I know I said I have seen many troubled patients through my work in the criminal justice system, but I have to admit that I have never dealt with such a difficult patient or set of circumstances in my entire professional career. Especially with a person who is not currently incarcerated! True, I may have frustrated him by posting online, but sharing patients’ stories (without names) is common practice in psychology, especially when it’s with the intent of finding new treatments to help people. I don’t know how he even found this site! But I think I won’t be trying this again anytime soon.
He did return for his appointment today, but he refused to listen to my advice and kept talking about “refictionalizing” himself into the story of Sweeney Todd. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I plan to give things one more go with him before remanding him to the care of the Boston PD. He does seem to be more stable now that he believes his wife is alive – I’m not sure how you convinced him, but I do think it has helped him focus on getting better instead of on acting out his violent fantasies. He said that he has decided to try to help those he can, regardless of the consequences. I agreed that his obsession with revenge was only likely to further hurt those around him.
Because of his current fixation on the Sweeney Todd narrative, my last proposal is as follows: if some of you could write something – a poem, a short story – that includes key aspects of this Sweeney character, I think reading them or hearing them might be helpful for my patient. Perhaps by rewriting this character’s future, we can show him he has friends to help him and make a difference in a real person’s life.
I intend to discontinue my posts here shortly, but if you wish to respond, post your work in the comments or share a link to a google document and I will sift through them and go through them with my patient. I shall post one final time to let you know the results.
Scarab says:
We believe writing for him is avery wise move and may help him cope with his situation. we want to help him, as you do.
QXZenith says:
Dear Dr. Lawson,
Below please find a poem I have written which I hope will help with your patient.
Best of luck,
Qara-Xuan
Back in London
back
back from where?
vague and fading memory
of somewhere else
matters little
back
on rustling bustling city streets
the smell
the sounds
a beggar woman
scarf tied tight around her head
against the cold
“Don’t I know you, Mister?”
you don’t know me
who could know me?
a cold stare
icy glare
and then move on
a step away from her
two, three
pause
a memory
of friends who would have given something
to the beggar woman
even beggars need to eat
friends who cared about the poor
the animals
the plants
and protesting
that was another world.
continuing on
two steps, three, four
another memory assaults his mind
a magic box with words that he could read
that must have been a different world
don’t I know you, mister?
a magic box with words that said
that Lucy was not dead
another world, another life
words that said he killed her
that he would
the beggar’s face arises in his mind
again
his friends would have gone back
to ease her plight
don’t I know you?
the beggar woman’s face
words in a magic box might not be true
he turns around
two steps, three, four, five
Lucy’s face immortal in his mind
a shawl wrapped close around her head
against the cold
don’t I know you?
the magic of another world
can save the souls of this one
another step
another
beggar woman walking through the crowd
he takes her by the hand
I know you
“Lucy?”
his blue eyes find her hazel ones
now wet with unshed tears
the weight of memories and years
all melt away
“Ben.”
H says:
The Recording Angel
Stands her guard
Commands over her servants
But some who serve under her
Are despicable, evil creatures
Consumed with tainted desire
One smashed a poor beggar woman
But he could not crush her hope
And she knew her kind husband
Would ride out and rescue her.
He had been swept across an ocean
By this man’s cruel hand
But he was the light
Of his wife
And he would return
Stars cross, their destiny entwined
And a celestial union occurs
The two will come together again
In blissful reunion.
Lust will fall
And true love will prevail
Evil must go
And hope will come through.
Wysp says:
I have to admit these events have been…curious to me, to say the least. To you, they may be moreso.
I happen to have been in contact with your P.I. and he, to us (I do not know what name he gave you) is known as Hercule Poirot. Yes, *that* Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective whose adventures were penned by Agatha Christie. A quick Google search for those two names will probably turn up a Wikipedia page for the books in his series.
Naturally, this makes me question why you seem to be running into people so closely tied to fiction–either two people you have encountered by chance have the same, exceedingly rare combination of psychological illnesses, or these people have something to their claim.
I did a little digging, and it turns out that you’re not the only one who’s been running into people who think they’re fictional. Romeo and Juliet apparently attend a college in Baltimore, Sherlock Holmes has been sighted in New York, and that’s just a few.
I know this sounds a little crazy, but there’s one thing that’s undeniable, and that’s that these cannot be a coincidence. Either all of these people are connected somehow and got this illness from the same source–which I think is more likely–or they are what they claim to be. I’m skeptical, but this whole thing is just so insane…Heck, the Wicked Witch of the West has a political party and a campaign for President. The idea makes me boggle.
The part that scares me the most, however, is that I’ve heard whispers in the grapevine that someone else who got too close to one of these people was killed. Someone’s out there, hunting down people who get close to these people. Whether someone’s hushing up an experiment gone wrong or something else, I really think this is getting very dangerous for you, and I think that when they see my comment here, they might try to come after you. Find somewhere safe.
Oh, and one more thing that’s worrying me…in the course of my research, I found this:
http://watchthefootage.twwf.info/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/boston.jpg
Worried,
Wysp
MindsAndMatters says:
Wow! Thanks for your contributions H and QXZenith. My next appointment is Wednesday at 6 p.m., so if anybody else once to post something, please do it before then. Wysp – I’m not sure what all that has to do with my patient…
Wysp says:
I’m merely trying to lay out everything I know relating to BB’s case.
