ABSTRACT
He looked clean and cool, rather than sweaty and scruffy as he usually does, then began with the usual evocative associations—evocative and provocative, so as to ensure either reassurance of love or reassurance of hate. He was more coherent. Yet it is hard to recall anything he said. This is typical even though something is said. I was able to show him that by taking a minutely fragmented view he could avoid feeling the seriousness of the situation, which was revealed if all the minor statements of dissatisfaction were added up. This I think suggests splitting attacks on the depressive position. Thus the depressive stupor becomes a mass of tiny persecutory depressions: the door slams; singing in his head; a pain in his ankle; “I don’t know why; I’m sorry; the waitress brought some coffee; only half a cup”; and—despairingly, “I could not go on”.
