Diagnosing A Fetish Ch 07

Once again, I found myself sitting in the drab waiting room of a medical office. Fortunately, it was an afternoon on a weekday and there were few other people, but the old magazines, grey wallpaper, and stuffy atmosphere left part of me wanting a little more excitement. That, and the fact that I was meeting

another

new doctor resulted in a pit in my stomach.

It had now been almost three weeks since the sleep evaluation and my final time seeing Dr. Morse. As promised, she hadn't tried to contact me. Plus, the medication she prescribed was helping some with my nightmares. They still weren't uncommon, but perhaps less severe. In some ways, I had almost moved on from my time spent with her. However, there was still what happened during my evaluation. I couldn't forget that - not so soon, anyway.

I never told Kat what happened, what had caused me to break down crying on the way home from the appointment. She asked, of course, but it wasn't something I wanted anyone to know about. As a result, things had gotten a little tense between us, I guess you would say. Not much had changed physically - she was still coming over after work, helping around my apartment, that kind of thing - but there was always an air of unease when she was around.

She always claimed that she was there for me and that I could tell her all my problems, but no one wanted that. It wasn't just what happened at the appointment that I was keeping a secret either. For one, there was Dr. Morse's notebook that I currently had stashed under my mattress. I hadn't opened it. To be honest, I didn't really need to; I could easily guess what was written inside. But, if Kat found it, I'm sure she would be livid. In her mind, Dr. Morse was the devil, and any reminder of her presence should be destroyed. Maybe she was right, I don't know. Any healthy person would think that keeping the notebook was unhealthy. Regardless, I wasn't ready to tell Kat about it and I doubted I ever would be.

Kat was the reason I was here today, too. She told me a couple of weeks ago about a therapist she found and that I should consider going. Part of me thought it was a good idea, and the other part just wanted an excuse to be away from my apartment and her for a bit. Now I was faced with the consequences of my decision, and it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Plus, to ensure I avoided Dr. Morse at all costs, Kat had to go to the only other clinic close by. It just happened to be a forty-minute drive from my apartment.

"Mallory Byrd?"

I got déjà vu as I looked at the woman calling my name. The last time I was in this situation, my life had been changed for the worst. I felt like an idiot putting myself through this again. "Yes, that's me," I hesitantly stood.

"It's nice to meet you," the young woman smiled, "I'm Dr. Hodge's secretary. If you want to follow me, I'll take you to my office."

"Thanks," I mumbled. In the back of my head, I wondered if she knew why I was here. If she was his secretary, it seemed likely. Then again, I really don't know how much my file disclosed, just that it was sent over from Dr. Morse's office. I wouldn't put it past her to go into excessive detail. If she was spiteful after I no longer wanted to see her, god only knows what she wrote about me. As I was considering the possibilities, I suddenly slammed into the back of the secretary I was following.

"Oop," she let out a surprised sound, stumbling forward.

"S-Sorry," I felt my face turn hot, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking."

Composing herself, her smile returned, "No problem. Here we are," she indicated to an empty office which had its door open, "If you want to take a seat, I'll have Dr. Hodge come meet you. Should just be a minute or two."

"Thanks," I replied, unable to look into her eyes anymore after embarrassing myself. Closing the door behind her, I waited until the secretary left before I surveyed the room. As with the rest of the building, it was unimposing and somewhat drab. However, unlike Dr. Morse's office, there was no examination table or mysterious door to a bathroom. Instead, there was a desk and two plush armchairs across from it, the left of which I sat down in.

Picking at its fabric with my nail, I nervously waited for the aforementioned doctor to arrive. In the past weeks, I had done my best to never be alone with my thoughts, whether through the use of alcohol or always having Kat with me.

I should have brought her,

I thought,

No, I don't need her finding out more about me. She can't hear what I'm actually like.

Digging through my bag, I pulled out my phone and unlocked it, looking for something to distract me.