Expositingly,
Wysp
Wysp says:
Looking at this comment, perhaps I wasn’t clear. It seems that BB isn’t the only case like this, and I am pointing you toward others–your detective, for one.
Apologetically,
Wysp
narrativedilettante says:
I’m almost done with a contribution. It should be posted soon.
S_o_S says:
I apologise for my tardiness in writing this up, I’ve been rather busy. But I wish to help your patient more than anything else. And so, voila.
“Don’t I know you, Mister?” A beggar woman. Ordinarily, one would think nothing of such a statement from one like her and move on with their day. For Sweeney Todd, this was no different. He, of course, had much bigger things to worry about. Namely, revenge on Judge Turpin. For fifteen years, he had been exiled. Alone. Separated from his wife and child, who were now dead and in his clutches respectively. Turpin’s blood would fill the gutters. His fate had been decided fifteen years ago. His lackey would fare no better, if not worse. Murder was all that was on his mind.
Day after day, Todd plotted with his confidante, the baker Mrs. Lovett. And day after day, he passed the same beggar woman. And every say, she said the same thing: “Don’t I know you, Mister?” For two weeks, this continued until eventually, Sweeney decided to indulge her.
“Don’t I know you, Mister?”
“I don’t know. Do you?” For the first time, he bothered to look at her face. It was plain that this woman had been on the street for many years; at least ten. Maybe more. She was covered in grime and her hair had almost gone completely grey, probably due to the stress. Her eyes though, they were soft, hinting that once, this woman had been beautiful. The beggar looked at him closely, scrutinising him with all the mental capacity she could muster – that is to say, not very much. She had gone mad in her time on the street.
“Time… Give me time… Sit with me, Mister?” Something was clearly stirring in the back of her head, but nothing solid. She patted the ground next to her, encouraging him to sit. Surely she wasn’t serious… Then again, one look at her revealed otherwise. Sweeney had an appointment to keep though. The barbershop would be opening soon after all… But he could hardly refuse her. Like him, this woman was alone. No family. No friends. Perhaps longing for the past the way he did. And so, he took pity on her.
Strange, that a man so driven, consumed by revenge, could even feel pity any more, he mused to himself. He’d thought he’d left those useless feelings behind. But still, he sat with the beggar woman, who was rocking slowly back and forth beside him, completely silent. She was trying to concentrate on something, perhaps where she apparently knew him from.
It would be another week before Sweeney happened on the beggar woman again. And again, she opened with the same line: “Don’t I know you, Mister?”
“Of course you do. I sat with you a week ago.”
“You did?” She had forgotten already? Honestly, he found that slightly hurtful. Where had she been all week though? It seemed he wouldn’t get an answer from her. The woman was mad. Blatantly mad. She was silent again, rocking back and forth, trying to concentrate again. Just like last week. Predominantly out of curiosity, Sweeney sat beside her again. The barbershop could wait. Something about this beggar woman interested him. Again though, not a word was exchanged between them for the half an hour that Sweeney could be bothered to wait around. Was it hopeless to reach out to this woman? He tossed her half a crown and left.
The following day, the beggar woman was in her usual place. Sweeney did not stop to chat with her. Instead, he purchased a pie from Mrs. Lovett. She seemed very curious – her pies were the stuff of legend in the worst possible way, but he fobbed her off with a vague excuse about mice.
“Don’t I know you, Mister?” she asked as he passed by again, pie in hand.
“I should like to think so by now. This,” he said, indicating the pie, “Is for you. I thought you could do with something warm. Granted, it’s the most awful thing you could ever taste, but beggars can’t be choosers. May I sit down?” As he expected, the woman wolfed it down in a disturbing manner. It seemed almost feral as she dug handfuls out and swallowed them whole. Even Sweeney was disturbed and this was a man who had spent fifteen years in exile and recently murdered another barber in cold blood.
The woman looked at him in pure rapture. No beggar in London was used to kindness. Perhaps Benjamin Barker was not as gone as Sweeney thought he was. Something was stirring in the very back of her mind. “Beh…”
“Pardon?”
“Beh… Ben… Benjamin…” Sweeney’s blood ran cold. This woman really did know him. But how? “Oh! Oh! Oh!” She was clearly elated, joy overflowing that she had remembered. “Benjamin! Benjamin Barker!” She threw her arms around his neck. This was impossible. Only one person would treat him like this, and Mrs. Lovett had told him how she had died. A lie? But why? “Benjamin… Do you remember me?”
“Lucy… My love… Is it you?” Lucy gasped and brought her shaking hands to her mouth.
“Oh… Oh Benjamin!” She began to sob and slumped on top of him. All Sweeney could do was stroke her hair in disbelief. Mrs. Lovett had lied. Lucy was alive, here with him now. Joanna was still held captive by Turpin, but that would soon change. The Barkers were reunited. They could rebuild their relationship and rescue their daughter together.
Nothing was going to stop Benjamin Barker now; not with his wife – his confidante, lover and best friend by his side.
narrativedilettante says:
Here’s what I have to offer. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1neHpIxPsxyZ1U3UK5UEX0K2CkKt0-IXHBDlkXlIcEOo/edit
MindsAndMatters says:
Thank you all so much for all you’ve done so far! I really appreciate it, and I know my patient will as well. I’ll let you know in the next few days how it goes after our session tonight at 6. Wysp – I heard from the detective just a few days ago. He sounded weak and sick like he’d caught the flu or something. He kept saying “O, mon fievr.” I’m pretty sure he’s a real guy…