Chapter 12 The twelfth psychological consultation

Doctor, I am in a weird mood today, nervous, my thoughts are flying around, looking for answers, reasons, looking for a specific and real answer, just when I thought I found the answer, I filed the answer under the solved category, No longer classified as finished, I found myself still broken, scattered, and ruined.It's just that, I don't tell you about these situations, you probably know about them, right? At least your clinic feels real.Real wooden shelves, real wooden tables, real Aboriginal masks on the walls.And in your clinic, I can also show my true self, because I know you can't talk about me with others.But I suspect that when you sit with your friend who is also a therapist and chat about the usual topics, you don't want to blurt it out.Forget it, don't take my words to heart.You seem like a doctor who got into this profession because he really wants to help others.

You may not be able to save me.I will be sad because of this, but the object of my sadness is not myself, but you.The psychiatrist must feel deeply frustrated when he encounters a patient with a serious heart disease for which there is no cure.The first psychiatrist I had since returning to Clayton Falls told me there was no incurable patient, but I thought he was lying.I think that some people have suffered too much, they have been beaten to pieces, and no matter how much treatment they receive, they only get back a part, and they cannot piece together the whole person. I wondered, the key point of the metamorphosis is at that moment, when someone's heel stepped on it, it was my life and his life that was crushed in the end.Was it the moment when she was abandoned by her biological mother?If the foster family is happy and harmonious, won't it heal his wounds?If my adoptive mother hadn't been a pervert, would he never have killed or kidnapped me?Does this qualitative change happen in the womb?Does he have a chance to change his ways?Do I have any chance of being rescued?

The psycho has an evil side. He kidnaps me, beats me, rapes me, plays me with sadistic tricks and scares the hell out of me.But there are times when he's thoughtful, happy, excited, and that's when he's radiant, and I see opportunities for him to change for the better.Maybe his kind side can develop into a good family man who can teach children to ride bicycles and make balloon animals for his daughter?Maybe he will become a doctor and save countless miles. After giving birth to my daughter, I sometimes even wanted to take care of him with maternal love.I wanted to induce kindness in him when I saw another side of him in a flash.I want to help him.I want to heal him.But then it occurred to me that he was a little boy standing in front of a field of hay with a match, letting a burning match drop into the hay without an excuse.

Not long after the baby was born, the pervert threw me some cloth diapers, two baby jumpsuits, and some blankets.For a week, he hardly spoke to me, only when he asked me to do something, he only let me rest in bed for a day.The first day I got out of bed, I got dizzy washing the dishes and he only let me sit down, but a few minutes later he told me to do it again because the water had cooled down.The next time I get dizzy again, I just lean against the counter and close my eyes and wait for the dizziness to go away. He never touched the baby, but when I was changing a diaper or bathing her, the pervert would come up and ask me to do something for him.If I was folding baby laundry, he would tell me to fold his clothes first.Once, when dinner was almost ready, and I was about to breastfeed while the pot was about to boil, he told me to put her down and serve him the food first.The only time he didn't bother us was when I was breastfeeding.Because I didn't know why he was angry, I had to hug the baby to comfort him when he made a small sound, but his eyes still became gloomy and he clenched his teeth.He reminds me of a venomous snake waiting to bite.My stomach buzzes with anxiety as I comfort the child.

When the baby was two or three days old, he hadn't mentioned naming her, so I asked if I could name her. He glanced at the baby in my arms and said: No.But then I whispered a secret signal into her little ear.The only thing I can give her is the name. What I can't forget are the times when he was very jealous, for example, he hated his adoptive father to the bone.So while he was in the cabin, I must have acted indifferent to the baby and only attended to her basic needs.Fortunately, she is a happy baby who is easily satisfied and rarely cries.However, as soon as he went out to work, I would quickly hug her out of the blanket, look at every inch of her skin, and marvel at how this little life came out of my stomach.

She was conceived under these circumstances, and I'm supposed to have a pimple for her, but I'm amazed at how much I love my daughter.I ran my fingers along her veins and marveled at the flow of my own blood through her.Being touched by me like this, she never moves frizzy.Her small ears are perfect for me to sing a lullaby to her, and sometimes I just bury my nose into her neck and inhale her fresh and sweet scent, the purest I've ever smelled.There was a little brown half-moon birthmark in the hollow of her chubby left knee, and I loved kissing that spot.Every inch of her delicate skin makes my heart tremble, and I really want to protect her with all my strength.These feelings were too strong to scare me, and the greater the mother's love for her, the greater the anxiety.

