Read Online Lying on the Couch by Irvin D. Yalom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Irvin D. Yalom
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Mystery & Detective, Psychotherapists, Therapist and patient
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cleared.
"Pleased at what I've done?"
"You think," Ernest weaseled, trying hard to regulate his voice, "I'm not pleased with your progress?"
"Pleased? You don't act like it," Justin responded.
"And what about you}" Ernest weaseled again. "Are you pleased?"
Justin let up and ignored the weaseling this time. Enough was enough. He needed Ernest and he backed off: "Pleased? Yes. And scared. And resolved. And wavering. Everything all mixed up. The main thing now is for me never to go back. I've broken away and the important thing now is to stay away, to stay away forever."
For the rest of the hour, Ernest tried to make amends by supporting and exhorting his patient: "Hold your ground . . . remember how long you yearned to make such a move . . . you've acted in your best interests . . . this may be the most important thing you've ever done."
"Should I go back to discuss this with Carol? After nine years, don't I owe it to her?"
"Let's play it out," Ernest suggested. "What would happen if you went back now to talk?"
"Mayhem. You know what she's capable of doing. To me. To herself."
Ernest didn't have to be reminded. He vividly remembered an incident Justin had described a year ago. Several of Carol's law partners were coming over for a Sunday brunch and, early in the morning, Justin, Carol, and the two children had gone out shopping. Justin, who did all the cooking, wanted to serve smoked fish, bagels, and leo (lox, scrambled eggs and onions). Too vulgar, Carol said. She wouldn't hear of it, even though, as Justin reminded her, half the partners were Jewish. Justin decided to take a stand and began to turn the car toward the delicatessen. "No, you don't, you son of a bitch," Carol shouted, and jerked at the steering wheel to turn it back. The struggle in moving traffic ended when she crashed the car into a parked motorcycle.
4 2. '- ^ Lying on the Couch
Carol was a wildcat, a wolverine, a madwoman who tyrannized through her irrationality. Ernest remembered another car adventure that Justin had described a couple of years ago. While driving on a warm summer night, she and Justin had argued about the choice of a movie—she for The Witches of Eastwick, he for Terminator II. Her voice rose, but Justin, who had been encouraged by Ernest that week to assert himself, refused to give in. Finally she opened the car door, again in moving traffic, and said, "You miserable fucker, I'm not going to spend another minute with you." Justin grabbed at her, but she sank her nails into his forearm and, as she jumped out into the traffic, plowed four violent red furrows into his flesh.
Once out of the car, which had been moving about fifteen miles per hour, Carol lurched forward for three or four jolting steps and then slammed into and over the hood of a parked car. Justin stopped the car and rushed to her, parting the crowd that had already gathered. She lay on the street, dazed but serene—stockings ripped and bloodied at the knees, abrasions on her hands, elbows and cheeks, and an obviously fractured wrist. The rest of the evening was a nightmare: the ambulance, the emergency room, the humiliating interrogation by the police and the medical staff.
Justin was badly shaken. He realized that even with Ernest's help he could not outbid Carol. No stakes were too high for her. That dive out of the moving car was the event that had broken Justin for good. He could not oppose her, nor could he leave her. She was a tyrant, but he had a need for tyranny. Even a single night away from her filled him with anxiety. Whenever Ernest had asked him, as a thought experiment, to imagine walking away from the marriage, Justin became filled with dread. Breaking his bond to Carol seemed inconceivable. Until Laura—nineteen, beautiful, ingenuous, brash, unafraid of tyrants—had come along.
"What do you think?" Justin repeated. "Should I act like a man and try to talk this over with Carol?"
Ernest reflected on his options. Justin needed a dominant
"Pleased at what I've done?"
"You think," Ernest weaseled, trying hard to regulate his voice, "I'm not pleased with your progress?"
"Pleased? You don't act like it," Justin responded.
"And what about you}" Ernest weaseled again. "Are you pleased?"
Justin let up and ignored the weaseling this time. Enough was enough. He needed Ernest and he backed off: "Pleased? Yes. And scared. And resolved. And wavering. Everything all mixed up. The main thing now is for me never to go back. I've broken away and the important thing now is to stay away, to stay away forever."
For the rest of the hour, Ernest tried to make amends by supporting and exhorting his patient: "Hold your ground . . . remember how long you yearned to make such a move . . . you've acted in your best interests . . . this may be the most important thing you've ever done."
"Should I go back to discuss this with Carol? After nine years, don't I owe it to her?"
"Let's play it out," Ernest suggested. "What would happen if you went back now to talk?"
"Mayhem. You know what she's capable of doing. To me. To herself."
Ernest didn't have to be reminded. He vividly remembered an incident Justin had described a year ago. Several of Carol's law partners were coming over for a Sunday brunch and, early in the morning, Justin, Carol, and the two children had gone out shopping. Justin, who did all the cooking, wanted to serve smoked fish, bagels, and leo (lox, scrambled eggs and onions). Too vulgar, Carol said. She wouldn't hear of it, even though, as Justin reminded her, half the partners were Jewish. Justin decided to take a stand and began to turn the car toward the delicatessen. "No, you don't, you son of a bitch," Carol shouted, and jerked at the steering wheel to turn it back. The struggle in moving traffic ended when she crashed the car into a parked motorcycle.
4 2. '- ^ Lying on the Couch
Carol was a wildcat, a wolverine, a madwoman who tyrannized through her irrationality. Ernest remembered another car adventure that Justin had described a couple of years ago. While driving on a warm summer night, she and Justin had argued about the choice of a movie—she for The Witches of Eastwick, he for Terminator II. Her voice rose, but Justin, who had been encouraged by Ernest that week to assert himself, refused to give in. Finally she opened the car door, again in moving traffic, and said, "You miserable fucker, I'm not going to spend another minute with you." Justin grabbed at her, but she sank her nails into his forearm and, as she jumped out into the traffic, plowed four violent red furrows into his flesh.
Once out of the car, which had been moving about fifteen miles per hour, Carol lurched forward for three or four jolting steps and then slammed into and over the hood of a parked car. Justin stopped the car and rushed to her, parting the crowd that had already gathered. She lay on the street, dazed but serene—stockings ripped and bloodied at the knees, abrasions on her hands, elbows and cheeks, and an obviously fractured wrist. The rest of the evening was a nightmare: the ambulance, the emergency room, the humiliating interrogation by the police and the medical staff.
Justin was badly shaken. He realized that even with Ernest's help he could not outbid Carol. No stakes were too high for her. That dive out of the moving car was the event that had broken Justin for good. He could not oppose her, nor could he leave her. She was a tyrant, but he had a need for tyranny. Even a single night away from her filled him with anxiety. Whenever Ernest had asked him, as a thought experiment, to imagine walking away from the marriage, Justin became filled with dread. Breaking his bond to Carol seemed inconceivable. Until Laura—nineteen, beautiful, ingenuous, brash, unafraid of tyrants—had come along.
"What do you think?" Justin repeated. "Should I act like a man and try to talk this over with Carol?"
Ernest reflected on his options. Justin needed a dominant
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