My eyes immediately spotted the '99+' on the corner of my email app, my finger hovering over it for a second, trembling. I had opened it once in the past few months when Dr. Morse sent me the information for my evaluation. That means there was at least three months' worth of emails from work, family, and friends all piled up in my inbox.

When I went on my mental health leave from my job, they let me know that I would have my job back when I was ready for it. Therefore, despite not being on payroll during my leave, I was kept in all relevant emails to make my transition easier. That was when they thought I'd be gone for a week or two. Honestly, for all I knew, I had already been fired. I wouldn't have seen the email, and I'm sure I was already on thin ice when I left.

They probably would have tried calling, though

, I thought.

Before I could commit to tapping on the app, the door to the office opened and who I assumed to be Dr. Hodge walked in. Not that he paid any attention to me, however, the overweight and somewhat disgruntled man just silently shutting the door behind himself and taking a seat at his desk. He looked old, too, his face sagging slightly and hair rapidly balding. It was certainly a different experience than when I first met Dr. Morse.

"Um, hello," I managed to say, the room painfully silent.

"Yes dear, I'll get to you in a second," he replied dismissively, opening a Tupperware container and eating a forkful of some sort of curry. "I haven't eaten all day," he mumbled through his mouthful of food, "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm... I've been struggling recently with..."

"Come on dear, I don't have all day."

His tone was enough to piss me off, but the fact that he wouldn't even look at me made it much worse. "You should have my file from my previous doctor, Dr. Morse."

He seemed to think for a second before taking another bite of food. "Ah, Mallory, right? Divorce, strange thoughts, urges, that sound familiar?"

"Yeah," I grumbled.

"And what did you want from me?"

"Well, for starters, some way to maybe cope with some of it? Advice, medication, a professional opinion?"

Wiping his face with a napkin, Dr. Hodge started typing something on his computer, the monitor, unfortunately, turned away so I couldn't see what it was. "It says here you're on prazosin, that working?"

"It helps with my nightmares a little bit. I still have problems during the day, though."

"Such as?"

"Self-deprecating thoughts, a dependence on alcohol," I picked at a scab on my arm, trying to disassociate from the situation, "anger, depression, that kind of thing."

"Any self-harm?"

"Not- No. Nothing physical."

"I'll be honest Mallory," he sat back in his chair, wiping his hands on his napkin, "Based on your file and everything you're describing, I'd say you're just having an emotional response to your recent divorce. I've seen it a hundred times; husband and wife split, wife doesn't know what to do herself without someone else in her life, she gets sad, and then she turns to the wine. Have you tried dating again? Seen anyone recently intimately or otherwise?"

The question made my cheeks burn with anger, "No, I'm not

seeing anyone

."

"It could be an option."

"I just got out of a marriage with someone I had been with for five years, married for three, which, I will remind you, were full of abuse and gaslighting. And your brilliant suggestion to help stop the awful thoughts I constantly have in my head is to go find some random asshole on the street and have sex with him?"

"What I am saying," he sat up, possibly angered by my sudden push-back, "is that you find a new relationship. You get used to a certain life when with another person, it can be difficult to have a life of solidarity. Sometimes the best option is the simplest."

"And what if I don't want to jump into another relationship after I was scarred from the last one? What then?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Emotions can often impede our judgment."

"What does that have to do with anything?! I'm a woman and therefore I'm too emotional without a man in my life? I need someone to look after me financially while I stay home and look after the house and kids?"

"You are putting words in my mouth. I do not mean to insult you, Mallory," he responded in a gruff tone.

"And yet, you're doing a very good job."

"If you are not willing to take my advice, then I can provide you with a prescription for Clonazepam. It might be more effective than prazosin."

"So, in your professional opinion, my two options are either whore myself out or take more drugs?" Dr. Hodge looked like he was going to say something - probably about how I was being crass or twisting his words - but I interrupted, "Just give me the drugs."

Returning attention to his monitor, Dr. Hodge began typing as he spoke, "I'm submitting a prescription for you now. It will take a few days to get processed, but you should get notified once your pharmacy has it available to be picked up. I must warn you, though," his full attention was finally on me for the first time in the meeting, "This medication has side effects. Side effects that could be avoided if you were to go with my first recommendation."

