Week 3: Tsundoku

[kimschlotwrites]

 

“If it wasn’t for the fucking bible, I wouldn’t be here.”

I sit back in my chair, straight faced and quiet. It’s a tactic some of us therapists use. Silence can make the patient speak more. It doesn’t work for everyone. There are plenty of people who are fine with the quiet. But I have a feeling that Lucy will continue to talk if I keep my mouth shut.

“It’s not like I haven’t felt the guilt before. Every time I swipe something I feel it. Guilt, shame. Blah, blah.  It’s never enough to stop me. The urge to steal, that adrenaline rush is usually stronger than the guilt.”

Lucy sighs, and starts biting her nails. “How is it the Bible’s fault that you’re here?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes before answering. “Ugh. I know an inanimate object can’t make me do something. That’s not what I meant. I’m not insane.”

Do I think she is insane? No. Do I think she has a psychological issue?  Yes.

“How long have you been stealing?” I ask.

Her mouth twitches. “Since I was young. Maybe I was nine? Ten? I’m forty now. So about 30 years.”

“Have you ever been caught?”

“Not really. Not by anyone with authority. Just friends who saw me do it it when I was younger.”

“And your friends never turned you in?”

Lucy laughed. It was a loud, barking laugh. “God no. We were teens. They thought it cool, and they lifted a couple things, too.”

“Do you plan your shoplifting? Go with a list? Do you know what you’re going to take beforehand?”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s never planned. Always impulsive.”

“How do you feel right before you steal something?”

Lucy rolled her eyes again. I guess you don’t really grow out of an eye roll. “Feelings. Feelings,” she says in an annoyed sing song voice.

“Yes. We tend to talk about those a lot here,” I reply, drily.

This got a small smirk out of her. “It’s hard to say,” she begins. “I see something. I don’t need it. I probably won’t use it, but it’s this uncontrollable urge to take it.” She pauses a second. Then, “When I’m actually taking the book, the candy, whatever it is, it’s this strange combination of anxiety and adrenaline.”

“And after?” I prompt.

“Like I said before, guilt. A fear of getting caught or arrested. It doesn’t last too long. And it hasn’t been strong enough to get me to stop.”

“Until the Bible.”

“Until the Bible,” Lucy agrees.

“What is it, or was it about the Bible that made it different?”

She draws in a deep breath before answering. I can tell she’s already thought about this. “I’ve never been really religious. My parents dragged me and my brother to Easter mass every year for show. Trying to look like good Christians to the other families that only came to mass on Easter. That’s the extent of religious schooling. If you ask me if I believe in God, I’d probably just shrug and tell you I don’t know.” She pauses. “But I know somewhere in that book, the Bible, somewhere it says ‘Thou Shall Not Steal.’ And that has me screwed up in the head.”  She inhales again. “Maybe I am crazy,” she mumbles.

“Do you believe in God?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

Lucy shrugs, and laughs. This time it’s a nicer, gentler laugh. I smile at her.

“Have you ever been formally diagnosed as a kleptomaniac?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. You’re the first shrink I’ve ever been to. I’ve read about it. Thought I might be a klepto. But I haven’t been able to put those symptoms into webmd.” She laughs that gentle laugh again.

“And it’s good that you can’t! It will make you think that you’re dying no matter what your symptoms. Felt the urge to steal? Must be an incurable disease.”

We both laugh.

“So do you think I’m a klepto?” Lucy asks.

I nod slowly.  “You seem to have the behavior of a kleptomaniac.”

Lucy stared at the wall, a smile starting to creep across her face.

“This is not a get out of jail free card,” I warned.  If caught, you can still face jail time, whether your diagnosed or not.”

“I understand.”

“I want to give you some resources.  Some information on different support groups for kleptomania.  Excuse me one moment.” I left the room for a minute to get printouts from the filing cabinet that all the therapists in the office share.  When I came back Lucy was right where I left her.

“Here you go,” I said handing her the papers.  “The support groups are free. Unfortunately there’s not a whole lot of them.  They’re not as easy to find as like an alcoholics anonymous. But there’s a few.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, Lucy, it’s up to you.  Do you want to schedule another session?  I think therapy would be good for you. Even if it’s not with me.”

“You’re right.  It probably would be good.  Let’s schedule another one.”

“Great.  Let me just take a look at my calendar.”  I go back to my desk, but I don’t see my large planner where I keep track of all my appointments.  “What did I do with it?” I ask myself. I look over at Lucy. With a sheepish smile, she opens her big purse.