised, but thankfully not broken. Where, then, did all the blood come from? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Jason, what happened to you?” I spoke as softly and calmly as I could, hoping it would improve my chances at a decent answer.
He looked away quickly, but I could tell he still felt my stare. He then shut his eyes, probably hoping to shut me out, but he still answered my question.
“My car,” he choked out, and that was all that I needed.
It was a car crash, clearly; I didn’t necessarily need the details. The psychiatrist in me obviously thought it best now to make the poor man recount the traumatic incident, given the obvious note that it had just happened. But why, of all places, had he gone there? Why not a hospital?
“Jason,” I started again, keeping the firm but calm approach. “Who else was with you?” My fear was that Amy and the baby were trapped out in wreckage in the middle of the dreadful storm.
At this question he tried to turn away from me even more, though due to his wounds, he did not get very far. His hands flew to his face in what appeared to be shame. The familiar sound of his sobs sounded out in the room. I took all these behaviors and concluded that what I feared must be true.
I went into a panic. “Jason, where are they?” I abandoned the calmness entirely. The sobs were louder and his whole body was shaking. “Where are they?” I pressed on more intensely. All he did was shake his head over and over. “Jason!” I grabbed his wrists and tore them from his face, forcing him to look at me. “Where did you crash?” My volume was toned down, but the intensity remained. “Where are Amy and Tenn?”
And suddenly, his mood changed entirely. He immediately fell silent, his icy blues looking up at me questionably. Shame was replaced by slight confusion. I realized, quite quickly, that I had been mistaken.
Along with the silence, came a calming sense in the room. Nothing but the rain tapping on the windows was heard for what felt like ages. “They weren’t with you,” I half-stated, half-asked quietly. Jason shook his head. I had inaccurately assumed he has his family with him and he had incorrectly assumed that I knew who he was with. Someone was hurt. But for the life of me I did not know who.
The silence hung around and all I did was stare at him, thinking. I could not analyze, explain, or work out this situation to make logic sense to me and give solid answers. It was so much to take all at once and it was driving me to the edge.
Jason broke the silence and brought me out of thought. His demeanor now carried nervousness; perhaps from my staring, though I didn’t mean anything by it.
“It was an accident,” Jason insisted. “I promise. I…I didn’t…but it happened and I’m so sorry.” I didn’t understand why he was pleading forgiveness from me. I did not doubt him, but he made it seem like I should have. “Really! I didn’t mean to! The car…it just…I thought that maybe I could-” He stopped abruptly and paused, then shifted his opinion and spoke with pure confidence and assurance. “No…you know what? I was just doing what you told me to.”
“Excuse me?” I had in no way recalled giving out instructions to go wreck anything. He seemed like he was drifting back into his unstable mind-set. I was very worried that it would all unravel unstoppably before me.
Jason stood and his eyes were wide. He spoke with great optimism that I had never heard before. “I did it, Dr. Carter. I did what you said. You told me to find my own peace and…well, it took a while,” he laughed lightly. “But I finally did it. I found my peace.”
Through the cuts and bruises, he was grinning with relief. His eyes were wild with an odd happiness and I didn’t know what to make of it; I truly didn’t. “Jason…I don’t…” Words seemed useless at this point.
“It’s going to be ok. I feel…God, I feel so much better! They’re not a problem anymore and they never will be again. Thank you.” Jason then proceeded to hug me, but I just stood there, unable to think, unable to make sense of anything, unable to comprehend what was happening in this man’s head.
Just as suddenly as Jason had come in, my office was swarmed by a wave of blue uniformed, weapon wielding, police men. Storming in, shouting orders, people all around. They grabbed Jason and threw him to the floor, apparently disregarding me entirely for the time being. In a flash, a pair of handcuffs flew from the belt of an officer to the wrists of my patient he was kneeling on. I did not dare intervene as they read the man his rights and violently walked him out of the building.
I stood there, in just absolute confusion and shock. And maybe it was my expression showing just that which led the police in the room to exclude me from having anything to do with whatever crime Jason had committed. Or I could only hope.
As quickly as they came, they vanished into the stormy night. Swift, focused, professional; I got not even a sliver of eye contact as they all shuffled out of my workplace.
Head pounding, exhaustion taking over, I fell to my chair finding no relief in the new empty silence in the room. “My God,” I breathed, ready to be in tears. “I did not sign up for this.”
“So in your opinion, Dr. Carter,” the snaky lawyer starts up again. “Was this man aware of his actions when he ruthlessly mowed down our two victims?”
“Well, I can’t really say if-”
Hands slam onto the ledge in front of me, but I evade a startled jump. “You were his psychiatrist, Dr. Carter! If anyone in this court could tell us what was going on in the defendant’s mind, it would be you, would it not?”
I cast my eyes down and mumble a barely audible, “I suppose.”