"You're a therapist, right?"

"Yes," he replied, a little confused.

"And you went to school for this?"

"Of course."

"Doesn't feel like it. Are we done here?"

"Um, yeah."

"Great." Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I didn't waste another second looking at the useless man and left his office. Retrieving my phone as I left the clinic, I sent a three-word text to Kat before putting it back in my bag.

It went bad.

I unlocked my car and threw my weight onto the driver's seat, slamming the door before letting out a volley of obscene language and curse words. I kicked the bottom of the dashboard multiple times, flailing my legs like a child having a temper tantrum. "Back at square fucking one," I shouted, not caring who heard me. First, it was Dr. Litvak, calling me crazy and trying to gaslight me, then Dr. Morse and all that shit, and now Dr. Hodge, a misogynistic oaf. Every inch forward was fifteen steps back, wading through a bunch of bullshit that everyone around me was spouting off.

Pressing the car's ignition, I pulled out of the driveway and started the forty-five-minute drive back to my shithole apartment to continue existing in misery. My knuckles were white as I drove, gripping the steering wheel with all my strength, and doing my best to fight off the urge of driving into oncoming traffic. It wasn't even because I wanted to end it all, either, but just because it might be an opportunity to stop the seemingly endless loop that I had been stuck in since leaving Dave.

Each car that drove past me had people in it who were living their own lives, most of which I could only imagine were significantly better than mine. Sure, they probably knew heartache and pain, but I doubt any of them had experienced the internal turmoil I had been suffering through for months. Then there was the other side of my brain, saying I was a narcissistic piece of shit thinking my life is significantly worse than everyone else's. People were dying in the world, and I was here having a conniption fit because I was turned on by shit and piss.

One benefit of the long drive, however, was that it gave plenty of time for the anger to wear off. By the time I was unlocking the door to my apartment, the rage I felt for Dr. Hodge was gone, and I was once again left with a feeling of emptiness. I was also drained, both mentally and physically. Hopping onto my bed, I stretched out my body and let my mind wander. After trying seemingly every possible option, the only solution was left to take the drugs Dr. Hodge prescribed and hope they worked. If they didn't, I honestly wasn't sure what the next step was.

I could think of only one, and I really didn't like it. I could feel the notebook beneath me, sandwiched between the mattress and bedframe. Not literally, of course, but the overbearing, pit of the stomach feeling it gave me every time I was near it never went unnoticed. I momentarily got off the bed, lifting the mattress and grabbing the black book before laying back down. Looking up at the ceiling, I rubbed my thumb against the front of the book and focused on the rough texture. I thought about what Dr. Morse had said when she gave it to me, how she wanted me to have it, so I knew no one else did.

For the first time since receiving it, I opened it. Keeping my eyes fixed upward, I blindly traced the indent of her writing. I could picture in my head our first meeting when she was writing down my answers to her questions. At the time I thought she was being invasive and rude, wasting my time. In some ways, it seems I was right. However, after today, I sort of wished I could go back to a doctor who gave a shit about me getting better. Holding my breath, I let my gaze wander down to the first page.

Mallory Byrd

*Patient is unable to pay for session due to being away from work, I will pay for sessions until she is able to herself*

Patient is clearly sleep deprived and visually unwell

She is hesitant to answer my questions and seems defensive about her divorce - seemed upset/angry when I brought it up

Sexually unsatisfied - has begun to use coprophilia as a means of sexual pleasure but has severe hang-ups and dislikes her choices as a result. When I offered that it was not a bad thing, she became angry.

Her previous doctor has significantly impacted her mental health and self-worth with negative comments. I hope that I can help her realize that these comments are untrue, but I fear it might be difficult given her current well-being.

When asked about her sexual orientation, Mallory assured me she is straight. However, during the physical examination, I could feel her pulse increase and her body's positive reaction to my touch was apparent. A similar reaction occurred when she witnessed me using the toilet, however, this could be more due to the act of urination rather than it coming from a woman. Regardless, I believe there may be some buried attraction to females, but I do not want to assume wrongly or force this sexuality on her. (follow up on this in later sessions?)

