Okay, Mona, do you have a job?

Mona is a lawyer, but her dream is to become a film director.

She vividly and enthusiastically describes what she would do behind the camera.

Okay, I say, great, what’s holding you back?

She loves self-deprecatingly.

Except for mediocre talent, doctor. Nothing else.

That’s the only thing that’s holding me back.

And plus, I need all the money to support the studies of my loved one.

Shadow type number 11.

Coffee break.

What’s a shadow without coffee?

Mike is attending therapy at the request of his wife.

She complains that he is emotionally absent and aloof.

Mike shrugs.

We used to have a great marriage, but good things don’t last.

You cannot sustain the same levels of passion and interest throughout their relationship.

She has unrealistic expectations. Isn’t his family worth the effort, I ask?

He shrugs again.

He doesn’t pay to be a good husband or a good father.

Look what my loving wife did to me.

In any case, at my age, the future is behind me.

Caro Pediam sees the day he’s my model and he winks.

Does he consider his wife’s demands to be unreasonable?

He flares up.

With all due respect, that’s between me and my spouse. It’s none of your business.

Then why is he wasting his time and mind if he wouldn’t talk?

I didn’t ask to be here, he says.

You know, it’s not my initiative.

Did he prepare a list of things he would like to see improved in his family life?

He forgot.

Can he compile it for our next meeting?

Only if nothing more urgent pops up, he’s very busy.

It would be difficult to continue to work together, I tell him, if he doesn’t keep his promises and refuses to collaborate.

He understands.

He understands it and he will see what he can do about it, he says, but without great conviction.

The problem is, he says, that he regards psychotherapy as a form of con artistry.

It’s a scam.

Psychotherapy is a snake oil salesman.

Luxury day witch doctors, only much less efficient.

He hates to feel cheated or deceived. Does he often feel cheated or deceived?

He loves dismissively.

He is too clever for run-of-the-mill crooks. He is often underestimated by them and he gets them.

Do other people beside crooks underestimate him?

He admits to being unappreciated and underpaid at work. It bothers him.

He deserves more than that.

Obsequious intellectual midgets rise to the top, brown-nosing their way in every organization.

He observes this with virulent envy.

How does he cope with this discrepancy between the way he perceives himself and the way other people evidently evaluate him?

He ignores them.

They’re fools.

How can one ignore one’s co-workers and one’s superiors?

He doesn’t talk to them.

In other words, he sulks.

He refuses to answer.

Then he suddenly reconsiders.

I don’t sulk.

Sometimes I try to enlighten and educate the people I deem worthy.

It often gets me into arguments, and I’ve acquired the reputation as a cantankerous curmudgeon, but I don’t care.

Is he an impatient or irritable person? What do you think?

He counters.

During this session, did I ever lose my cool? Did I ever lose my cool, I ask you?

Well, actually, frequently, I say.

He half rises from his chair to go away, and then thinks better of it and settles down.

Okay, he says, do your thing.

He says, sullenly and contemptuously. Let’s get it over with.

Shadow number 12.

Yet another Sam is an advertising executive.

He keeps sending letters with damaging and incriminating information about himself to various online print and electronic media.

He knows that it is an extreme form of self-destructive and self-defeating behavior, but it feels good afterwards, like I’m cleansed.

Does he enjoy doing this?

He records.

Enjoy is a strong word.

Okay, what themes, what pastimes does he find pleasurable?

He scratches his forehead and says, I like classical music.

Okay, when was the last time that you’ve been to a concert?

He can’t remember.

Sam is gregarious and somewhat narcissistic. He likes being the center of attention.

Still, he’s a virtual hermit. He rarely exits his home.

He spends all his time in solitary activities.

I ask him, why do you abstain from social contact?

He tends to make a fool of himself, he says.

He often gets drunk and then loses control of what he says and does.

And that is not fun, he concludes, sadly.

Sam is homosexual, is gay.

He craves a stable and long-term relationship, but he keeps finding himself involved with unsuitable partners.

These brief and stormy liaisons invariably end in heartbreak and financial ruin.

Why didn’t he seek help before?

I don’t need help even now, he sounds resentful.

I need advice.

Okay, okay, then why didn’t you seek advice before?

He murmurs something about something. It’s inaudible.

