“What is your state of mind right now? What are you feeling as we sit here and talk?” she asked through the video conferencing feature on his cell phone. Taking appointments this way still seemed foreign to him.
“I don’t know, Doc,” he began thoughtfully. “It’s uh, I don’t know. The food doesn’t taste the same anymore. You know, sports teams don’t hold my interest like they used to, Pandemic 2020. I don’t know, it’s just, everything seems so dull and just boring. Life is just boring right now. I don’t know, what, what does it mean?”
“Well, what you’re describing sounds like a classic case of mid-life crisis. How old are you again?”
He did some math in his head, mumbling to carry the one before answering. “46.”
“Tell me something that you dreamt of as a kid that you’ve yet to accomplish.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, you know. I guess, I guess I kinda always wanted to be in a band. That’d been cool. But you know I can’t really sing. I can’t play any instruments. I can’t read or write music. I can’t keep a beat, and I don’t really understand the concept of rhythm and time,” he shrugged dejectedly as he spat out his answer.
“Let’s try something. I want to do a guided visualization through hypnosis. Think about what it would be like to be in a band, and I’ll guide you through. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. I’ll count backwards from 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. . .”
The memory came flooding back as if it had been seared into his soul. A lot had happened in the four years since that fateful FaceTime call. He couldn’t even be sure what was real or fantasy anymore. The two had been blurred that day, and his life had been murky since. He had come to an actual therapist looking for answers, though he was skeptical that he would find any satisfaction. Truth be told, he was afraid he may not like what he learned.
“And you think this, what did you call her, charlatan therapist is the root cause of these divergent personalities? What makes you think that?” Dr. Gloria spoke fluidly, careful not to deviate much in tone or volume. She had explained it was important to remain as calm as possible when dealing with repressed or expressed memories.
“Well, that’s where it all started,” he said forcefully, a little defensively. “She had to have done something to me.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” her voice really did have an unusual calming effect. “I am just trying to get a clear picture of what transpired. How many times did you visit with this woman?”
“Three or four times,” he sighed. “I started to have my suspicions when she started talking about different ingredients for cooking and other weird things that made no sense.”
“Ingredients for cooking? What ingredients?”
“I don’t know, she mentioned something about the Eye of Newt, and I took it to mean I needed to go on some philosophical quest to find this mystical object to help get me back on track, but then she started talking about spices and cinnamon. Turns out she was just trying to find the secret combination to the perfect pumpkin spice latte recipe.”
“Oh, well, uh, did she find it?”
“How the hell should I know?” he threw his arms in frustration.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she soothed. “It’s not important.” That was the first thing she said that her voice suggested was not completely truthful. “What other weird things did she say?”
“She kept saying something about me and a Scorpion Moon. It freaked me out. If I’ve got scorpions hunting me at night, that’s all I need. During the day would be bad enough, but at night, I’ll never see them coming.”
“Are you sure she didn’t say Scorpio Moon? Was she saying you’re a Scorpio moon?” she paused to write feverishly on her notepad while mumbling to herself, “that would explain a lot.” Just as quickly she composed herself and once again made eye contact with him. “What time were you born?”
“Huh?”
“It’s not important,” he could tell she was lying this time. “Let’s shift gears a bit. Tell me about the most dominant personality, Rex. What’s his backstory? Where is Rex’s origin story?”