I have given her the thumb drive of pornographic material to determine a bassline reaction. However, I fear this may have been the wrong decision.

After my experience reading Dr. Litvak's notes, this was not at all what I expected. Just looking at it, it was clear that Dr. Morse was only interested in my well-being and not converting me into some sexual deviant. Could it have been lies or fabricated? Absolutely. Still, it felt sincere, and I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. So, I decided to turn to the next page, the date confirming that it was from our second meeting.

It seems my fears held true regarding moving too fast with Mallory. Since our meeting last week, the self-deprecating thoughts have continued as have the nightmares, with some getting worse according to her.

Mallory experienced a nightmare about me acting sexually - due to me using the toilet in front of her?* Nightmare also had Dave (ex-husband) in it. Could be a regression or her body reacting to these new feelings (possibly want to go back to the past when this wasn't an issue).

*Take yourself out of treatment - don't make things personal

She watched the first two videos on the thumb drive, and her reaction seems to be strongly negative. According to her, she was sexually aroused by the videos, but they made her disgusted after completion - could be initial evidence of acceptance, need to continue to reinforce that these thoughts aren't bad.

Patient is still easily agitated and has a strong reliance on alcohol as a coping mechanism - I have suggested that she cut it out, but her reaction leads me to believe she is reluctant

As a method of exposure therapy, I have provided her with the address to RAE. I do not know if this was the correct choice, but I do not wish for her continued suffering. I believe it is possible that this may assist in her treatment, and hope that it will not result in her regressing.

I was immediately reminded of RAE and everything that I learned there. I couldn't help but imagine what would have happened if she'd never sent me there, or at least not so early into the treatment. After learning about her past, it seemed obvious that her telling me about RAE was all a ploy to get me hooked. Reading this, however, it was clear that she had the best intentions, and even questioned the decision herself.

Unlike the last two, the next page was disorderly and messy, with sentences written more frantically and notes filling the margins.

Mallory missed her appointment; I fear that suggesting she go to RAE was a terrible idea. I have called her number multiple times and heard nothing back.

I went to RAE and spoke to the owner - Mallory was here a few days ago. Owner didn't want to talk to me, but eventually said she got drunk and left a few days earlier in a taxi.

I came back to RAE again and saw Mallory picking up her car. I tried talking to her, but she quickly sped away without acknowledging me. When I tried talking to the owner again, she let me know that Mallory knew about my past and she didn't want to talk to me anymore. I think I have made a huge mistake and the actions of my younger self have once again impacted my professional career.

In a last-ditch attempt to talk to her, I went to her apartment. This was an awful decision and I deeply regret it. My ego has once again gotten me too involved with a patient's life. I left a note for her, but I do not expect a response.

I fear that my choices have made Mallory's situation significantly worse, and I don't know if there is anything I can do anymore.

I should not have come back to work.

Quickly glancing at a few of the scribbles but finding not much of note, I flipped a few pages ahead until I found the last one Dr. Morse had written on. Unlike some of the other entries, this one was neat and well-structured. It was clear that she had put some thought into this final page rather than just writing down whatever came to mind.

Dear Mallory,

It is clear that I have made many mistakes in the past and continue to make them in my time working with you. I'm sure you have already heard a lot about me from Lucy and the other girls at RAE, but I want you to know that not all of it is true. I have made poor decisions in my past that affected my career, but I have always put being a medical professional first, and never took advantage of other women.

However, despite this, I can understand why you are hesitant to work with me and why you have now removed me from your life. I hold no anger or hate against you, and I just hope that you can perhaps one day forgive me. My methods have never been by the book, and sometimes that has a negative impact on my patients, as it did you. It is why I originally stepped away from this career, but I didn't want to continue watching people like you struggle, so I made the decision to return. After seeing the damage done to you, I am reevaluating this choice.