Lettre du Dr Bienfaisance. Part Two


She said: ‘It would not hurt so much if I didn’t love my mother. Sitting at least seven feet from me, not behind the desk but on its side, the analyst didn’t think two seconds. The only thing she remarked was that she’d seen more than a lot of patients struggling with family patterns. ‘It is nothing but common.‘ Fine. I haven’t wish of ever getting into particulars. Nor was I in the mood to be recalled when exactly and why I had lost faith in motherhood. Which simplistically can be answered by the recollection of the first time I was beaten up. It took place in a chic Chinese restaurant, after my mother had taking me to the washrooms. Because she’d chosen a hidden place to discipline me, as an infant I felt more humiliated and very alone. I had just turned three; and have been playing under the dining table against my parent will. The therapist noted: a wish for approval true victimization. My mother thought: 'This kid as no future.' Why was it mentionned life support on the report at the nursery? I thought even then that maybe my wish to live had been spoiled... It was a double impairment for my parents, has they were praying sufficiently for an only boy child. The cure was then playing on every station, which at the same time I did not pay much attention to. The world seems just like the mess left after an ugly party! Suddently the Doctor steps forward, before I reacted she turned down her biper. 'Probably a student. But for the moment there is nothing I could do.' 'So, I walked out, took on me to enter the closest chinese restaurant.' - On a quest for a thing that could inhance your sense of belonging. I didn’t pay much attention to the woman in front of me. My thoughts were wondering in painful circles. I was hoping my voice was not loud enough to let the words make sense. Taking over my mind was my mother again. She would serve her famous recipe for a cheeseburger every Thursday: One overcook meat pad in the middle of the plate – without bread or tomato, lettuce, bacon or cheese. In fact, apart from the portion of Heinz ketchup and boiled canned peas, there was nothing else. The memory of her carrying on violently every weekday, when suggesting she did not put much effort in any meals had hunted me for years. During the 80’s and 90’s, my mom acted down to bottom as the worse old school 50’s parent. What as a kid did I not get? The therapist noted: an immature young girl.

- Craziness Nadya, remains the defective retreat of creativity. Under the symbol of a vision certainly, exhausting the motive for culture. The Muse is not sad, she is not mad. Everything makes her mind intended to surf on certainty and confidence. Pick my ability to redeem this state of mind where perfection is nothing to be achieved.

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