ABSTRACT
In exhibitionist and indulgent manner, the author use his personal life history to argue and to illustrate that every element of an analyst's work is intricately woven into the fabric of the analyst as a person. The author believes that there still exists outposts of thought that view psychoanalysis as a science, or at least hope that one day neurological and/or biological research will prove this to be the case and the medical model will be reinstated. Bracketing the narcissism involved in an analyst writing so candidly about his personal life, the possible complications involved when some patients read these revelations and the cringe factor associated with such exposure to colleagues, author suppose that there can be no greater illustration of the extent to which analyst's subjectivity influences every element of analytic process. The author's skepticism toward and opposition to the prevailing wisdom to which Hirsch was exposed was reinforced by a series of experiences with the profession of psychiatry.
