December 3

Mr. N., who grew up under the Communist regime in the former German Democratic Republic, quite past middle age, likes to talk. Not so much that you feel like stopping him all the time because he'll just talk all alone through the entire therapy session, but talk he does. In his thick Saxonian accent he talks about himself. Mr. N. speaks mostly in generalizations and cliches.

Mostly. You better pay attention, because camouflaged in his cascade of words within a description of how he walks home along the railroad tracks after work, like a slurr, almost, he will tell you how easy it would be to just step onto the tracks at the right time.

That gets a rise out of the therapist, who almost got caught in the snare. "Why would you do that?"

"For the same reason I stick my hand in boiling water." 

Mr. N feels guilty. Very guilty. We all feel guilty at times. For things we didn't do. Failed to do. Did do. Didn't do well enough. Watched and didn't react. For being or not being.

Mr. N's father used to hit him. He referred to it as "disciplining his son." He hit him time and time again. Mr. N endured it. Being hit by his father. Time and time again. Week after week. Year after year.

With a crow bar.

One day, as a teenager, Mr. N decided that he no longer wanted to be nearly killed by his father, week after week, year after year.

He grabbed a pitch fork and nearly killed his father.

Ever since then, Mr. N has been punishing himself. He hurts himself. In many different ways. Like sticking his hand in boiling water.

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. N's own son got killed in a freak automobile accident. Mr. N tried to kill himself, but was saved. Now he's here with us.

"Why is it not good to hurt oneself, Mr. N?"

Silence, followed by many generalizations but no answer to the question. I sit there and watch him fidgeting around with the zipper of his sweater. More generalizations. More silence. After having been pressed for an answer several times and multiple reminders to please stick to the original question, Mr. N finally says:

"It doesn't solve the real problem, does it?"

I exhale audibly. Finally. Even if he doesn't believe it, at least he was finally able to formulate an answer he can LIVE with.

We then work on a helpful statement he can remember and repeat to himself when he feels like hurting himself -- like stepping in front of a train or sticking his hand in boiling water.

I will never be able to walk along railroad tracks again without thinking of crowbars.