I can’t understand what he says, but he refuses to share it with me.

When I insist, he confesses that he has been to therapy a few years ago. She gave me all the wrong advice, he complains, and proceeds to list his former therapist’s suggestions.

I inform him that he is likely to receive very similar guidance from me. And I offer to assist him to assimilate these lessons, to gain insights, and act on these insights.

That’s more than I had bargained for when I came here, he frowns.

Therapy is not exactly my idea of intimacy or companionship.

I’m not offering intimacy or companionship, I tell him.

I’m offering support, I’m offering you some knowledge regarding the workings of the human mind.

But he’s still on edge.

I understand that you practice brief therapy.

Yes, sometimes, that’s true.

This means that we can see results in one or two sessions.

Sometimes, I say, it depends on the client’s circumstances, problems.

He looks at me suspiciously.

That sounds more like brainwashing to me, he declares.

I don’t like people tinkering with my mind like that. People always tinker with other people’s minds, I say.

This is what feels like advertising and political campaigning do.

Psychotherapy does it.

When you talk to a person, he tinkers with your mind. It’s all about tinkering with minds.

People cut you down to size, he sneers.

They force you to conform or die.

I don’t want to conform, I prefer to die.

Sam feels constantly manipulated by people who pretend to care about him.

Love is a chord word for subjugation on the one hand, and obsequiousness, obeisance, submission on the other hand.

Only weak people develop such dependence.

He is shocked by the fact that I fully concur.

Yes, love and dependence are mutually exclusive.

At work, Sam is much loved, much admired. He is known for his willingness to help others with their tasks. He dedicates time and attention, and he puts lots of efforts into these altruistic excursions, while neglecting to attend to his own clients.

And so he jeopardizes his standing in the firm and his career, even though he is helpful and collaborative in a team worker.

The only time Sam had a row with his superior was when he was promoted. I didn’t want the new job, though I admit that it far better suited my qualifications and experience, he explains to me.

He remembers the incident because that night he had a near fatal accident. I was saved by the wits he loves disingenuously. Someone else got the job while I languished at the hospital.

What do you think of my story, asks Sam? Am I not a pathetic piece of work?

When I ignore the bait, he proceeds to taunt and provoke me.

What’s the matter, doc? As a therapist, aren’t you supposed to answer truthfully? Am I not the most screwed up, hopeless, miserable imitation of a human being you’ve ever come across in your practice?

Now, that’s quite a shadow.

Shadow 13, one before the penultimate.

Penultimate, look it up.

Shadow number 13.

A little discipline never hurt anybody, repeats Jared, clearly amused.

Beating a three-year-old and letting her freeze to near death on your doorstep in sub-zero temperatures.

Is this his idea of discipline?

Jared says it’s one way of getting the message across and then he laughs heartily and then he composes himself.

Listen, doc, I am as merciful, as compassionate and kind as they come.

Believe you me, but what I cannot stand is cry babies, weaklings and whining bitches.

Besides, it’s fun to see how a little ice does wonders to the siren voices of these babies.

Why did he force the mother to dump her limp and profusely bleeding infant daughter outside the door?

If she were a proper caretaker, he says, none of this would have happened. It’s her fault.

He wanted to show her wretched family, who is the only boss in the household. They were getting on my nerves.

Her mother, her sister, they needed some re-education, like in the Chinese camps.

He chuckles. They all claimed to be terrified of him and intimidated by his capricious and violent behavior, I say.

I sure hope so, he laughs.

The kid says that you pinched her repeatedly and that’s why she cried.

I was just kidding with her. I was just kidding with her.

Pinching hurts. It sure does.

He roars and slaps my shoulder across the desk.

I like you, dog. I like your sense of humor. The slap hurt, too.

Could he please refrain from doing it in the future? Whatever the hell is going on, my shrink, he accepts my indirect criticism jovially.

The mother says that about a year ago, you beat the same child and you caused her grave injuries because she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry when you pinched her and kicked her around. You kept yelling at the child, cry, you bitch, cry. Then you mauled, mauled the child, hit her badly because she wouldn’t cry.

I don’t understand. That time, you broke her bones because she wouldn’t cry.

Now you spanked her because she did cry.

So what gives? What do you want her to do?

She has to make up her own mind, he says.

