Your protagonist was unlucky to have chosen a psychoanalyst!This is the second part of my text, some thoughts which simply came up in my mind:
They are still at the beginning of their lives and deserve a positive picture of the world. My views would certainly disturb their minds if not make them depressive. When I was unable to obtain help from people I turned to God believing that he would give me the right answer to my questions, but all the Holy books and all the religions
hadleft me none the wiser.
'Left', or 'have left'. You can't use the past perfect here. The holy books left you none the wiser after you turned to them. You could say, "The holy books left me none the wiser. I had turned to them out of desperation." Do you see the problem?
They were filled with either threats of hell or promises of paradise. Page after page they warned human beings of their treacherous nature and their evil deeds and the stories they were telling seemed like old myths
whichwhose authenticity nobody could prove.
According to them, the poor would be rewarded richly in the afterlife and the rich would be punished severely, but what I saw in reality was completely opposite. The poor were treated like a plague while the rich were treated with great respect.
The clergy could always be seen in the company of the political leaders and mighty directors of the international companies. It would be impossible to hear a bishop criticising Coca Cola, Nike or other global companies or a mullah issuing a fatwa against Arab sheiks who were building palaces with a hundred or more rooms and buying expensive toys like cars, yachts and watches for hundreds of millions of dollars.
The truth was that both a bishop and a mullah would always find spare time to entertain themselves with the rich and they would accept the invitations to the lavish meals while at the same time ignoring the poor who would cause them only problems.
My conclusion was that either they did not believe in the Holy Books or they were hypocrites who simply used every opportunity to enjoy life as anyone else. I already knew what they were going to tell me if I told them of my problem.
They would look at the sky and say, “Pray and pray and pray and hope that God
wouldwill listen to you and alleviate your pain.” As soon as I turned my back to them they would certainly call me an idiot and browse through their notebooks to see when the next dinner with a rich person had been booked.
Someone told me that I should try with psychiatrics, because they had been educated to cure the human soul, especially now when they had modern drugs at their disposal. In my desperation I made an appointment with one of them, a middle-aged man who was overweight, had lost the biggest part of his hair and whose face was sallow as if he had not seen daylight for weeks.
He leaned back in his leather armchair and listened to my story without giving any sign that he understood what I was talking about, and when I finished he stared at me with his grey eyes and asked me, “Did you have any sexual fantasies about your mother?” The question made me so angry that I wanted to beat and break every part of his body and left him paralysed for the rest of his life, but somehow I managed to calm down and the following answers I gave him to his questions were all negative.
No. I did not have any strange sexual dreams. I did not have a habit to look at my excrement, I did not collect peculiar objects, like knickers and bras, I did not look at my neighbour’s post, I did not like to show myself completely naked on my balcony nor did I like to be tied up and be beaten by a sexual partner...
After about 40 minutes I left his office, sweaty and angry with myself that I had not only been insulted, but also that I had paid money to someone who lacked empathy and other human characteristics. He had told me that the therapy would continue for at least two to three years, and I knew that after that time I would not only lose my money but certainly become so ill that I would be spending the rest of my life in a mental hospital and never be free again.
- For Teachers