Afterwards I spoke again with his mother, and also his father, who by this time had been summoned from work. They seemed immensely grateful that I was taking the case on. Money was not mentioned. Instead I advised them not to allow Nat to let his hands flop, for he appeared to be all too ready to take on the guise of an elderly invalid.

The look in his eyes didn’t belong to a youth of eighteen. I felt that the secret of what those eyes had gazed upon would not be surrendered lightly. It was this demoniacal-visionary aspect of Nat that has made my day so utterly disturbing, and not merely the physical carnage, upsetting though that was. However, I felt we had established a useful contact and, despite remaining darkly morbid and speaking openly of his desire for death, it was my belief that Nat would not suicide. My intuition detected within him a strand—a spark—of something strong. I felt that this would sustain him through the problematical days that inevitably lay ahead of us. I had made him promise to contact me if, at any time, he felt he would kill himself, and had sufficient confidence in him not to burden him with drugs, which would only compound his worries.

TUES NOV 27

Over the last week Nat has seen me each afternoon, at the surgery on week-days and at my home at the weekend. It is as regular as clockwork. Actually, he is the most punctual and polite young person I have ever worked with.

On Friday, whilst examining his wrists, some pus squirted in my eye. No infection has yet developed.

Nat’s death wish is both incredibly deep-rooted and close to the surface. Ergo, most of the psychotherapy had centred around his strong desire for oblivion. Throughout the week I have been gleaning fragments of information regarding childhood traumas, and I can now assemble what is known more or less as a “normal” childhood, whatever normal means. There were the usual infant tears caused by falling down stairs, wetting the bed, fear of the dark etc. More revealing is what he chose to find relevant.

A spell in hospital, for what in its time was a routine childhood operation, was seen by Nat as a cosmic experience: “The sky made an evil yellow pattern”. This, he claimed, was nothing to do with it being the first separation from his parents.

I have simply no experience whatsoever of what he describes as “doom-laden” feelings, nor the utter desolation and loneliness he senses lurking somewhere within him at all times. He speaks of being sucked upstairs, into the darkness, away from the rest of his family. This fantasy dates from the third year. Most striking of all his childhood images is the concept which he had been formulating, and brooding upon, up to the age of five. Namely, that he was the only human being and all others were aliens examining him.