ABSTRACT
Four years after Kathleen left me, she wrote me the following letter:
I think that I will always have just a tiny bit of the obsessive/compulsive perfectionist in me—that’s just me… . In my case, I’ll never be ‘normal.’ Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean! I’ve experienced the horror of mental illness, and a near breakdown. I came much too close to the abyss to ever fit the mold of the completely well-adjusted person—if such person exists. I know something of the terrifying chaotic horror that Conrad mentions in The Heart of Darkness. I know too much of pain and fear. I am very fortunate to be as healthy as I am. Funny how resilient some of us are.
Don’t get me wrong Val (my nickname). I’m a happy contributing member of society with a healthy marriage, and a small, but tight circle of friends. I have the respect of my supervisors and colleagues … my ability to confront my mother’s failure and point the accusatory finger of shame at her took the load of guilt and grief from my shoulders. What a relief this has been.
This epiphany paved the way for future progress. I no longer allow people to take advantage of me or other people… . I tell it like it is. As you might guess, some people don’t like such outspoken ways, but I’m not out to become Ms. Popularity. Too often, the price is too high.
This way of life took years, Val, but you helped plant the seeds. Whenever I demurred at blaming my mother, or didn’t question my bullying conscience, you dug and picked and nagged, forcing me to face my cowardice. No matter how dense or stubborn I was in therapy, you never let me off the hook. You demanded that I question all of my beliefs (all mothers love their children) and mindless assumptions about the world in general (everyone thinks that crazy people are evil or bad)… . I suffered from loneliness, but never regret. In the process, I beat down my conscience.
252What strikes me most about my therapy is how easily you accepted me. I was an absolute mess when I came to you. Crazy. Scared to death. (In the first session, she was frightened to come to me because she feared I would hospitalize her.) Despairing. Isolated in my illness. Nothing I said shocked you. You respected me and let me talk things through without the usual saccharine that therapists give… . You allowed me to be as ugly and mean as I wanted. Yet you were ruthless when I tried to hide something… . When I see mentally ill people, I feel nothing but empathy and mercy for them, and hope they will heal without drugs or shock therapy. I pray that a miracle will happen and that they will be lucky like me… . I ‘forgive’ myself from being human and becoming sick.