But the vulture of a lawyer never missed anything. “All right then!” He turns away; taking steps towards the jury and shifting his gaze from me to them routinely. “Tell us, doctor,” his tone is menacing and I can’t help but let it irritate me. “When Mr. Jason Freese visited you but moment after the crash, did he seem like a maniacal psychotic, or a functional, rational, person?”
The truth is he seemed like both, or something in-between. My memory spouts up the sight of Jason’s eyes; the wild frenzy of excitement and relief behind his irises. Was it insanity? Could I sit here and call it that? Disturbing, yes, given the circumstances, but could I really call it psychosis?
He knew what he did. He was aware of what had happened and that it was his choice to do so. Regrettably, my professional opinion has no choice but to denounce the proposition of Jason being insane at the time of the incident. But that is what I am here for. I was called forth to bring my professional opinion, all emotional ties aside.
“I believe,” I finally begin to answer. “That Jason Freese was not significantly mentally impaired at the time of our meeting.”
The lawyer fails at hiding his smug smile. “There you have it!” I don’t dare look over at Jason as the man continues. “From his own psychiatrist! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I think it is clear that we have before us not a victim of a compulsive act of mental disease, but a cold blooded killer!” He then turns back to me. “One last question, doctor. When Mr. Freese spoke to you after brutally and fatally crushing and dragging Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Pritchard down Telegraph avenue with his car, then abandoning their shredded bodies on the side of the road, did he show any remorse?”
Again, those joyous blue eyes flash in my mind and suddenly, I feel angry. How dare he do such a treacherous crime and then claim he was following my instructions? How dare he try to credit me for his sins? All that my memories allow me to recall is how happy he seemed. “They won’t be a problem anymore,” his voice rings out in my head. “I found my peace.”
I look directly over at the jury, and answer a solid and confident, “No.”
The judge to my right then addresses Jason’s attorney and he rises slowly. “The defense rests your honor.” The aura of defeat is eminent.
The court is quickly dismissed and all I want to do is leave this place and return home as soon as I possibly can. Rising from my witness stand, I begin to rush out along with the rest of the court’s visitors, but to my dismay, I’m stopped by an officer before reaching the door.
“The prisoner would like to speak with you, ma’am.”
As much as I want to abandon the situation, I cannot help but agree to the request. “He was still your patient,” I tell myself with a sigh and slowly make my way over to Jason.
He is cuffed, and an officer remains at his side, but besides that, we are alone. His lawyer had shuffled out quite promptly, perhaps irritated at the obviously lost case and Amy had left in the middle of the trial, even before my testimony, clearly incapable of handling what is happening to her husband.
Jason bravely looks up at me with a defeated sigh. I only stare blankly at him for a greeting. “I’m sorry you had to do that.” I say nothing. “I’m not mad, either. You told the truth; it was what you had to do.”
My feedback is bitter. “Did you expect me to have guilt?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess you wouldn’t but…well, I just don’t want it to trouble you further.” My expression is cold and causes him to look down. “I would, of course, have preferred not to go to jail but…you did what you had to do.” The conversation seems utterly pointless and I’m starting to think he is only stalling. He looks up at me and lets loose something of a sarcastic smile. “Besides, rumor has it they’re seeking the death penalty now.”
His joke isn’t funny, and in fact, quite sadly accurate. Now as I look at him, I see something eerily familiar. While on the outside, the man before me carries himself calmly and uncaring, through his sorrowful eyes I can see straight through to his emotional core. The man in my presence is one that I have seen prior to this moment. Inside, he is the same miserable soul I met months ago. His heart still aches for a man; a man he has now killed, and his hopes of once again finding happiness seem even bleaker than before.
The crash had not brought him peace, as he had thought. Perhaps temporarily, in a lapse of judgment, the noisy and crowded feelings were silenced, but it has ultimately thrown him down an even deeper hole.
Now he stands, quite possibly facing death, and I almost wish it on him out of pity. The patient leaving my care is the same as the one I took in…if not worse.
He looks up at me once more, with acceptance of his fate radiating from every signal I can pick up. “You told me that patience brings peace. It was all I could think about for the longest time and…I don’t know, I guess I just got tired of waiting. I decided it was finally my turn to be happy and make everything else just finally leave me alone.” He pauses, not sad or fearful, just understanding. “I thought I could just make it happen.” He shrugs. “I guess I should have been a little more patient.”
The explanation doesn’t bring justice, but I take it anyway. With a shove, the various court officers begin escorting Jason back to his prison. I say nothing more; I communicate no further, and only watch as the man is taken away. He is the man I promised to help; the man I vowed to cure…and I utterly failed.
I turn and slowly walk out, and although he had wished otherwise, I cannot help but feel a growing inkling of guilt over the patient named Jason Freese.