Chapter 24: therapist II
I shifted slightly in my seat, letting her words settle in the silence. Then I said, "I'm not so sure I can agree with you. I don't think I'm an empathetic person."
Dr. Freeman tilted her head, letting me continue without interruption.
"Most of the time, I despise weakness. I look at people struggling—people who can't seem to get it together—and I feel... disgust more than sympathy. And sometimes, I know it's not even their fault."
She leaned back slightly, hands resting gently on the arms of her chair. "Go on."
"I can rationalize that circumstances play a part, sure. Bad luck, bad parents, bad health. But that doesn't stop the feeling. I don't admire people for enduring—I admire people for rising. For dominating their situation. Everyone else just feels like background noise."
Dr. Freeman remained quiet, studying me carefully. "That sounds like contempt disguised as strength. But I don't think you truly despise weakness, Jake. I think you fear becoming it."
That hit a little closer than I liked.
"I've spent so long analyzing people," I said, voice steady. "Trying to understand them, categorize them. Weak, strong. Useful, irrelevant. It's efficient, sure. But maybe not human."
"And yet here you are," she said softly, "talking to a stranger about the very things most adults never say out loud. That doesn't come from apathy. That's the voice of someone who cares so deeply, he has to protect himself behind intellect."
I looked at her. Really looked. "I still don't agree. I don't think I care deeply. I just know I can't say these opinions out loud. And maybe I'm here because a part of me wants someone to witness some of my demons."