Psychiatrists. The one persona, the career that people can upendo au loathe zaidi than the dentist au doctor. They can be your best friend, worst enemy, au a nuisance. Are all shrinks like that? No. Some people think of Bruce Willis' character in Sixth Sense as the shrink that helped Haley Joel Osmond overcome his fear of his own Supernatural abilities. Some people may think of some older person that never really speaks, except for slight grunts and that annoying phrase,"Now, how does that make wewe feel?" Usually, it makes the person feel like they should knock that guy on their punda and leave his office. Some may wonder about what they know. Not just years and years of psychology from these expensive maarufu A student colleges like Princeton, Harvard, au Yale. Others, maybe even yourself may think that if these psychologists were mad, insane, au even immature enough, they could be the greatest gossipers in the world, making celebrity paparazzi look even zaidi foolish than how they really are. No, these people do not sink that low. They usually keep professional and sturdy to their work, instead of blackmailing and making others look bad. I have to admit, it would be interesting to see a psychologist go insane ironically since they help people with their own heads, as if they can save others, but not themselves. This story isn't it. This story has been pondering in my mind for days now, as a movie idea. I won't write it in script form, but in actual story form. This story is from me and only me. It just hit me as I was listening to muziki one day, wondering this. This is NOT a horror story. I don't usually write horror since over the years it's been beaten down and cliched. If wewe like psychological stories involving psychiatrists and patients, then read mbele on. If wewe don't, I suggest wewe read something else. This isn't a moronic, girlie, Candy coated story. None of my stories are, well at least I try not to make them appear that way. To cut this introduction short, I am Sawfan13, and with some help and sharing this with Insight357 verbally, this is Behind the Closed Door. Good luck and enjoy.


Trying to pick up my house. New patient coming in around 4. I've talked with her mother over the phone, and this person seems like someone that wewe have to truly look after. If this woman expects me to babysit her daughter for an saa au two, I'm turning her away. I'm here to help people with their issues, not some teeny babysitting nanny. These mothers come in with their kids, saying that they're messed up when really they want me to babysit with them, while she goes out drinking with her bitchy book club Marafiki that try to act twenty-one. Kids can be so messy and expensive. Every mwezi I have to get toys, video games, and anything else that they are into, so I can associate with them in an easier fashion. Working with adults is quite different than working with children. Adults most of the time have a different issue with opening up their problems than kids. Truth be told, I'm not crazy with children, but there's something about them though that I can work with. Adults aren't smooth and easy as siagi either most of the time. It depends who I work with. Yet, this young girl coming over is different from that from what I heard from her mother. I heard she's been in psychiatric wards before and has issues. She also alisema that this girl wasn't very bright either. It didn't shock me hearing a parent talking down to their children. It shocked me zaidi hearing them please them. I get a lot zaidi kids that deal with abuse and family problems than with children with a good nyumbani life. I feel so bad for them because coming from a good nyumbani life and hearing how they suffer just breaks my heart. I mean, why in the hell have kids just to treat them like shit? It's one of those things that have never made absolutely no sense to me what-so-ever. The two biggest peeves I have is working with annoying au obnoxious adults, au working with extremely violent and rude children. Just because I can help people psychologically, doesn't mean that I have to babysit and tell them "no" whenever they do something. I have to make it work to where they can take my suggestions and use them to better themselves. Lastly, I vacuumed my living room, and straightened up the pillows on my couch. I walked upstairs to my bedroom to get my files out. I just got my new patient's file this morning and haven't really looked at it. Since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, I had some time to look over this and learn a bit zaidi about this girl. I went into the kitchen, got out my wine glass and poured a bit of red wine from my wine cabinet. Drinking wine while I'm kusoma something calms me down, especially after cleaning. Yet again, I like to keep some wine around for guests and if I ever bring a guy home. I stay single because of my work. Kinda hard to stay in a relationship while you're mostly dedicated to your work. I sat back down in the recliner, and started kusoma and making sure that I didn't get wine all over this.

The first thing I learned about her was of course her name. Jessica Mercedes Young. I have never heard of that sort of name before, so I thought,"Hmm, she sounds interesting so far." She is twenty-one years of age, and she seemed okay right up until I read what had happened to her. Has been in and out of asylums since age six, fascinated with the most grotesque and violent things, has anti-social problems, violent mood swings, and has tried starving herself. I have dealt with people with problems like this, but not all at once. Damn, I just started kusoma about her and already I feel bad. I usually don't start feeling this way until the sekunde au third session with other people. But something on that page shocked the hell out of me. This girl is smart. zaidi than that, a genius. Got an advanced diploma, got into Harvard and everything. She was eventually kicked out after her behavior, and the only way she got that diploma was her grades were that astounding. She did work very hard for it because of her homeschooling and getting put back and forth in asylums and hospitals. There was even a poem on here that she wrote at age eight. It was chilling kusoma it, especially since an eight mwaka old girl wrote it. It looked like something Poe, Plath, au Morrison would write. This is what it said:

