The end of a conversation with my psychiatrist some time ago:
"Do you have any questions for me, _______?" she asked
"No."
"YES!"
I shook my head in confusion and she laughed.
Then a year of folly as it appeared a relationship, which had an unusual path, was not beyond rescue. Her wish was to marry me and she was for years before the unknowing subject of my dreams. She knows me at second hand rather well: it is the complete reverse for him. This may read like a fable, but is not untrue; the double negative was the only verbal confirmation of her love anyone ever gave me. Unhelpful if you have been a victim of physical and mental bullying, have adjusted to that predicament so well you can only behave in difficult circumstances as though you are being bullied at that moment and Asperger‘s Syndrome (then undiagnosed) had made it impossible to correctly interpret her non-verbal cues.
They treated me as if I had no personal issues which would make it difficult for me to develop a relationship: my sick notes at the time gave “anxiety/depression” as a diagnosis. A psychiatric nurse had told me I could be married in two years if I wanted it, long ago now; he said it at a point when I would not make a direct connection, and my feelings about her were unstated. The thought of marriage scared me to death.
The question from my psychiatrist was posed many times. Usually without a response from me out of a despair of no probable resolution. I thought at the time it would take me a decade to work out the truth and my pessimism was not misplaced. When the complete despair had stopped me referring to her for long enough, trying led me to loose my temper when I came against their brick wall, she thought I no longer loved her. Not her fault and she is completely blameless. She moved so far away it is unlikely we will meet again: it would probably cause both of us pain. I only know where she is thanks to the internet: if it were left to them, I might still wonder if she had died.
With thanks to Thomas Pynchon, wherever he is, for coming up with the word ‘shrink’ in The Crying of Lot 49 (1966).
