I pondered for a long time on the many curious and fascinating contortions Nat can perform during the course of a conversation. I have developed a system whereby I can discern his mood simply by the angle and incline of his head and neck. The way his fingers can bend backwards, as though aroused or perchance divining for something, is almost oriental, and most off-putting. His peculiar performance reminds me of something, but what? I just cannot tell. It is a type of double-jointedness I have not encountered before.
MON JAN 14
Nat has confided in me that he has weeping fits quite often, but only when alone. Occasions when he has actually broken down and cried until, as they say, one can cry no longer, have been very rare. This coincides exactly with a description of a certain visionary people’s characteristics in a homeopathic book I’ve been reading. I shall not, however, follow the suggested cure. Homeopathy is good, but only for minor ailments.
THU JAN 17
Nat seemed more distant today than of late. The atmosphere in my room oppresses him. I should dearly love to dispose of my desk but fear such a move would outrage more patients than it would please.
Nat keeps talking about suicide. I called his bluff: what method would he try this time? No, I didn’t advise jumping, screaming from the top of a tall building. Why? Because I know a man who has to clear up the mess.
“Oh”, said Nat, “but we don’t want him to swell the ranks of the unemployed, do we?”
He talked of pills. In desperation I asked him to let me know when he feels suicidal. He nodded but, I fear, only to keep me quiet. So I spelt it out to him, saying that I didn’t want to be left with a corpse on my hands. I pointed out that either he goes back and makes a better job of it, or we get down to some serious work now. This seemed to stir him. I attempted once more to coax him into talking about sex. Why wouldn’t he talk about sex? English stiff upper lip? If it was performance, homosexuality, bisexuality etc. I said I could relate to such problems. He said it was none of these, but assured me that if he felt close to taking his life he would be in touch.
There seems to be no way he can release his immense and genuine anger, save for when, on two recent occasions, I caught him looking at me with evil intent. I advised him to shout as loud as possible, in a secluded place, so as not to scare any innocent bystanders.
MON JAN 21
Nat has been screaming to some effect, but it is only a temporary respite. What did he shout? A secret word. He would not tell me.