The only time when I managed to talk to him and utter how much I loved and missed him and wanted to be proud of me, was the day of his funeral. I guess my soul motivation to obtain all those knowledges and grades was to proof worthy of his love. I was twenty-four. It was only by chance that I found out he had passed. Having arrived I saw the whole of his family standing next to the coffin. Three families to be more precise and the latest of his wives. Everyone considered me a “bastard”, since my mother bore from a married man. I didn’t care at all. I went up to him to say goodbye and tell of everything that was there in my soul. However, I had no anger, just the grief because of no change to be close. All his former families were up in arms as they thought I would claim the rights for the “facilities and mobilities”. They simply wouldn’t comprehend of my love and indifference to their financial issues. There was a man of my kin in front of me, my Daddy. The one who rejected me, but was, nevertheless, beloved.

I had been standing long while turning to him in my thoughts, when, of a sudden, I felt the hand of his latest wife over my shoulder. She bent down and said: “Move over, it’s his family over here.” I immediately replied: “I am at my father’s funeral and will stand where I find convenient. Have no worries I shall definitely not visit your exequy.” On that wonderful note I kissed my daddy goodbye and left. I went with inner sense of absolution and a realization that he was just like that. However, the most valuable things he gifted me were my life and my wonderful genes. Thus, no matter what, I love and forgive him. In my mind, he remained an ideal loving person. Though spuriously, but he remained my ideal father. The Gestalt was closed.

P. S. I am writing this chapter with a huge message. I believe that once it’s read, a telephone of some little boy or girl, or of a grown up one, would flash out “Daddy” and, on the other end of the line there will sound: “Hello, kiddo, it’s me, daddy… How are you? What do you say if we go and ride swings and eat your favorite ice-cream? I miss you so much…”

It could be that somewhere a long-awaited ringer of an old telephone would sound and a gray-haired old man will hear the cherished words: “Daddy, we haven’t heard each other for ages. You are so important to me, I love you… Forgive me for not calling you that long I’m on my way to your place.”

Bottom line: we are not free to choose our own parents. Many psycho traumas received in childhood indeed influence and predetermine our life. However, when adults, we are to choose our path ourselves and are capable of working through and letting go all the resentments inside. Forgiveness is the single and the most valuable luxury we can grant to ourselves! Yes, that’s right, exactly to ourselves. They, our parent, “knew not what they did”. Just the same, as sometimes we don’t. Everyone makes mistakes. That’s the way we are wired.

Zelenin Drops*

A year after, I began to grow firm in my knowledge. No one was waiting at home, therefore, I had to stay late behind the hours at work. Gradually, I acquired my own patients and their number grew. Every morning at 7.45, when I arrived in my old Kalina Zhiguli auto, inherited from my mother, as a gift for my twenty-fifth birthday, the male department patients lined up next to the windows and shouted joyfully: “Good morning Ms. Clover! Have a nice day!” I always amiably waved them my hand. The observation premises windows overlooked our iatric parking lot. There were people with psychosis or suicidal intentions observed there, as well as some, who had committed a murder for delusional reasons.

A psychiatric in-patient facility was divided into two units: observation and care treatment. The care treatment unit supports those patients, who had already overcome psychosis and were somewhat in a better condition. The observation unit was for those, who needed enhanced supervision so that they did not cause any harm to themselves or to the others.

In general, all endogenous processes (those that progress from within), including schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, recurrent depressive disorders, are difficult to comprehend by ordinary humans. If put it straight, even us, doctors, do not know why these biochemistry abnormalities occur. The disease eats away emotion, destroys destinies and breaks the will. Should all human diseases be explained by psychosomatic nature, then we would be powerless.

Eleonora went into retirement. At some point she stepped into the office and said: “Fuck it all” and went to Asscobar with a notice of resignation. Soon, Ivan also quit his job and went into software engineering. As the matter of fact, a person of such brainpower shall be awaited in all countries of the world. Sometimes it seemed to me that, at times, he had panic attacks himself. However, he carefully concealed them and indeed in winter he left the hospital. I was quite disappointed. When you are all the time under constant tension, the loss of comrades-in-arms from your combat squad, the valuable minds with a word of advice and wisdom next to you, would always leave a scar on your soul. Though, we stewed in that pot together seven days a week, we found relief in even more suffering people and our ability to alleviate their pain.

Anna and I then stayed in the same office. It was a wonderful time. We indulged ourselves to chatting and philosophizing about life. It didn’t go on well with males for me. The one was ‘better than the other’.

“Marie, why on Earth are you telling them about your occupation? The right answer to the question is: I am a beauty blogger or just a pretty girl. Why cutting the root and stem right away?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ve already tried once. Resulted into an epic fail. I come on a date. The guy is handsome, the one of the first-glance-good-looking kind. What do you think his question was? ‘What do you do for your living?’ Not to frighted the blocke away I answer: ‘I’m a beauty blogger.’ So, with all due expertise, he makes his best to keep up to the conversation and asks: ‘That’s awesome, which magazines do you read?’ While I read nothing, but Neuronews, since I am in no time for anything else. Hardly would he be interested in foreign studies of the field. Doubt if would understand anything at all as well. The only one I recollected of was the Cool Girls that actually discontinued its existence about fifteen years ago. With disbelief and conviction of lies, he responds: ‘Ahhhhh… Haven’t it been taken away from release long ago?’ Question: how does it come for a male to be that aware of female magazines published? Where does this knowledge come from?!”

“Yes, a good question indeed,” she said, lifting up her head and starting to tie up her naughty curls with an elastic band.

“You see, men are in want of simplicity from women. We are the Muses. Just take a glance at our hysteric drama queens. They are manipulators and they are always with decent men next to them. While you and I work hard from morning till night medicating and saving people, the probability of a white horsed-prince coming to attend the nut house, applicable to us, stands pitifully next to zero. Probably, except of the cases, when in need of medical treatment or of an I.V. infusion. In fact, there’s no great community here. As for the doctors – not a chance for a single affair, not even one for a decent fuck.”

Ann had always felt like to chop up a biting word. She was 36 years old. Being from a well-to-do family she had always been impeccably dressed. She possessed excellent sense of humor and brilliant clinical knowledge. She always helped me. When every holiday and weekend, 24 hours round the clock, you spend in the ward, you become adopted rather than employed, with a job that appears to be your family. The most loyal of the commitments you have is your job. The most valuable asset you possess is your thought.