Psychiatrist: Hello Hamlet. Ready to talk about your family?

Hamlet: I am tame sir. I must say my family is quite the drag.

P: How so? Would you care to elaborate?

H: My life is dying before me. My father died at the hands of my uncle. Who is now my father, technically. He killed him to be king; however, I'm beginning to wonder if all of this is but a dream.

P: You believe your uncle to have murdered your father for the sake of becoming king?

H: Well I would assume so. Who wants a wife named Gertrude?

P: Interesting. *thinks about his own wife, Gertrude. Agrees slightly* How did you come to this realization that your uncle murdered your father?

H: There was a ghost in the night. He told me of this atrocity. About the betrayal

P: *writes down "possible visual and auditory hallucinations"* And you believed this ghost?

H: No, not entirely at first. I staged a play to catch my uncle in the act.

P: A play?

H: Yes. I enacted out the process of the murder and he was there. He showed no sign of remorse for his actions until that point in time. Like a lion he stood brave before the kingdom but he was only a buffoon. He just couldn't wait to be king. And he became lost in power.

P: Have you gone to the police about this... murder?

H: *stands and paces the room* Sir, I cannot! I lack advancement.

P: So, you can't find the courage?

H: *turns sharply* Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon me!

P: There is nothing wrong with seeking help. That's why you've come here isn't it?

H: By and by is easily said! Leave me friends!

P: What friends?

H: *ignores him* When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood-

P: *looks disgusted while writing down "demented, possibly homicidal?"*

H: And do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on. Let me be cruel, not unnatural: My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites; how in my words soever she be shent, to give them seals never, my soul, consent! *storms out of the room with a flourish*

P: So, next week then?