Read Online Lying on the Couch by Irvin D. Yalom - Free Book Online
Authors: Irvin D. Yalom
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Mystery & Detective, Psychotherapists, Therapist and patient
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Ernest, it came to me: Carol's right. She's right. Why do I botherf I said it again to myself, Why do I botherf And then, just like that, I said it out loud. 'Carol, you're right. In this, as in all other things, you are right! I don't know why I bother coming home. You're absolutely right.'
"And so, without another word, I went upstairs and packed up everything I could in the first suitcase I found and walked out of the
3 8 ' ^ Lying on the Couch
house. I wanted to take more, to come back in for another suitcase. You know Carol—she'll slash and burn everything I leave behind. I wanted to come back for my computer; she'll take a hammer to it. But I knew it was then or never. Walk back into the house, I told myself, and you're lost. I know me. I know Carol. I didn't look to the right or the left. I kept on walking, and just before I closed the front door I leaned my head in and yelled, not knowing where Carol or the kids were, 'I'll call you.' And then I got the hell away!"
Justin had been leaning forward in his chair. He took a deep breath, leaned back exhausted, and said, "And that's all there is to tell."
"And that was last night.^"
Justin nodded. "I went directly to Laura's and we held each other all night. God, it was hard to leave her arms this morning. I can hardly describe it, it was so hard."
"Try," Ernest urged.
"Well, as I started to unfold myself from Laura, I suddenly had an image of an amoeba dividing in two—something I hadn't thought about since high school biology class. We were like the two halves of the amoeba separating bit by bit until there was just one thin strand connecting us. And then, pop —a painful pop—and we were separate. I got up, got dressed, looked at the clock, and thought, 'only fourteen more hours until I'll be back in bed folded together again with Laura.' And then I came here."
"That scene with Carol last evening—you've dreaded it for years. Yet, you seem high-spirited."
"Like I said, Laura and I fit together, belong together. She's an angel—made in heaven for me. This afternoon we go apartment hunting. She has a small studio on Russian Hill. Great view of the Bay Bridge. But too small for us."
Made in heaven! Ernest felt like gagging.
"If only," Justin continued, "Laura had come along years ago! We've been talking about what rent we could afford. On my way here today I started to calculate what I've spent on therapy. Three times a week for five years—how much is that? Seventy, eighty thousand dollars? Don't take this personally, Ernest, but I can't help wondering what would have happened if Laura had come along five years ago. Maybe I would've left Carol then. And finished therapy, too. Maybe I'd be looking for an apartment now with eighty thousand dollars in my pocket!"
Lying on the Couch .-^*^ 3 9
Ernest felt his face flush. Justin's words clanged in his mind. Eighty thousand dollars! Don't take this personally, don't take this personally!
But Ernest gave nothing away. Nor did he blink or defend himself. Nor point out that, five years ago, Laura would have been about fourteen and Justin couldn't have wiped his ass without asking Carol's permission, couldn't get to noon without calling his therapist, couldn't order from a menu without his wife's guidance, couldn't dress in the morning if she didn't lay out his clothes. And it was his wife's money, anyway, that paid the bills, not his—Carol earned three times as much as he did. If not for five years of therapy, he'd have eighty thousand dollars in his pocket! Shit, five years ago Justin couldn't have figured out which pocket to put it in!
But Ernest said none of these things. He took pride in his restraint, a clear sign of his maturation as a therapist. Instead he innocently asked, "Are you high-spirited all the way down?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this is a momentous occasion. Surely you must have many layers of feelings about it?"
But Justin did not give Ernest what he wished. He volunteered little,
"And so, without another word, I went upstairs and packed up everything I could in the first suitcase I found and walked out of the
3 8 ' ^ Lying on the Couch
house. I wanted to take more, to come back in for another suitcase. You know Carol—she'll slash and burn everything I leave behind. I wanted to come back for my computer; she'll take a hammer to it. But I knew it was then or never. Walk back into the house, I told myself, and you're lost. I know me. I know Carol. I didn't look to the right or the left. I kept on walking, and just before I closed the front door I leaned my head in and yelled, not knowing where Carol or the kids were, 'I'll call you.' And then I got the hell away!"
Justin had been leaning forward in his chair. He took a deep breath, leaned back exhausted, and said, "And that's all there is to tell."
"And that was last night.^"
Justin nodded. "I went directly to Laura's and we held each other all night. God, it was hard to leave her arms this morning. I can hardly describe it, it was so hard."
"Try," Ernest urged.
"Well, as I started to unfold myself from Laura, I suddenly had an image of an amoeba dividing in two—something I hadn't thought about since high school biology class. We were like the two halves of the amoeba separating bit by bit until there was just one thin strand connecting us. And then, pop —a painful pop—and we were separate. I got up, got dressed, looked at the clock, and thought, 'only fourteen more hours until I'll be back in bed folded together again with Laura.' And then I came here."
"That scene with Carol last evening—you've dreaded it for years. Yet, you seem high-spirited."
"Like I said, Laura and I fit together, belong together. She's an angel—made in heaven for me. This afternoon we go apartment hunting. She has a small studio on Russian Hill. Great view of the Bay Bridge. But too small for us."
Made in heaven! Ernest felt like gagging.
"If only," Justin continued, "Laura had come along years ago! We've been talking about what rent we could afford. On my way here today I started to calculate what I've spent on therapy. Three times a week for five years—how much is that? Seventy, eighty thousand dollars? Don't take this personally, Ernest, but I can't help wondering what would have happened if Laura had come along five years ago. Maybe I would've left Carol then. And finished therapy, too. Maybe I'd be looking for an apartment now with eighty thousand dollars in my pocket!"
Lying on the Couch .-^*^ 3 9
Ernest felt his face flush. Justin's words clanged in his mind. Eighty thousand dollars! Don't take this personally, don't take this personally!
But Ernest gave nothing away. Nor did he blink or defend himself. Nor point out that, five years ago, Laura would have been about fourteen and Justin couldn't have wiped his ass without asking Carol's permission, couldn't get to noon without calling his therapist, couldn't order from a menu without his wife's guidance, couldn't dress in the morning if she didn't lay out his clothes. And it was his wife's money, anyway, that paid the bills, not his—Carol earned three times as much as he did. If not for five years of therapy, he'd have eighty thousand dollars in his pocket! Shit, five years ago Justin couldn't have figured out which pocket to put it in!
But Ernest said none of these things. He took pride in his restraint, a clear sign of his maturation as a therapist. Instead he innocently asked, "Are you high-spirited all the way down?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this is a momentous occasion. Surely you must have many layers of feelings about it?"
But Justin did not give Ernest what he wished. He volunteered little,
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