The pervert still pulls me into the bath every night, but he won't let kids in the tub with me, and he doesn't want to touch my breasts.After the shower, I went to bed and nursed while he tidied up the bathroom.After she finished feeding, I put her in the crib to sleep.He prepared a wicker basket for a crib, and put some blankets in it, like a dog bed, but she seemed to sleep soundly. I remember hearing several friends complain that they couldn't sleep through the night right after they had their babies, and I couldn't do the same.Not because my daughter is rowdy!She only woke up once a night because I was so afraid of her waking up the pervert, so I lay still and listened to her voice, and as soon as I heard a slight sigh or a slightly irregular breathing, I immediately slipped away like a snake. At the end of the bed, to prevent him from noticing that there is no one beside him.Then I would lie on my stomach like a bitch feeds her puppies, with the breast hanging over the end of the bed, and pick her up slightly to feed her.If he moved, or made a sound, I would turn into a wooden man, only hear my heart beating, and wonder if she would feel my tension in my breasts.I snaked my way to the end of the bed again as the pervert's breathing became even again.

When bedtime came, I would put her in the crib first, and he would check me up and dab lotion on my private parts.If I flinched, he would stop and make a noise to comfort me, his face full of sympathy.He said we had to wait six weeks before we could have sex again.When he started raping me again, it hurt hundreds of times more than before, but my mood swings were much less severe than before.There were times when I was in pain when he applied lotion, but I forced myself not to react lest he stop.Suffering became the order of the day. Eight or nine days after she was born, one day I was cooking and needed both hands to put her into the basket when he stood in front of me and said: I will hold her.I looked from him to the secure crib and back to him.The little bed is so close to me, but I dare not go against his wishes.After I gently placed the baby in his arms, he strolled away with the baby in his arms, and my heart rushed into my throat.He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She started to whimper and cry, I put down what I was doing and walked up to him. I'm sorry she disturbed you!Let me put her back in bed. I get on really well with her.He held the child up and down, then stared at her and said: She knows that I am her father, and she will be my good boy, won't she?She stopped humming, and he smiled. I turned around and went back to the stove to cook, but my hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly shovel the dishes in the pan. From time to time, I looked for opportunities to turn around to get the condiments, so as to keep abreast of the situation.

At first he just looks down at the baby, but then he spreads out the baby blanket, removes her jumpsuit, and lays her in her diaper on his lap.I was afraid she would burst into tears, but fortunately she was just shaking her little hands and feet in the cold air.He looked up and down the baby, scratched her arm, and slowly folded her hand back.Even though he wasn't pushing too hard, I saw my whole body tense up, waiting for the cabin to fill with her cries, but she was quiet.He did the same with her other hand and legs as if he had never seen a baby before. His expression was peaceful, with more curiosity than other emotions.She had a little saliva running down to her chin, and he wiped it with his hands, gently and with a smile on his face, but I was still so impulsive that I wanted to fly over to snatch her, and I almost lost my mind. idea.Dinner was finally cooked, I walked over shaking my feet, stretched out my hands to him, and asked him to hand over the baby to me.I said: Your plate is ready.