She has to stick to her own mind. I respect that. I respect consistency.

But she cannot change her behavior every time I pinch her. That’s why I disciplined her.

I wanted to have a spine. It seems to me I say that he’s the one who keeps changing the rules.

His face darkens and he leans forward, whispering hoarsely.

Doc, I like you and all.

But don’t cross the line here or you may get a taste of the same medicine yourself.

You get my drift?

Are you threatening me, ask?

He merely glowers at me malevolently. Doesn’t he like me anymore? I ask.

F off, he says. F off.

Gladly onward to the next shadow and last one.

Next shadow type, number 14.

Edward has a lumbering, numb presence. He walks as if he is in a dream. His gait robotic, his eyes downcast.

Within minutes, it is abundantly clear to me. It is gloomy, dejected, pessimistic, overly serious, lacks a sense of humor, cheerless, joyless, constantly unhappy.

How does he react to good news? I ask him.

What if I had just informed him that he had won a million dollars in a game of chance?

He contemplates this improbable good fortune and then shrubs.

He wouldn’t make much of a difference, Doc. A million dollars wouldn’t make much of a difference in your life.

I’m astounded. This time, he doesn’t even bother to answer.

Okay, let’s try some other way.

What would you have done with money?

I’d probably fritter it away.

He loves mirthlessly.

I’m not good with finances either.

I confide in him. I understand what you’re saying.

I’m not good at anything, he counters.

Well, that’s not what I hear from his wife and close friends whom I’ve interviewed.

I try to reassure him.

They say that you’re outstanding at your work. They say you’re a loving husband. They say you’re a chess champion.

What do they know he sneers? I’m a loser.

The only thing I’m really good at is disguising it.

Failing from time to time doesn’t make you a failure and definitely doesn’t make you a loser.

I try to reintroduce a perspective into the fast deteriorating conversation.

And now he snaps suddenly.

I’m worthless, okay? I’m inadequate. You get it?

I consume scarce resources. I give very little in return.

I’m too cowardly to put an end to it all.

And that’s all there is to it. Don’t give me this fake sugary pep talks, doctor.

Okay, okay. I’m merely trying to understand and reassure him.

Can he provide examples of failure and defeat that prove conclusively?

Is he self-assessment and substantiate?

He slips into a bout of brooding and then reawakens.

I’m afraid to lose my job. Why is that?

His boss praises him to high heaven. Why would he lose his job?

He dismisses this contrary information. He praises me now, but when he finds out, it’s going to be a different story.

He finds out what?

He finds out the real me.

He blurts and averts his gaze.

Can he describe this filthy penumbral entity, the real me?

Well, he says, let me put it this way.

I feel, no, I know, says Edward, that I lack perseverance. I’m hypocritical, obsequious, obstructive, full of suppressed rage, full of violence.

And it worries me. I’m very judgmental of others and give an authority or power over other people.

I’m sadistically punitive.

I enjoy their writing pain and suffering when I criticize or chastise them.

But at the same time, I hate and despise myself for being such a low life.

So I often apologize to the victims of my own abusive conduct.

And sometimes I even cry when I do this.

I really feel bad about this behavior and I’m sincere and they forgive me and they grant me another chance.

I also claim knowledge and skills and talents that I do not possess.

So, in effect, you could say I’m a scammer, a con artist.

Wow, I say, that’s quite a long list.

Now we understand.

He concurs with me. That’s why I will likely end up unemployed.

Can you try to imagine the day after he was sacked?

I ask him.

He visibly shudders. No way. Don’t even go there, Doc.

I point out that he has been leading the conversation inexorably exactly to this topic.

At which point Edward sulks and then rises from his chair and walks towards the door without word.

Where are you going? I’m genuinely surprised.

I’m going to get myself a real psychiatrist.

He triumphantly calls out.

You’re as much of a sham as I am, Doc.

It’s no use, one fraudster trying to cure another.

And he’s gone. He’s gone.

And so is the list of shadow types.

I hope you would listen carefully. Feel free to rewind and fast forward until you find your shadow types.

And remember, apply these shadow types to everyone in your life and to every institution and collective in your life.

It will introduce a lot of order to things that hitherto have been a bit obscure.

And it’s the first step in healing.

Thank you for listening.