Dr. Carpenter’s BLOG
From time to time I will be adding posts here. Some will be short essays, some will be drawings or pictures or photographs, some will be poems. All will touch on the topic of psychotherapy to some extent or other.
This one is a simple scene, an amalgam of memories.
My current software permits no responses from readers on this page, although I would be interested in responses. If you wish, you can email me your reactions: info@DrJimCarpenter.com.
One child, age 9. She didn't like the idea of coming but once I sit beside her on the floor and we chat and draw, she smiles with the attention. She has trouble sleeping, needs her mother with her every night, and panics at the multiplication tables. Her mother is awash with remedies and pieces of advice. Should she hire a behavioral manager, or slip ritalin through the girls' bloodstream into her brain? The mother has too much to manage, and wonders which one-more-thing to manage: the behavior or the brain? There are two older sisters who are much more interesting and very busy. The one whom she most adores has suddenly decided not to like Miss 9. Being left out is everywhere. She searches for importances with achey bones. Is mother frightened? She feels it, she fills up with it. Food sticks and troubles in her throat, but she sucks the emotions from all the corners of the air. Is dad angry? Are there deep shadows within the hall searching greedily for some ignorance to mock? Her speech as she draws begins to be like a little song, sweet and high. She smiles at the bird that looks in at her through the window. Her fears slip out through the window.