He took a second to hand it over.Just as he was about to pass the baby to me, there was a look on his face that I had never seen before.He actually let go.In an instant, the baby is in free fall.I lunge forward and catch her before she touches the ground.My heart was beating like a drum, and my chest hurt from the impact, and I hugged her tightly.He stood up with a smile and walked to dinner, humming softly. During the meal, he chewed a few times, stopped and said: Her name is Juliet.I nodded, but in my heart I would rather die than name her after his crazy lady.I just called her secret name silently in my head.I have never revealed her name to anyone except you, doctor. After that day, he would sometimes get up with the baby, usually while I was folding or cleaning.He always sat the child on the bed, made her turn over on her stomach, and then folded her hands and feet.She didn't grumble or hey, so I don't think he hurt the child, but I still wanted to rush over and snatch her away. I was only concerned that he would punish me by hurting her, so that my feet could stay in place.When he had had enough, he would put the child back in the basket, but only once did he treat the child as a tired toy and leave it beside the bed.Every time he gets close to the child, I will be frightened into a cold sweat. When I went to the fields to plant vegetables, he would let me wrap a small blanket around my neck and carry her out.I like to take her out to grow vegetables, I like to watch the vegetables I cultivate grow, taste the smell of the sun drying the soil, and I like the feeling of stroking the fine hair on the baby's head.It would sound odd for me to say that I found some joy in my time on the mountain, because it would be tantamount to saying that it's okay to be kidnapped, and it's not normal anyway.But after I had my baby, I felt at least a moment of happiness every day. The pervert won't let me go outside unless I'm also doing something outside.He was constantly busy chopping wood, damp-proofing the shutters, and fumigation of borers in the cabin logs, so I often had the opportunity to go out.He told me to put a touch-up of paint on the rocking chairs on the porch, and I took them down to the river to paint while I enjoyed the sun with my daughter. If he was satisfied with the results of my work, he would let me sit by the river after I was done.Time to bask in the sun by the river is lovely, and I wish I had a sketchbook with me so I could capture the beauty in front of me, the contrast of a baby's milky white skin against the verdant grass, or the way she wrinkled her face as she sat on top of ants.The willow leaves and grass in full bloom, the sun dancing on the river, and the reflection of the fir trees on the river, these images also make my hands itch to paint.I was thinking, if I could capture all the beautiful scenery on white paper, I could think of the beautiful world outside waiting for me to go out when I was having a hard time in the cabin.I asked the pervert for a sketchbook and he refused. Because the weather is getting warmer, he asks me to wash clothes by the river every two or three days. He attaches great importance to the principle of saving water.The strange thing is that he doesn't feel sorry for wasting so much water in the bath every night. I don't want to talk about it.Why bother him?Let me go to the river, I wish for it.I like the breath of the river and the sun on the clothes.Someone probably planted an apple tree here years ago and I tied a clothesline to the tree and the other end to the corner of the cabin.That's what Psycho and I were, a normal pioneer couple. Before the baby was born, I noticed a mallard paddling by the river where the water was moderate.Sometimes there are other ducks around him, but usually he is the only one there.If the pervert wasn't looking my way, I'd stop what I was doing and admire the mallard.The first few times I went to the river to wash clothes or sit and rest, the duck flew away as soon as it saw me.But when my child was a week old, I sat on the rocks to wash the blankets and enjoyed the coolness of soaking my hands in the river water. insect. The pervert came over and offered me some bread, which surprised me, but I'm glad he acquiesced in feeding the ducks. In the next few days, I used bread to lure the mallard closer.Not long after, it dared to peck directly at what was in my hands.I wonder if it will fly over my house.My living space is small, it represents the vastness of the outside world, I can't wait to go to the river to see it every day, but I am careful not to let the excitement show.Putting on the mask of indifference has become my reflexive act. I've learned my lesson a few times, so I don't just let the perverts know what I like.The quickest way to end the happy hour right away is to let him know. He never let us go out of his sight, only as far as he could run, though he usually let us go to the river.Sometimes, I can even put him out of my mind, imagine that I am relaxing by the river on an ordinary summer day, and I can't help smiling at my daughter as she gradually feels the outside world.Before she was born, I used to wonder if she would be able to sense the evil around her after birth, but she was the happiest little baby I've ever been close to. My sight had ceased to explore the clearing, to search for a means of escape.Carrying her on my back, I can't move fast, not to mention I can imagine how miserable the fate of being taken back will be, and compared with the actual consequences, my imagination may be trivial. When my daughter was two weeks old, the pervert came to the river and knelt down beside me.As soon as the mallard saw him, he backed away from my hand and swam into the middle of the pool.The pervert took the bread and tried to lure the duck closer, but the duck ignored him, and his neck turned red with anger.I caught my breath in my throat, praying that the duck would come to bite the