This
is an issue I think many therapist and intimacy counselors struggle with; a
patient who simply won't open up. It's often difficult to find the key. I'm not
suggesting you should go to the lengths I went to to get my patient to open up.
And some might cry foul. But to those, I say poo poo. On you. Poo. And I mean
that both as a pioneer in the intimacy wellness field and a general person in
general.
Isobel
Sunday was angry. This is all I knew. She was so angry in fact, she wouldn't
even come to my office for a session. So, her parents and I had to get a little
creative.
We
had Isobel, who was a senior in high school, called down to the guidance
counselor's office, where I would be waiting. Her usual guidance counselor, a
Mr. Chapney, I believe, was glad to free up his office, having given up on
getting anywhere with Isobel a long time ago. Some, including members of the
faculty, even joked that Isobel and other difficult students like her had
driven him to drink.
When
Isobel knocked, I was standing behind the door. "Come in," I said,
muffling my mouth a bit with my cupped hand.
The
door opened and Isobel peeked inside. I grabbed her hand and pulled her the
rest of the way in and shut and locked the door. As soon as I let Isobel go,
she slapped me across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. I grabbed her wrists.
"Let
go of me! I'll scream!" Isobel hissed.
"No
you won't," I said, bluffing.
"Why
won't I?"
"Because
if you do, I'm not sure what will happen to you. You see, Isobel, this is the
end of the line for you. Everyone is at a total loss. And the next stop for you
might be a mental hospital. You ever see One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest?
Did that look like a vacation paradise?"
"Hospitals
aren't like that anymore."
"Aw,
don't let anybody fool ya. They're more like that than anyone would care to
admit."
"What
do you want from me?"
"Not
very much. First, I would like you to stop hitting me. I'm generally a good
person and don't appreciate being hit for no good reason. Second, I would like
you to sit or lie down on this nice comfy couch. Third, I would like you and I
to have a nice, polite conversation. Okay? Can I let you go?"
"Yes."
I
released Isobel. She immediately sat down on the couch and put her book bag on
the couch next to her and folded her arms and proceeded to stare off. I turned
a nice comfy chair toward her and sat down. I reached over for my tape recorder
and pressed record and grabbed my notebook and pen. Isobel was still sitting
the same way. Her expression was angry and cold.
"Hello.
My name is Dr. Mosely Untreu. I would like it if you call me Dr. Mosely. Or
just Mosely. Or Mo. Or M." I smiled, slightly.
Isobel
remained unchanged.
"Okay.
I think we're doing great. Now, where were you when we called you down to the
office?"
"Math."
"Would
you like to return and maybe continue this at my home office, say, Tuesday at
4pm?"
"Yes.
Thank you." Isobel stood up.
I
stood up. "Isobel?"
"Yes?"
she said, annoyed.
"What
sort of things would you like for our session? Any particular music? Incense?
Lighting? It's no wonder you wouldn't want to open up in here. Despite your
usual Mr. Chapney's efforts, I find it a little cramped and sterile in here.
Don't you?"
"I
don't know. I like it in here. I like that it's small. I like that much."
"Good.
Would you like to maybe stay a little longer? I think you could survive one day
without math."
"Okay."
Isobel sat back down.
"Would
you like me to do anything else? Anything to help relax you. Is there anything
in here you could do without?"
"That."
Isobel pointed at a big colorful ceramic frog on the desk.
"Done."
I put the frog in the desk.
"I've
always hated that thing. It always makes me think somebody ate a rainbow and
threw up all over it."
"What
else?" I asked.
"Those
stupid posters." Isobel pointed at all the cheesy posters about teen
suicide or pregnancy.
"Absolutely.
Wise choice. But before I do that, look what I found in good ole Chapney's
desk." I held up an open bottle of red wine and a wine glass. "How
old are you again?"
"18."
"Well,
that was old enough to drink in 1976. And what's good enough for 1976 is
certainly good enough for 2003." I poured some out in the glass and handed
it to Isobel. "We'll have to share the one glass. So don't snoz it all
down." I looked up at the posters. "Now, for those idiotic
posters." I took them down and rolled them up.
While
I did that, Isobel set her glass of wine down and got up to shut the lights off
and closed the curtains most of the way, cutting the light in the room down
significantly. "I don't like so much light," she said.
"Okay."
I sat down in my chair.
Isobel
sat down on the couch. "I'm a little cold. Is there a blanket in
here?"
Isobel's
outfit was a bit on the skimpy side, mostly black with a black and pink top,
which was partly see-through, showing a blue bikini top underneath. She was
also wearing extremely small black shorts, which made her extremely
smooth-looking legs seem to go on forever. Then little black sandals. It was
summer attire. But it wasn't quite summer yet. Plus, the school was a little on
the cold side.
"Blankets?"
I glanced around. I looked in a few drawers. "Here, why don't you use my
jacket" I slipped off my jacket and laid it over her bare legs.
"Thank
you."
"No
problem. Music?"
Isobel
pulled her Ipod out. But she didn't have a dock for it. I looked around and
found a small radio. I turned it on, turning it to public radio, which was
playing classical. I lowered it.
"When
we meet in my office, we'll have access to more music. And you can bring your
Ipod. I'm sure my daughter has one of those dock things. If not, I'll buy one.
I've been meaning to update my music technology."
Isobel
nodded and took a sip of wine.
