My patient had been silent for about ten minutes—that's when I began to worryby Anna Blundy / March 19, 2018 / Leave a comment
Published in April 2018 issue of Prospect Magazine
Simon seemed unusually relaxed. This is a Skype patient who is usually hyper to the point of mania, always asking me when he’s going to be “fixed” and trying to force life tips out of me.
He feels persecuted by the imagined and real criticisms of strangers, friends and family, and always assumes himself to be in the wrong and deserving of whatever punishment might be on offer. He talks breathlessly, pleading with big eyes. But not today.
“I feel very calm,” he said. During the unprecedented two or three-minute silence that followed I began to wonder what earth-shattering revelation must be about to ensue.
“I…” he began. Another very long pause.
“It feels hard to articulate,” I offered.
“No…” he said, his gaze drifting away.
Another huge silence.
“You feel quite detached from me today.”
“Yes,” he agreed, 30 long seconds later.
After 10 minutes of hearing his kitchen clock tick, I noticed that his eyes seemed to be closing and my anxiety began to mount. In normal sessions he complains about being tired, but the more tired he is the more wired he seems to become. This was different.
When I spoke again he was startled out of reverie.
“I’m wondering if you want me to worry about you today?” I suggested.
“You can if you want,” he slurred. “I don’t care.” Now I was very worried indeed.
“I don’t care about anything any more,” he said, slipping out of consciousness again.
Had he overdosed on something? Was he drunk? Was he terribly ill? Or was I missing the countertransference? I tried to relax and think. But all I could think about was how I might get help to him. I…