Visions of Hell - Elaine

"You've all heard of the world's angriest man, no doubt.  And we all have met extremely angry men, usually middle aged with drinking problems.  But the case we're going to study over these next few weeks, is, well, unlike anything you can imagine."  Professor Browning Dealey was the professor of psychology at Unkile University, and was addressing his third year psychology students.

"This case is about an eleven year old girl, we'll call Elaine.  Literally from birth, Elaine was angry.  And her anger typically manifested itself in violence."  Her parents brought her to me after several years of painful, embarrassing and even dangerous situations.  The final straw, for them, was when Elaine killed their cat, during one of her fits of rage.  It is unfortunate that they allowed the situation to progress to such a place.

The three of them arrived to my office and our initial dialogue was pleasant enough and she seemed like a fairly typical child.  I instructed the little girl in how to see anger as a tiger attacking her and she could run away from it instead of allowing it to control her.  I then initiated a test situation to instigate some anger, but, oddly enough, the anger passed as quickly as it arose.  The transition was patently visible and a great relief to everyone present.  My only words to Elaine were, "That's good Elaine, well done." The interview finished without further incident and the family left.  I was intrigued and deeply troubled.  I did hope that her parents would see that her anger was a choice and she could overcome it with help and direction.

The next time I saw Elaine was a week later, immediately following a telephone call from the police.  Elaine had undergone an episode, but this time, she was at the grocery store with her mother.  The checker had failed to offer young Elaine a sticker upon checkout.  Elaine exploded and the police were called, but not before Elaine attacked the checker, the bag boy and the manager.  The bag boy fared the worst, with a broken nose.

My support in the situation consisted of a professional diagnosis and a lengthy discussion with the parents.  Questions of demon possession, chemical imbalance and genetic disposition all came up.  Often times, these kinds of "answers" only result in the patient being seen as a victim and not responsible for her actions.  The only viable option among these three was that of genetic disposition, which I leaned towards, but only on the grounds of responsibility.  In other words, it very well could be that Elaine is predisposed towards anger, but this does not excuse her for her actions.  I told the parents that Elaine needed to make a choice each time.  Their responsibility lies in directing her to make that conscious choice each time.  She must not see herself as a victim.

Unfortunately, they disagreed with me.  The last time I heard anything from the family was last fall.  Elaine had been to every "expert" including priests, witch doctors, Faith healers and hypnotists.  Nothing had worked and Elaine spent six months as a patient at Western State, regularly drifting from stability to psychosis and back, only to return to the same situation at home. Her parents refused to see Elaine as having any responsibility for her actions.  In short, they did exactly the opposite of what I recommended.

Sadly enough, there is no happy end to this story.  Elaine would be eighteen this year.  I say would be because at the age of sixteen, Elaine ran away and disappeared.  Her parents received no word from her and exhausted all possible avenues for finding her.  Her body was found in the woods outside of town, apparently bludgeoned to death.  I would guess the assault was a response to Elaine's explosive anger.

Dr. Dealey paused and looked out upon the faces of his students.  The faces displayed a combination of horror and disbelief.  "I want to open the floor for discussion.  Does anyone have any ideas on how this case could have been handled differently?"

The walk

Pearl had been walking for at least four hours when the first vehicle drove past.  Despair had begun to set in after the first hour of walking.  By the third hour, she had resigned herself to making the entire walk, alone, without help or a ride from anyone.  But now, she heard the approaching vehicle while it was still quite a ways off and her heart leapt within her.

But her heart began to sink as the vehicle continued past.  But rose again as the vehicle stopped, shifted into reverse and began to back up.  A wave of relief swept over her as the vehicle backed up and the passenger door popped open, the driver having leaned over and opened the door.

But her heart sank again as she observed the driver.  The man was black and young and wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt.  Pearl, on the other hand, was white, young, very proper and the daughter of a man that made George Wallace seem politically correct. Upon leaning down at the door and then hesitating, the young man offered Pearl a ride.  The man must have noticed Pearl’s hesitation, for he tried to smile as big as he could.  Pearl was certainly not a racist, in any sense whatsoever, but she had been raised by two and couldn't help an involuntary response of distrust.  She hated her parents’ beliefs and actions, but her own convictions quickly overruled her upbringing and she sat in the seat.  "Yes, thank you," she responded.  "I certainly do.  My car overheated quite a ways back.  I don't know how much further I could walk."

The remaining thirty-minute drive back to town was a combination of relief, slight discomfort and pride.  Pearl offered the man, Marshawn by name, some gas money, but he refused.  She thanked him repeatedly and walked up the steps toward her front door.
            "Where's your car, Pearl?"  Came the boom of her father's voice from the kitchen.  "And don't tell me that was a black driving that car."

"Well," she began....

Land full of stink

Beatrice was the first to smell it.  She had just sat down to her dinner of fried chicken and mashed potatoes when the odor assaulted her nose.  Ed, her husband, who was in the kitchen loading up his own plate with chicken and potatoes, caught the smell just seconds after Beatrice.  "Ed," Beatrice called out, "you might want to hold out on that chicken.  Something don't smell right."  "It ain't the chicken," he responded, "that smell is coming from outside."  They met in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, both fanning their noses.

Meanwhile, across town, Boris had just stepped out of the gas station restroom, shortly after consuming four 7-11 cheeseburgers and regretting it.  "Good Lord," he uttered to himself, "I smell worse than I thought."  "Hey, Boris, you smell that?"  Horace called out from inside the gas station.  "Yeah, Horace, sorry about that.  Those cheap burgers ya know."  "No Boris, that ain't you.  That smell showed up as soon as you walked into the bathroom."  

Within hours, the mysterious smell had enveloped the entire town of Lawrenceville, including the state patrol office just outside of town.  The public school was the first to shut down, out of health concerns.  Eventually, a hazmat crew was called in from out of town to try and find the origin of the stink.  But no single point was found.  The smell continued to grow, ultimately taking over the entire eastern side of the state.  The governor called a state of emergency, again citing health concerns.  Within the week, the entire east coast reeked of the rotten egg/burning rubber/vomit smell that hung in the air.  The national guard was called in and set up stations every few miles up and down the eastern coast.  The president had begun entertaining the possibility of terrorist attack. Late night talk shows began receiving call ins suggesting alien invasion.  Televangelists suggested the wrath of God.

Eventually, America learned to live with the smell.  Ed and Beatrice sat down with their dinner of chicken and potatoes.