Lying on the Couch by Irvin D. Yalom Read Free Book Online

in San Francisco with Belle would be an act of supreme therapeutic agape.
    "What, Ernest? My countertransference? Same as yours would have been: gyrating wildly. I tried to keep it out of my decision. I didn't act on my countertransference—I was convinced I had no other rational choice. And I'm convinced of that still, even in the light of what has happened. But I'll cop to being more than a little enthralled. There I was, an old man facing the end, with cerebellar cortical neurons croaking daily, eyes failing, sexual life all but over—my wife, who's good at giving things up, gave sex up long ago. And my attraction toward Belle? I won't deny it: I adored her. And when she told me she was going to give me the fuck of my life, I could hear my worn-out gonadal engines cranking up and turning over again. But let me say to you—and the tape recorder, let me say it as forcefully as I can— that's not why I did it! That may not be important to you or the ethics board, but it's of life or death importance to me. I never broke my covenant with Belle. I never broke my covenant with any patient. I never put my needs ahead of theirs.

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    "As for the rest of the story, I guess you know it. It's all in your chart there. Belle and I met in San Francisco for breakfast at Mama's in North Beach on Saturday morning and stayed together till Sunday dusk. We decided to tell our spouses that I had scheduled a weekend marathon group for my patients. I do such groups for ten to twelve of my patients about twice a year. In fact, Belle had attended such a weekend during her first year of therapy.
    "You ever run groups like that, Ernest? No? Well let me tell you that they are powerful . . . accelerate therapy like mad. You should know about them. When we meet again—and I'm sure we will, under different circumstances—I'll tell you about these groups; I've been doing them for thirty-five years.
    "But back to the weekend. Not fair to bring you this far and not share the climax. Let's see, what can I tell you? What do I want to tell you? I tried to keep my dignity, to stay within my therapist persona, but that didn't last long—Belle saw to that. She called me on it as soon as we had checked into the Fairmont, and very soon we were man and woman and everything, everything, that Belle had predicted came to pass.
    "I won't lie to you, Ernest. I loved every minute of our weekend, most of which we spent in bed. I was worried that all my pipes were rusted shut after so many years of disuse. But Belle was a master plumber, and after some rattling and clanging everything began to work again.
    "For three years I had chided Belle for living in illusion and had imposed my reality on her. Now, for one weekend, I entered her world and found out that life in the magic kingdom wasn't so bad. She was my fountain of youth. Hour by hour I grew younger and stronger. I walked better, I sucked in my stomach, I looked taller. Ernest, I tell you, I felt like bellowing. And Belle noticed it. 'This is what you needed, Seymour. And this is all I ever wanted from you— to be held, to hold, to give my love. Do you understand that this is the first time in my life I have given love? Is it so terrible?'
    "She cried a lot. Along with all other conduits, my lachrymal ducts, too, had unplugged, and I cried too. She gave me so much that weekend. I spent my whole career giving, and this was the first time it came back, really came back, to me. It's like she gave for all the other patients I've ever seen.
    "But then real life resumed. The weekend ended. Belle and I went back to our twice-weekly sessions. I never anticipated losing that

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    wager, so I had no contingency plans for the postweekend therapy. I tried to go back to business as usual, but after one or two sessions I saw I had a problem. A big problem. It is almost impossible for intimates to return to a formal relationship. Despite my efforts, a new tone of loving