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He responds, “I don’tunwind. There’s no time for that.”
“Are you happy with the results of your work? Do you feel proud ofyourachievements?”
“It’s an ever-changing process. I can’t sit back and enjoy it. Every day, there’s a new fire,” Jordan explains.
“You’ve lived like that for how long?”
“What do you mean? I’ve been on Katantia for five years now,” he says.
I seek his eyes out. “Four decades. Try to visualize that baggage. That’s almost the entire span of your lifetime. You haven’t had a break in four decades.”
His gaze is distant.
“You love your family,” I assert. There’s no doubt about it. “And they love you. You’ve given them the right to rely on you all this time. Five years ago, it was your son and yourorganization. Now, you have an entire family to take care of. A country relies on your expertise to protect them. You’ve doubled your responsibilities instead of dialing them down.”
I emphasize, “Four decades, Jordan.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well, I’m done calling you by the other name,” I instantly reply. “Can you see what four decades have done to you?”
“Yes.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Don’t bullshit me. You know exactly how it makes me feel.” He’s absolutely right. I know, and I want to comfort him, but I won’t.
“What are you going to do about it?” I ask.
He responds, “There’s no answer to that question.”
“As your psychiatrist, I’m telling you that there’s an answer. You refuse to acknowledge it, though.”
He scoffs at me. “And what’s that brilliant answer all about?”
“You need a break, a clean break from everything and everyone that’s weighing you down.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he says. A dry laugh escapes him, and I flinch at the ugly sound.
“How will you proceed then?”
Jordan doesn’t reflect for too long. “I’ll dial it down.”
I grab my notepad and leave the space I share with him to return to my desk on the other side of the room. He follows me, and I sense his eyes on my body.
“I won’t be responsible if you fall into a depression,” I say as I take a seat on my chair. I roll forward awkwardly, and I start typing on my laptop. He doesn’t want medication, and I don’t think he needs medication. It’s a psychosomatic issue, and I must get him on board with the break. I’ll take this to Kamila herself if he doesn’t start seeing reason.
“Why are you so angry about this? It’s my life,” he says. “I know what’s best for me. Neither you nor any otherpsychiatristcan tell me what to do or how I’m supposed to feel. You have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes.”
I don’t look at him. Instead, I stare at my screen. There are thousands of unopened emails on my account, and I should start going through them if I want to have a clean slate one day.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I heard you,” I respond in a clipped tone.
“Good. Then I’ll see you again in a month,” he says. I can’t fathom not seeing him for another month, especially after last week’s events. How did I manage before?
“No, you won’t,” I state. I take a deep breath.I’m in trouble. “I’m not seeing you as a patient anymore. We established that last week.”
