Friday, October 5, 2012

Armed With Morphine, I Went Looking For My Dad.

So I have this case study to analyze this weekend, on which I have to decide which psychological theory to apply and devise a treatment plan. Essentially, and admittedly I only read it through once, this gist is this:

A 42-year old virgin male who lacked affection from his mother, had a much older sister, felt in constant competition, a distant father, he has exactly 2 friends in the world, a couple with whom he has dinner once a week. He has no experience with socializing with either men or women, works in a solitary job as an engineer on lateral promotion with his company, and was referred into psychological counseling because of chronic tardiness at his place of employment. While employing several avenues by which to awaken on time in the morning, he cannot, so he frequently stays on nights and weekends to make up time. He has catastrophic fantasies of pending doom and has a history of suicidal ideations. He has a fear of barking puppies. He is timid at work and doesn't cause trouble. He eats alone in the cafeteria, avoiding social interaction. Seeing as cognitive dissonance has been my running theme for the week, I'm running with that as one of his presenting symptoms. While apprehensive about the intake interview and strongly encouraging the psychologist to read his previous evaluation, the psych had his own agenda in order to get to know the client on a level field. Blah, blah, blah.

Knowing how much I disagree with Freud, I think I'm going to apply this as a Freudian approach. (Read: 42 year old virgin, mommy issues, absentee father...) This is one instance where the psycho-sexual is regressing to explain this man's complexes problems. Classic ID-EGO-SUPEREGO.


Burned out from the week, after trying to finish the aforementioned case study, I nodded off..for FIVE hours.

It was an extraordinarily vivid dream. I seemed to awaken no fewer than 4 times in a hallucinogenic state, the dream continuing to compile in my head

I was in my big old Knox bedroom with Luke and Craig, and Craig mentioned having found every piece of artwork or displayed posters I had in my bedrooms over the years. He was also trying to help me to convince Terry Kinney, one of the founders of the Steppenwolf Theater (he's single--I should look him up) to give a talk at Knox (hey, he's from neighboring Lincoln IL, not too far from Galesburg!)

Craig and I picked out posters with Clapton on them, quoted postcards, Ansel Adams photography,  John and Yoko pictures, and Luke sat in a corner playing his baby toys (though he was 12 in the dream.Craig worked perilously to redesign my dorm room exactly the way I remembered it, but with our mutual child involved too.

Then my friend, Sree, brought me a giant bag full of pills--morphine--enough to knock me out for MONTHS on end, which of course, I'd never do. The morphine was labeled under GF's wife's name, but spelled all wrong, and the morphine looked like itty bitty bullets, of which I took a whole ton because the bottle had something like 1200 pills in it. A junkie's paradise.

Craig found a large black plastic bag, cut it open with a knife and showed me  "Look, I found everything we'd forgotten." It was full of papers Luke wrote, his art projects and all the trinkets and pictures we had on our married entertainment center. He also had Play-Doh in the bag, and when I went to separate the Play-Doh, I kept finding pills amid the dough. I didn't know what they were, but I panned on taking them anyway.

Call it narcotic craving syndrome, if you like. Don't know if we ever scored Kinney to speak at Knox, but he's certainly always welcome and I'd drive down to see him! But what was out of context? Craig seeming to rebuild the life we had when we were younger, except now we had a son together. That works for me.

Somewhere down the line, I was in Daley Plaza downtown, which is where I get off the train to go to school, and, armed with this bag of enormous morphine, I went in search of my late father, who was a Cook County Sheriff, and the Daley Center's raft with deputies. Why? I think for tips on where to hide it all, truly. Incidentally, one of my dad's side jobs was to personally bodyguard Richard Elrod, the Chief of Staff with the Cook County Sheriffs. (The latter being totally true.) I looked all over the place for my dad, but I couldn't connect with him.

This is, perhaps, the first Dad-seeking dream I've ever had where he didn't find me and I didn't find him. I was explaining to someone how my dad likes to visit me in dreams (Freud was HUGE into dream analysis) and I do get to hold him and talk to him. He looks exactly I remember him looking shortly before he died (jaundiced form too much booze, salt & pepper hair, tremendous blue eyes, and in those recurring dreams, he comes back, is healthy, and we don't know where he's been all this time, but he always says he can only stay a few hours. We get in a catch up, he sees the grandsons, announces his pride and that he loves every one of us, but then hastily has to leave.

I don't know why I was so adamant about finding him in the County Building. I think it was somehow for validation of me having the Rx for the morphine. I wish he could've stayed longer and that we could've caught up. Alas it didn't work that way. Seeing the County Sheriff's police force every day downtown makes me miss my dad that much more. It's actually unnerving to the Sheriffs around the Plaza, for it makes me miss my dad all the more.  But "All Things Must Pass Away...." --George Harrison.

"Tell your brother. I love you both very much."--my dad's last words to me, 2/2/84, over the hospital phone, not even after 24 hours in "treatment," having a massive heart attack from liquor withdrawal (which they've greatly the time I went to rehab, it was all about keeping us comfortable and taking things one step at a time.

Come visit me again, Dad I need you right now. But stay. Please stay.

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