I look straight into his eyes. He finds it amusing, how it strains me. I can tell by his smile. I challenge myself to do so, to look into his eyes. I feel it validates me, as a psychiatrist. I need to be able to look my patient in the eye. I realise my body is tense, and I'm on the edge of my chair. His smile grows.
He's very talkative during our sessions. Of course it's all nonsense, but still. He can spend three hours discussing things of absolutely no importance, like his favourite type of beetle. Whenever I try to at least talk about something with some sort of substance, like politics, religion or philosophy, he laughs at me. He thinks me stupid and ignorant on those topics. But he believes I have the ability to discuss beetles.
He jokes a lot too. Even more often he laughs. Usually at absolutely nothing. Still, there is always tension during our sessions. No matter the subject, no matter the laughter, I know and he knows. That he is a murderer and an evil man. And that he can kill me.
So I look straight into his eyes. And he finds that amusing, how it strains me. He can tell by how I don't smile. I force myself to do so, to look into his eyes. I feel it saves me. I need to be able to look my patient in the eye. To save my life.
