I wander into the dayroom where Rick, another patient, is sitting and ignoring the TV. He is stout and bearded with long brown hair, leprechaun cheeks and crinkly brown eyes. At Goals Group that morning, when we all went around and introduced ourselves, he had sounded off as Napoleon Bonaparte.
"That was great what you did this morning -- introducing yourself as Napoleon Bonaparte," I tell him with a smile. "I should have introduced myself as Joan of Arc."
He grins at me as I continue, "And I loved your joke later. You know, I knew it was a joke, but I wasn't going to say anything just in case." Toward the end of Goals Group, when Cathy asked if there were any other feelings or concerns we had, Rick stated he felt that some of the staff were actually patients in disguise who had stolen white coats to deceive us. I knew he was pulling our legs, but still, a deliciously hesitant silence had fallen over the room for at least a full minute.
"Ah, but that's the whole point," he responds. "How surreal it can get in here just because of where you are."
Our conversation takes off from there and I learn he is actually very well educated in philosophy and related subjects and was once an educator himself. He hailed from Connecticut but came to this city eighteen months ago when, as he put it, his "life imploded." From there we somehow end up talking about horror movies and I mention that I prefer the supernatural kind.
Rick asks me, "You have an interest in such things?"
"What things?" I respond.
"Like the devil and such."
"Of sorts," I answer, and to my surprise we end up discussing Crowley, qabalah, ceremonial magick, and all things occult. He, for his part, is beside himself with delight that he can actually speak about such topics and have someone else understand him. I, for my part, feel a little unnerved by his zeal and find myself wishing the conversation would subside. My reaction surprises me, that I would feel so ill at ease with something so familiar.
"I don't practice it anymore, though," Rick says eventually. "I just don't have the will for it anymore."
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," I exclaim. "Me either. Plus there was a series of unfortunate events that happened to me several years ago and it just totally ruined it for me, you know?"
He nods, repeating, "Yeah, I just don't have the will for it anymore." Whether he means the lack of willpower to accomplish a working, or simply the lack of impetus to try, is immaterial. Both senses of the word are valid, and either sense will do.