The dead man lying on the ground
Was mother's friend that used to speak too much
Now, he makes not one sound
Cold and pale no movement at all
Sooner au later the buzzards will mduara, duara and make their call
Don't know his name
Don't know his shame
But I'll call him Mr. Cadaver
Before the buzzards claim him and gather
I hope the neighbors don't see
What this man now and forever shall be
Mr. Cadaver, I know who did this
Mama had some drinks and a gun, unlike my Sis
She shot wewe as we watched wewe fall and bleed
As your eyes emptied and closed, no longer can see au read
I asked Mama why, as she told me wewe were no good
Sissy cried, as Mama tried hiding him from the neighborhood.
My backyard is now his grave
To death he's its eternal slave
Sissy ran inside and started weeping
Mama hoped that no one saw where he is now sleeping.

I cringed and shuddered after kusoma that. My hypothesis is that her mother was probably upset about a bad relationship, got drunk one night, they boyfriend asked to be forgiven, so she shot him, the girls watched and helped her bury him in their backyard. This girl has been through a lot, and this poem is even too dark for a teenager going through a break up au death. Working with Jessica shall be interesting.

Four came faster than I thought it would be, as the doorbell rang. I opened the door to the find two women around my height, both with dark hair. One of them had long, beautiful brown hair and green blue eyes, wearing a rather reveling ensemble. The other had much shorter and darker brown hair, hazel eyes, and wore a black and white striped shati and blue jeans. I looked at them and said,"Hi! I'm Rosemary Lynsky, and this young woman right here much be Jessica." Her hair was almost as short as mine, but with longer bangs and some blond and red highlights. She clutched onto a blue sketchbook with a blue jean mfuko wa fedha, mfuko wrapped on her right arm. It looked like she kept hugging herself. After sitting down on the kitanda for a few brief minutes, as her mom and I talked to each other in the doorway, Jessica grabbed her things and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. I looked at her mom, Marie Chanel as she giggled and said,"Jessie does that at other people's houses. I'm sorry. She'll just stay in there just drawing au uandishi poetry. Do wewe have a sekunde bathroom?" "Yeah. The other one is upstairs, but it's in good use. She can do whatever makes her comfortable for her first session." "Okay. I gotta go to Club Maroon for about two hours for work, so is it okay if I pay extra for her visit." "Okay, that's fine with me." She got out her wallet from her brown leather mfuko wa fedha, mfuko and paid me $380.75. I only ask $75 au how much that person can pay at the moment, but this is the most that I've had in a while from a session. Not that I don't get a lot of money, but never this much for only two hours. After she left and drove away, I walked to the bathroom and knocked on it. "Jessica? Jessica? We need to start our session, so please come out." A note slid from under the bathroom door. I opened it up and read it:

"I will stay in here. wewe may communicate with me, but I will write to you. My written words are louder than my voice. I'm very quiet and I don't usually speak to people unless I know them really well. I don't like talking to people face to and face in physical form. From behind a closed door makes me feel safer, so I'm staying here. If wewe have to use the facilities, please say so. I can exit the restroom, let wewe go, and as wewe come out, I'm going right back in there."
I shrugged awkwardly and said,"Okay?" I sat down on the floor right beside of the door, and got adjusted. There was a few dakika of awkward silence that I thought would never end. Yet, I had to start the conversation now before her mom comes in after work and gets pissed because she spent over $300 for her daughter locked in my bathroom and me sitting here doing nothing. So, I decided to break the ice, which I hate doing especially in times like this. I'm a psychiatrist, so I have to start the conversation to make my patients zaidi likely to communicate with me. I started off kwa asking,"So, what do wewe wanna talk about?" She slipped a piece of paper saying,"Let's talk about my authors and poets. I am a shabiki of Poe and Plath, and a wee bit of Morrison. Who do wewe like?"

Maybe we weren't all that different. I,too,am a shabiki of Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Path, and Jim Morrison (his first published poetry book, he used his full name James Douglas Morrison.). Yet, I'm also fond of Frost and Kipling. I faced the door and asked,"Who do wewe prefer to speak of first?" A note came back to me saying,"Poe. He inspired me in many different ways. He's such a complex lunatic which should have used his ideas and work zaidi instead of satisfying himself with drugs alcohol and unemotional nights with women. As sick of a bastard he was, he was truly a genius at the same time. He lived such a short tragic lifestyle, but I personally think that he was trying to force his sadness and woe upon his work like van Gogh did."
I have to say, talking to this woman is impressive. She looks like a young girl, but writes and beats the moyo of a genius madman.

We just kept talking about the most oddest, yet most interesting things. When her mom came by, I had no idea it had been two hours. Jessie walked out of the bathroom, and went to her mother. After they drove away, I walked to my office, checked my schedule, and realized that she was my last patient for the day. I decided to calm down and watch a little t.v and read a bit of Edgar mchele Burroughs before going grocery shopping for zaidi food, drink, and maybe even rent an old movie while I'm out.