Dying to know

A puzzle

Dr. Julian Morse (Frank)

"I see patterns everywhere but some dots aren't connected yet. I've never had a client like her before. All her questionaires suggested she's a mentally healthy person," I told Marc.

"Julian, we're not here because we're discussing a client," Marc reminded me.

Marc had always been my mentor and he became my psychologist once I graduated. Hearing other people's misery all day, does something to a person. During my intern years, I tended to overthink all of my clients stories, I kept analyzing them even when I was lying in my bed. Marc helped me create some clarity in my head. Clarity I needed to be good at this job.

He had the perfect practice. The colors of his wall were a calming yet hopeful shade of blue. I copied his office but mine always seemed a bit off. I was too messy to keep it in this perfect state.

Maybe my office didn't feel right to me because it wasn't mine. It was a copy of this place, a poorly copied version.

"I know but it's bothering me. She's a puzzle I cant quite solve," I replied.

"A puzzle?" Marc asked.

Of course I didn't see Mila as a puzzle. She was an interesting person and we didn't 'solve' people like a math problem. People were complex and even though we're predictable, sometimes it's impossible to foresee anything.

"If this client bothers you this much, maybe you should point her to someone else," Marc suggested.

"No!" I answered a little too hastily. "I mean, she trusts me, things are going well. It wouldn't be beneficial to change it up at this point," I tried to salvage what I'd just said.

"Beneficial? For her? Or you?" Marc asked.

"Her. Me. Both," I said uneasily. "I don't have feelings for her, trust me. I just feel like I'm learning a lot from this client."

Marc was right and he knew it. I liked seeing and hearing Mila. We were both getting something out of this treatment. I wasn't crossing any boundaries, there was just a voice inside my head saying she was too interesting to let go yet.

"I believe you don't have romantic feelings for this woman but maybe there's some other attachment that might not be beneficial for her therapy at all," Marc suggested.

This had happened before. Seven years ago I talked too much about one client. Marc got worried and made sure I recommended another therapist for this client. Some people have a certain appeal. Sometimes I really wanted to pick their brains and I got selfish. I was actively reeling it back for Mila. She deserved an evidence-based treatment with a therapist who was neutral, not biased by feelings.

I needed to stop talking about Mila. Ever since she started coming to my practice, she'd come up during my own therapy.

"But I agree she's an interesting case. I'm only asking you to be vigilant. Don't get too caught up and when you do, own up to it," Marc advised, letting his mentor role shine through.

"My hypothesis is that she lacks goals in her life. For some reason, she refuses to have longterm plans. The planning of the attempts is merely a way to kill time, a hobby. But then she performs certain attempts with high succes rates which makes me believe she actually wants to die," I sighed.

"What goes through your head when she's describing one of her attempts?" Marc asked.

"I feel worried, powerless. This therapy doesn't seem to be affecting her at all but that's normal, this is merely the intake phase. It's very easy to go along with her cheery attitude but the more she talks, the more she makes me feel sad. It's tragic and dangerous what she does and Mila seems to be enjoying the entire process, the entire routine she has," I explained.

"What's the next step in your treatment?"

"I think it's important to address the future. Has she thought about it? What would it be like if she didn't commit suicide? What would her life look like? Is she satisfied with that image?" I stopped myself before I could go any further. There were so many questions on my mind.

"Maybe the answer to your puzzle is easier than you think. Maybe she already has all the answers," Marc said, putting the emphasis on the word puzzle.

"You're right," I stated. I wasn't entirely convinced. Maybe I'd have more questions than answers. Mila was unpredictable and she had a unique way of thinking.

After an hour, we decided to part ways. I'd been talking with Marc for an hour and a half which was exhausting.

When I got home, my wife was cooking something that smelled delicious. I got lucky that her hobby was cooking. I was a terrible cook, I even managed to screw up fried eggs. There's a chance I would live on take-out food if I didn't have her.

I kissed her on the cheek and as a reward I got to taste what she was making.

"Mmm," I moaned, not telling her I burned my tongue in the process of tasting.

"Don't overreact," she shot back with an amused glint in her eyes.

"Ugh, I had another person with burn-out today! I think I need your business cards to recommend you. They definitely weren't ready for another job yet. This one already had a psychologist though," she ranted.

She was a jobcoach, helping people see what their strengths are and linking that to the jobmarket. Lately, she'd been getting a lot of people who got bullied or with psychological symptoms.

We'd met at a networking event and hit it off pretty well. When I have clients suited for her, I give them her contacts and she did the same.

"There's been a lot lately," I sighed.

"Yeah, it's difficult to hear their stories all day. Who knew? Your job might not be as easy at it seems," she laughed.

"Hey hey, I complimented your food, woman! Be nice to me," I joked.

"You know I'm not a nice person," she smirked. "So what's up with you?" she asked. She only did that when she noticed I was dealing with something.

"Just had therapy," I shrugged.

"Oh, Marc?"

"Yep. He wants me to be vigilant with my client," I rolled my eyes even though I knew he was right.

"That one client? The woman?" my wife asked.

"Yes, her."

I told her about some clients as long as she could never trace them back to an actual person it was fine. I didn't talk about work too often though, only the cases that kept me busy.

"Well, you have been kinda occupied with her. If I didn't know any better, I'd be worried," she said.

"I don't know... I haven't asked her if she likes to cook," I said with a boyish grin.

"Don't even try, Julian!" She hit me with a kitchen towel.

"I am worried about her though," I pondered.

"I get it. I mean, it's such an unusual-"

"No that's not it," I sighed.

"She missed our last appointment. It's not like her to miss an appointment."