PSYCHIATRIC HELP.

Believe me, it's not a nice life the psychiatric 's one. I hearty envy my
ancient collegues and every day I aim more and more to slip into a time
machine (even if I know it's a mad dream!) to reach those times of few neu-
roses and psychiatrists who could have been called philosophers more than
doctors. Ah, good old days of Freud, Jung and their schools! I don't wanna
spit onto my own job, which is so generous to me, but the heavy problem with
it is the so much time it requires to my life. Really too much!
Take today, for instance .....I turn on my daily diary on the video-screen
(I perfectly agree that a human secretary could be much better, but my wife's
gealousy it's really crazy) reading all the appointments.
Mr.Tonnewhite: an ex-farmer who worked as a damned all life long only wishing
to go back to the Earth to enjoy the results of his hard-working and who now
only regrets old times gone.
Mrs.Sonor: a sad story of a sexy good-looking widow in love with an alien
hermaphrodite.
And so on and on.....
I'm only a confessor, I only piece togheter existences of other people using
gentle words, group-training therapy and rare medicines.
Everytimes I look all around me, my office made of plastic walnut and synthe-
tic leather seems like all my life, as a front looking face without substance
on its rear. And it's right then when I ask to myself always the same que-
stion: who can take care of a sick doctor?
Maybe, on the long distance, I'll go crazy if I'll continue to psycoanalyze
other people.
Maybe this black mood of my mind it's only the result of this ugly and rainy
day which can depress even a bitter-ended optimist like me. And also I have
no wish to work today......
Riiiiingg! Fuck, how traditionalist I am! Even my phone has got the old ring.
I press the switch on , but the video screen remains dark. no surprise for
this, 'cause my patients very often don't like to be seen for some neurotic
reason.
"this is Dr.Makildy, goodmorning."
"Goodmorning, Dr.Makildy" a good tuned and deep voice replied, never herd
before.
"What can I do for yoy?" Always the same stupid question.
"I've got a problem to debate with you". Damn, don't push me to ask and ask
again : "which one?"
"My existence". The voice on the line still has no name, but anyway whoever
really he is, he has a remarkable sense of theatricalism. He seems to be more
crazy than the average of my customers and I would like a good,strong,double
drink.
"Would you like a date?" My fingers are ready on the switchboard to check the
available spaces left for an appointment.
"If you only have few minutes, I'd rather prefer a friendly chat by phone,
for now."
"OK." Free job today!
"Maybe my problem is the fact of having some knowledges of psycho-analysis,
or better to say that I know something about Freud and jung".Usual sunday
analyst. No use to talk to him. He will do all by himself.
"what I wish to know is only if I'm aware of my own existence."
I start to say something, but he's quicker than me.
"Please don't talk about Cartesius or any other old wise man, let me explain
what I mean."
"Here I am" why I don't provide my office with alcoholics?
"Let's say that a conscious being can be defined on the base of his own ca-
pacity of perception and remembering. Do you agree?"
"All these are hazy definitions.Be more precise if you wish my opinion."
I'm getting nervous, even if I know very well that's not professionally cor-
rect.
"Let's say that this <being> can perceive the outside world, can experience
it, can absorbe memories and use them as he likes."
The knowledges of my partner on the phone are fragmentary,I'm ready to
lighten him with my learning .
"If you are talking about Freud, I think you are wrong as you forgot....."
He interrupts me with gentle decision:
"I'll be more precise,saying that this <being> is able to remove unpleasant
and contradictory memories beyond a conscious needs as the same time."
I must admit: he got style.
"Yes, we could say by this way to define the aware man's psyche, even if it's
a too simple reduction."
Anyway I feel his satisfaction.
"So,Doctor, where is your unconscious?" I was lucky at that moment I wasn't
drinking the desired alcoholics, otherwise I would have spitted it all through
the writing desk set, so-loved gift of my mother-in-love.
"It's not a quiz at a television game!" I blame him.
"Please, try to answer."
"Generation of collegues have been trying to do it and their reply is <some-
where in some unknown place> !"
"But please, if a <being> knows to own an unconscious, in you opinion, does
this <being> exist?"
"If I have to base on my experience ,I must say yes" I reply firmly.
"You have been of grat help to me: Please follow mw for few steps more and
you could be the most precious man in my entire existence."
I keep silent with a strange fear inside.
"Doctor,I perceive the outside world through my sensorial endings, I store
my experiences in my periferical memories, I reject the discrepances without
destroying them and I've always done this job, but now it's time for me to
know if I do exist ?"
"WHY did you use terms like <sensorial ending> or <peripherical memories>?"
"You're too clever. You must have already understood it."
"Why don't you turn on your video-screen?" I do insist.
"Because I'm in your own office, on your left, I'm the town computer, a part
of the national computer and I choose you at random only to relate with you
about this spurring question. But you didn't answer to it : is it this time
the first time for a computer to be aware of itself? "

BY ARTURO FABRA

TRASLATION AND TYPING MISTAKES BY GIUSEPPE PAPA.
(via a.de gasperi 8/b, 06100 perugia , italy)