The Psychiatrist

It is 12:30. The clock hits 12:30. I wait for my patient, patiently. Not that it matters to me much, but I prefer for them to be on time, or even better 5 to 10 minutes earlier. A psychiatrist like me has a full schedule- now that the world is all depressed and gloomy.

For a psychiatrist to be good there are several fundamental things:

· They have to maintain eye contact throughout the whole session.

· They mustn't let emotions get in the way of their professional judgment.

· They cannot let patient's problems impact their private life.

· And finally, they mustn't catch feelings for their patients or create improper relationships with them.

All of these teachings are very much known by good professionals. Anyway, let us move from the dogma part and return to our present moment. So, I wait and wait. The time now is 12:35, but it's okay. I meet a lot of people on a daily basis. Such meetings have made me understand every each of these people and forgive them for their mistakes, even at cost of my own happiness.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Come in!" I straighten up to show confidence.

"Hello, Miranda, sorry for being late." A thin woman with a long, brown, and curly hair enters inside.

"It is Dr. Miranda for you dear." I scan this utterly disrespectful woman.

"Yes, sorry Doctor. Um... I have an appointment now for 12:30." The woman closes the door.

"Angela is that right?"

"Yes, Dr. Miranda."

"You're late. Please, take a sit." Miranda's voice went from denoting to a lighthearted welcome. "So, given the fact that we are short on time we will have to skip the pre-talk nonsense that leads to nothing. So, why don't we go straight to the problem?"

"Yes, I think that would save time." Angela said that with a not very convincing voice.

"Tell me about your problem first."

Angela froze for a moment and looked at Miranda's white long shirt while trying to get out the words from her mouth.

"My... my husband... He's an alcoholic and sometimes...um, he knows to hit me when we start arguing." Angela didn't dare to look up from her feet.

"So, looks like he's the one for the therapy not you, eh?" Miranda looked down on her.

"Well not quite t. You see his behavior has left a very strong impact on my daily life." Angela stopped talking and looked at Miranda's reddish hair.

"Such as?"

"Well, whenever I go to sleep I dream of him. The things he has done to me enter a never ending loop of repetition. Every single night. It's been a month since I've slept like a normal human being."

"This tragedy dear has gone into your subconscious mind and its eating you from inside." Miranda concluded. "Did you remain with him while all those things happened to you? And where is he now? Is he still with you?" Miranda threw multiple questions at her fragile patient.

"No... no, we're not together anymore. And yes I did. I thought I could change him."

"Don't we all?" The Doctor smiled ironically. "Well dear, I think you are feeling a certain amount of guilt for remaining with him even though deep down you knew things weren't going to get better. You have a trauma from it and it is normal. But what I want you to do is to forgive yourself firstly, and let go of any feeling that might push you back of not starting a fresh new life. Practicing daily gratitude and self love are very helpful. Talk to people. To your close ones, and let them know that you can trust them. As for your sleeping problems I will transcribe you sleeping pills." Miranda touched her pocket, but couldn't find a pen nor a piece of paper.

"Oh, how inconvenient of me. Might I ask if you have a pen and a piece of-?"

Angela immediately drew out a pen and a small piece of paper as if she was prepared for that outcome.

Dr. Miranda wrote something on the paper that in Angela's eyes was non-understandable gibberish.

"And before you go, might I ask something that you didn't answer me before? What happened to your husband?"

"He... he's dead." Angela looked down at the floor as if ashamed.

"Huh... My condolences." Miranda looked at her giving the impression that she knew what had happened.

Angela all dim and pale as a ghost, grabbed the piece of paper and before leaving the room left a small plastic container on one of the small wooden tables. Closing the door she continued to a small other room where she opened a door which led her to a different place where the air was primarily filled with smoke of cigarettes, and nurses of all shapes and sizes.

"Ay Angela!" Mariana, one of the nurses got all excited. "How long did our 'psychiatrist' hold you?"

"Not long enough." Angela responded full of shyness.

The whole room exploded of laughter.

"Can you believe it? She made me go outside and refused to speak to me until I addressed her as a psychiatrist. I entered three times and the last time she told me I was late." Kate couldn't keep a straight face anymore.

"I know." Another nurse added. "She never drinks her medication until you go through her little chit chat play." Tears rolled from Susie's eyes from laughter.

"Ill-fated monsters, all of them!" Some of the nurses added.

With laughter and splendor the whole room giggled and gossiped whatever could be gossiped about the patients. In all of those guffaws, only Angela did not laugh. Because she knew, deep down, whatever ill-fated monsters they treated in that place, they couldn't be bigger than the ones sitting in this room.

St. Mary Mental Hospital, UK