Psychiactric Evaluation

part four

~ from the journal of Juliana Corman, D.P.~

Date: October 11, 1993
Patient: personal note

As I occasionally do, I must write in this journal of my personal life. It is usually reserved for some driving moment in my life, something that I must speak of. And this is no different, yet this is something that I am afraid to speak of to anyone, save in my private memos. Funny, after my journal had recently been removed and read, then returned to my office. My colleagues think I have lost my mind, believing that someone would take and read my reports. Do they think that my notes are unimportant? This information should be guarded in secrecy. In here I have words spoken to me in the utmost confidence. Yes, I have notes that date back to the beginning of my career, but I refuse to be beleaguered by a computer and their inherent failings. My journal has sufficed for years, and it shall continue to do so even as I near my retirement.

Even held fast in the grip of fear, I can ramble can't I? The years have made me long winded, even as I perpetually listen to patients in the throes of insanity. Yes, I am afraid. My body has changed over the past ten years, and at times I wake in the middle of the night, my body responding to some call. I've tried many things, including medications, yet it doesn't seem to help. My doctors say it is nature running its course. I hope that in my years as a doctor, my advice has never been as lacking as those who look after me. It's probably just the built-up anxiety of an aging spinster who has never married. Anyway, early this morning before the sun rose, I woke and felt the need to stretch. My companion, Fiddler, only looked at me with those feline eyes and returned to its peaceful sleep. I envy the beast.

I decided to step outside and get a breath of the autumn air as I do some mornings. What I could not comprehend was that someone would be waiting for me. Out on the deck on the backside of my house standing in the dark, waited a man. He was dressed in an old tweed jacket and pants, not jeans but pants. He had a cane in his hand yet he did not seem to need it for walking. Atop his head was a round, black bowler hat like something that men wore before I was born. What was truly disturbing was his face. He was painted up like some mockery of a clown, if a clown can truly be mocked. And it was very frightening.

At first I was sure it was a dream, some night terror that gave the illusion of the waking world. But I had no such luck. He was there, as sure as sin. I asked him what he wanted, fearing the worst. He stepped forward and placed the cane heavily down upon the deck and smiled with a twisted grin. He began by addressing me by my name, something startling. It really wasn't that surprising in hindsight. If the man had stalked me, then surely he knew my name and things about me. I've never been extremely private about my life. I have heard tales of young men raping older women and taking their pension checks. Everyone has, for they are prominent signs of the decay of our civilization. I prepared for the worst, wondering if I could make it back into my house before he would be upon me. I knew there was no way.

He began to shout at me. " You are wrong! You are completely wrong! All these years of work and book learning and you still haven't learned a damned thing!" It was in this vein that he continued, his voice raising to preternatural levels, assuredly waking the neighbors with his ranting. I was so unbelievably afraid. Without choosing, I had sat down upon the deck and curled up in fetal position to shield myself from his words. " The truth has been given to you time and time again, and all you've done is piss it away! All you shrinks are just alike, preaching to those who've had a taste of divinity like you're some legendary scholar. And then when you have that one chance to achieve enlightenment, you throw it away! You are wrong!"

I covered my ears and began to cry, filled completely with a fear like I have never known before. After an interminable amount of time, I looked around to find that he was gone. The neighbors had called the police and come over to check on me, but no one had seen the man come or go. I have given the authorities my information, but they are treating this as more of a prank than a serious threat. I am using my pull to get more accomplished, but only time will tell. I have serious concerns that I know this man, more than likely as a patient, but I do not know him. I have never treated anyone whose appearance he matches, even if the makeup were removed. I can only guess that he is a relative of someone that I have treated, someone whom he feels I have wronged in some fashion. And as has happened before, there is the haunting feeling that I do know him, although I guess that it is my mind trying to cope with the problem. We all have our defense mechanisms.

I hope to never meet this man again. I have always sworn against them, but I am seriously considering purchasing a handgun to defend myself. I know the ratios involving these weapons and that I am likely to hurt someone other than a threat, but it may help me sleep better. For now, I fear I may never sleep peacefully again.

B.Mooney