“Hello, Doctor,” John said irreverently.
“Come in asshole,” was the response.
Looking around john noticed the familiar stacks of yellowing papers and old books from the 60’s and 70’s. The guy was a classicist, he had to admit, and looking around he hoped to God he wasn’t looking at the ghost of Christmas future. On the other hand he knew the guy was brilliant, and he did kind of admire the mad scientist quality that seemed to permeate every area of his life.
‘What’s on your mind John?” he asked, cutting to the chase.
“Jesus you don’t fuck around, Ok, here’s the thing. I met this woman the other day, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.”
“You mean another chick from a bar? Congratulations asshole. You exploited your limited therapeutic skills to fuck a chick in a tacky lounge. You’ve done us proud.”
“No you judgmental prick, this was something entirely different, not sexual at all actually. She was totally different than any girl I’ve ever met. She had a hyper-sensitive level of insight, kind of mysterious but also kind of odd. Here is the part about her I wanted to talk to you about, She told me I was an empath. I know, it sounds like New Age bullshit, but still, I did some research and I wanted to talk to you. Is there such a thing?”
Dr. Paul took a deep breath and took John in with serious eyes. They knew each other well, and John knew that Dr. Paul’s mentor, the author of one of the most definitive books on teaching therapy, had committed suicide. It had been a subject of heated debate between the two of them, as John had often question the idea that a person could commit suicide and still have relevant things to say about how a therapist should approach empathy and the subject of fostering hope in people.
Dr. Paul had contended that it is always possible to separate the message from the messenger. The history of psychology was filled with men of less than reputable character who had amazingly brilliant things to say about the nature of the human condition. Jung, perhaps the therapist who had influenced John more than any other, was sexually exploitative of his female patients. Freud was an insufferable narcissist who eventually committed suicide. Kohlberg, the gold standard for introducing the idea of moral reasoning in psychology, did as well.
His mentor, Dr. Thomas Mahoney, however had been a different kind of case, dedicating 40 years of rigorous scholarship and personal practice into the study of human empathy. On his 70th birthday he had shot himself in the head, a particularly violent death for a man so gentle that had sent shockwaves though the entire psychological community. His suicide letter read,
“Goodbye to all of you precious people who shared this short, sweet dance with me. I owe you an explanation and I want to assure you that this was not in any way because of you beautiful souls. I have had a secret for most of my life. Being around other people in almost every capacity puts me in intense pain. I have tried to smile through this, but it was a secret I could live with no more. As far as I can understand it, it is some kind of super-heightened sense of empathy, where I actually physically as well as emotionally feel the pain others feel in almost every instance. I know this sounds bizarre, and some may think such a thing has been a curse. It has not. It has allowed me to be what I hope is an effective therapist who made a difference to those brave souls who entrusted me to help, and it has been an honor and a privilege to do so.
As I have gotten older, this ability, if you would like to call it that, has gotten much more acute. I could no longer even go out in public without being immediately blasted by the sensory information others were sending out, and if they were in any kind of distress I felt it acutely. It was therefore time for me to say goodbye, as I could no longer bear this pain, but also not bear the thought of sharing this experience with all of you who I have loved so much. This little life I have been given has been exceptional.”
The letter had fueled an intense sense of speculation among psychologists as to what this man was actually claiming to have experienced. Was he some sort of psychic? A healer? Did he break from reality and have delusions about seeing and hearing other people’s thoughts? The less kind had suggested he had simply gone crazy, and his suicide detracted greatly from his reputation as one of the finest therapists of his generation.
Dr. Paul had also felt this sting, having embraced Mahoney’s teaching and theories regarding human empathy and passed them on to his students and trainees for many years. He and John had often discussed the perils of being a therapist. Divorce and alcoholism were very common in their circle of friends, and Dr. Paul himself had struggled with both of these things. His often rumpled appearance was usually a sure sign that he had been out too late the night before, and sizing him up, John figured he may very well have been out on a bit of a bender very recently.
So as the thoughts of Mahoney’s suicide drifted slowly out of his mind, Dr. Paul once again took notice of John, this time beckoning him to sit down.
“I’m not sure this is a question you want me to answer John, he replied with a sigh. “But to begin to answer your question, I knew you’d be coming today, and yes, it partially explains why I never made it out of these clothes. Partially,” he said, this time laughing and with a smile.
So John started from the beginning, telling him about the young girl he had been seeing who was being sexually assaulted by her father and ending with a strange woman in a coffee shop. He walked him through all of the feelings that accompanied this journey, including the actual physical sensation of pain when his young patient had been sitting and waiting for him in the waiting room.
Dr. Paul nodded and listened with little interruption. Having practiced psychotherapy for 30 years, he had dealt with more than his share of sexual abuse cases, and was all too familiar with the heartbreak and dejection that hearing this stirs up in a person. Instinctively he knew John had talked for nearly an hour, having honed his sense of therapeutic timing after many years of practice.
“I want to think a bit more about this John,” Dr. Paul replied. “You remember I knew you as a student and I always wondered if this was the right field for you, and now you’re describing going to a place where very few therapist have been. Why now, you have to ask yourself, has this kind of super empathy chose to reveal itself to you? You’re on your way as a therapist and even as a public figure. Your books are selling, you go on TV and feed that itch, so I’m wondering why at this point in your career you are so interested in this?”
“I know, I know, you always thought I wanted to be a celebrity first and a therapist second, and maybe you’re right about that. You also told me to pay attention to how people in therapy make me feel, and all I know is that lately I feel like I am taking in every bit of their pain. Is this familiar to you? Have you lived with this? How do you live with it? That’s why I’m here. I’m genuinely stuck. I need answers,” John replied wearily
“Let me ask you something John. Do you really think I’d be wearing the same suit as I did yesterday if I didn’t know what you’re talking about? Sometimes it pushes me to the brink of madness it hurts so much, but at the end of the day I know what we do matters. I’ve seen it. I see it in you actually. See it in how far you’ve come as a therapist. I live with it and I stand it and most days do so with a smile on my face. It’s very tiresome sometimes. Right now I feel very tired, so I want to give you just one piece of advice before I kick you out.”
“Which is?”
“Find the woman.”
Goddamn, John thought to himself as he got on the elevator. I came in for answers and he leaves me with riddles. I should have expected it, he thought to himself. Dr. Paul never gave anyone the answers to anything. He would point you and lead you and encourage you, but he was an absolute expert in making his patients do the heavy lifting themselves.
Find the woman, what did he mean by that? How was he going to do that? In a city of 3 million people he had met her at a bar and gotten only her first name. What was so special about her anyway? He knew he was trying to talk himself out of something he felt to be true though, and attempting to create this cognitive dissonance had left him a terrific headache. He stopped into a bar and ordered a beer.