The ceremony of innocence is drowned

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.”

William Butler Yeats

There’s nothing quite like the tears of a child to take an icepick to even the most frozen of hearts, and today I heard a story that put mine over the edge. It was from a little boy I have been seeing who came in because his parents felt he had “emotional problems”, and yes he certainly does. We have been meeting for several weeks now, and finally, after weeks and weeks of compassionate struggle, he said the words every therapist dreads hearing the most, “my mommy hurt me.”

Those words opened a floodgate of emotion in this child, and between his tears, he told me his dark and horrible secret. His mother had been coming into his room at night for several years and molesting him.

This alone would be cause for powerful shock and sorrow, but indeed the story had gotten even worse. When the child had gone to his father and told him about this, he had molested him as well. He had also told him that if he told anyone about this then he would have to kill him. This was his secret, his guilt, and his shame, and the roots of his “emotional problems.”

How he was able to tell me this story I have no idea. I have seen some tremendous acts of courage in my life, but never, in all my years, have I seen someone summon the amount of bravery that this child did during this one terrible hour. I wanted to hug him and hold him and protect him, but I realized being touched by another adult would send confusing signals. In that moment, all I could do was assure him that he was safe and his parents weren’t going to be doing that to him anymore.

When you hear these stories, your first obligation is to the child. Despite the fact that I was filled with both murderous rage and penetrating sorrow, I had to summon my rationale powers and follow protocol. I called DCFS who sent someone to my office to pick up the child. I cancelled the rest of my appointments for the day and accompanied him to their office so he could be with a familiar face for the rest of the day. I knew he would have to tell his story at least one more time, and when he did I wanted him to know I would be with him.

He was terrified and he was in shock, but the composure that little boy showed over the next several hours was truly astounding. It made me ashamed to think that my little problems kept me running towards the bottle when an 8 year old boy could show this kind of courage and resilience. At then end of the day as we parted company he hugged me. It was perhaps the most incredible act of trust I had ever witnessed from another human being considering where this little boy had been. I assured him I would do everything in my power to be with him in every way I could as we sorted out how we were going to keep him safe.

When I stepped out of the office I began to cry, softly at first, and then an open and torrential cascade of tears. I wept as strongly and as powerfully as I ever had in my life in that moment, and literally sobbed until I had no more tears left to give to this shitty fucking world we live in.

I went back to my office, utterly drained and as discouraged with the human condition as I had ever been in my twisted and pathetic life. As I entered my office I felt a hand come down on my shoulder and I slowly looked up, not fully understanding what was about to happen. And then, the realization of what stood in front of me slowly began to crystallize. Before me was the father of this boy, and he had just put his hands roughly on my shoulders.

In retrospect I don’t fully know what happened next, but I do know that in that moment, every part of my rationale brain had utterly and totally disappeared.

The next thing I remember there were several more hands on my shoulders, but none of them were powerful enough to stop me. I was striking a bloody and mangled man who I now lay on top of over and over and over again. Finally as I began to tire I took stock of my surroundings and began to get some comprehension of what it is I had just done. I had nearly killed a man. Not really a man, but a pathetic excuse for a human being. In that moment, had there not been security guards present, I truly believe I would have taken this man’s life.

When the police eventually came there was a lot of sorting out to do. The receptionist explained to the officer that the man had violently put his hands on me and that I had acted in self-defense, but I knew that this was a lie. I had utterly surrendered to every savage impulse I had inside of me, and given the chance, I would do it again.

So we all went down to the police station, and when they heard the story several cops came and congratulated me. But deep down, somewhere inside of me, I know that much of what I did was for me and not that little boy whose interests I am supposed to be protecting. I am racked with guilt, shame, pride, and intense confusion. It remains to be seen if I am still a psychologist. Time will tell.