bread, but it was too late to come, and finally the pervert put down the bread and walked to the cabin, saying as he walked that he wanted to prepare something for dinner.The duck immediately swam to me. I heard a disgusting pop and at the same time saw the beautiful duck's head burst before my eyes, and the feathers floated in the air and landed on me, on the baby, on the river.While my eardrums were groaning, I heard a scream and found that the sound came from my throat.I jumped up from my crouch, turned around and saw the psycho standing on the porch, rifle in hand.I covered my mouth with both hands to silence the screaming and stared at him. Pick it up. I hesitated.How could you? But I'm talking to the air, he's off the porch. The baby's wail conveyed my feelings as I waded into the river to pick up the duck's mutilated carcass.The duck's head was almost shattered, and the bloody body stood upside down on the river, floating down the river. That evening, I learned how to pluck duck feathers.I will never forget that smell for the rest of my life.Tears kept filling my eyes and breaking the embankment.He scolded me a few times and told me not to cry anymore, but I endured it again and again, and the sobbing still broke out.Every time I plucked a duck feather, a sense of guilt piled up in my heart.If I hadn't tamed it, it wouldn't have lost its life. The roast duck dinner was on the table, and it was dinner time. I sat down and froze.The pervert sits across from me, and between us on the table is a large dinner plate with my duck on it.In the past, I had always accepted his orders to me, but watching him slaughter what symbolized my freedom, my hatred for him soared to an unprecedented level.The fork is so heavy that I can't lift it.He soon discovered this phenomenon. Have your dinner, Annie. Only my tears are moving, running down my face.I'm an indirect murderer, it's hard for me to accept it, tell me to eat it?can't do it.The pervert grabbed a handful of duck meat, walked up to me, opened my mouth, and stuffed the duck meat in.I choked and vomited and choked on the duck, and he yelled at me. Chew it down! His other hand held the back of my head so I couldn't flinch back.After filling my mouth, he stretched my lips with his claws.I eat my duck.Involuntary. The pervert sat back in his seat, eating duck.He moved the metal knife and fork, reflecting the light, I was dazzled, I saw him carefully cut the duck meat on the dinner plate into several small pieces.He noticed that I was watching, slowly raised the fork, put the duck meat into his mouth, closed his lips, closed his eyelashes, and let out a sigh of joy.While chewing, he opened his eyes and looked at me.Finally he swallowed. At this time, he smiled. Before this, I had always looked at my daughter while breastfeeding, but this night I couldn't look her in the face.She drank my duck, drank my beautiful duck, and I wondered if she could taste my sadness. Doctor, last night, I really wanted to crawl back into the closet and go to sleep, and I almost went crazy thinking about it.My room is so dark that I can't see my fingers. I always thought that something was trying to reach out and grab me. I turned on the flashlight by the bed but there was nothing.I tried lighting candles to sleep, but the ghostly shadows dangling from the candlelight on the wall made me unable to sleep even more.Turn on all the lights, drive out all the sleeping bugs, and hear every sound in the house more easily.My home is an old house that creaks at every turn.So I'm reporting the good news, doc, that I didn't get into the closet last night; the bad news is that the late-night shows suck. Last night's harvest was one that made me think about fear and what you said.You mentioned that there are several different symptoms of PTSD, but I still can't say why the sleeping closet feels safer.All I know is that the bed gives me a sense of defenselessness.I always feel that as soon as I lie on the bed, others can control me from my feet, from the left, from the right, or even airborne. Too much empty space gives me a sense of oppression. The more painful what I tell you, the more I think about it, the more necessary it is!Get into the closet and sleep.You asked me what it was that I was trying to avoid, and I guess now is the time to get to the crux of the matter, to explore the root of the lingering shock.This paranoid feeling is like a nagging itch. The feeling of still being insecure was too heavy for me to settle down.I knew it was my own mood that caused the trouble, because the police were very cooperative and would notify me as soon as there was any progress in the case, especially this policeman named Gary. He was beaten so badly by me repeatedly, and he was probably regretting giving me his mobile phone number.If I am still in danger, the police will also notify me.They better inform me.It is the duty of the police to protect the common people.Since there is such thoughtful protection, why am I not at ease? Please stop bombarding me with this natural, PTSD-inducing bullshit.After regaining my freedom, I will have a lot of worries and fears left in my heart, and I can understand the reason.As I said just now, I thought about what you said, and even searched for information on the Internet.I wish it was that simple, but my situation is different.My fear was all too real. That's why I came to you, Doctor.Please help me get rid of the thoughts that are still dangerous, help me get rid of the thoughts that someone will be against me and that something will happen to me.Don't worry, I don't expect you to give me a quick fix.You just have time to think about it.I know you're going on vacation for two weeks, maybe before you come back, I can understand an answer myself If there is such a good cure for heart disease, what's wrong? Thank you for introducing me to another therapist, but I will see you again when you come back.Oddly enough, I don't trust people easily.