CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
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Bruce Wayne Goes to See a Psychiatrist

Thursday, July 16, 2009

this entry brought to you by pj harvey, "naked cousin"





Three o'clock in the afternoon rolled around, and I'd nearly forgotten that I'd booked a new patient that was especially notable. I'd gotten wrapped up in my 2 o'clock session and after that patient had left I was nearly thrown for a loop when Bruce Wayne walked in.

I'd met the young Wayne at a fund-raising function a few weeks prior, and got into an intense conversation with him. I could tell there were demons on his conscious and I told him it might be something therapy could help. He had adamantly declined the need for any help whatsoever, and seemed to leave my presence in a huff. I was wondering how awkward encountering him in a future event might turn out-- one doesn't piss off one of Gotham's richest and most influential every day-- when his butler, a man named Alfred, approached me and told me he would make sure to have Wayne see me, even if he thought it was a bad idea. I told him that I could fit him in the following Monday at 3 pm if this was the case. Ordinarily I'm booked for months, but I was willing to make a special exception for Wayne.

It wasn't just that I'd forgotten momentarily about Wayne's appointment when 3 o'clock rolled around, it was also that I had completely disregarded any trust that Mr. Wayne would actually show up, and when he did it was quite a surprise. He was sharply dressed in a three piece suirt, bruskly rushing in, making it known how displeased he was with the entire situation without actually saying so aloud.

It wasn't long before the subject of his murdered parents came up. He became very uncomfortable and distant, even more than he had been up to this point. I inquired if he ever believed it was his fault.

"Of course I thought it was my fault," Wayne snapped after a moment. "I was just a boy, what else would a boy think?"

I asked him if he still thought it was his fault. He fidgeted and seemed to force out a mumbled reply that of course he didn't think it was his fault any more, how could any rational adult actually think that?

I told him that it wasn't his fault.

He seemed to get angry with me. I told him that no matter what he felt inside, it wasn't his fault.

Wayne suddenly rose in his seat and in a moment, like an animal, he was on top of me, lifting me from my chair to his face, and with a horrible, hoarse rasp he growled at me, "Don't tell me what's not my fault!!" and, with vicious swiftness, punched me in the throat. I went out like a light.

The lights in my eyes started to form shapes and I could hear myself violently coughing, trying to breathe, when I realized that Wayne was no longer in my office, and before I could turn to look to see if my office door was open I noticed that instead my window was open. I rushed to the window, afraid that I'd completely unsuspectingly set off a suicidal instinct in Wayne and, gagging horribly for air, looked down from my 10th floor office. There was no body on the ground below so I looked above, seeing that somehow Wayne had scaled the building with his bare hands and was now running across the rooftop and, after a moment, jumping from this one to another across the way, soon disappearing from sight.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, Bruce Wayne's got some fucking issues. No wonder the dude never seems to have a steady girlfriend.
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with love from CRS @ 8:49 AM 

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