"I'm not crazy." This is a line I hear from all my patients and I hear it again now from the woman in front of me. She looks like my typical patients too, the eyes, sunken deep into her skull, dart restlessly, her hair tangled and greasy from lack of attention and wearing the pale blue hospital issued scrubs. Except she isn't just my typical patent, she's also my mother, Elaine.
"I don't think you're crazy." I sigh.
"Well you called me a psychopath," she cried.
"I don't like that term and I diagnosed you with antisocial personality disorder."
"I am not a psychopath."
"Well you seem to match all the criteria, and in my professional and personal opinion this is the correct diagnosis. Also, it would explain the incident that has occurred."
"I DIDN'T KILL HIM! You promised! You know I didn't!" My patient begged in classic denial.
"The justice system thinks otherwise, but I am happy to inform you that you are not going to jail. With my diagnosis and your obvious psychological problems, the mental health institute is the best place for you."
"A psych ward? No I want to go to jail instead."
"I'm sorry mother, but you have no choice."
YOU ARE READING
The Psychiatrist
Short StoryCOMPLETE SHORT STORY I'm not crazy." This is a line I hear from all my patients and I hear it again now from the woman in front of me. She looks like my typical patients too, the eyes, sunken deep into her skull, dart restlessly, her hair tangled an...
