2019-06-19 - A Meeting of the Minds

It is very, very clear that the office is new. Not really the building itself, although the space might have been changed since the last person leased it, but the furniture, the paint, all of those little minor details have been changed. There isn't any receptionist yet, so Vivian herself is waiting just before the agreed upon time to lead Alexander back into the office proper, where an effort has been made to create a calm environment full of large and small potted plants, and a sitting area that could have been transported from any living room with two couches and two wing-back chairs that are plush and comfortable. It is towards those that she directs him, "Sit where ever you'd like."

While he decides where he wants to sit she moves towards her desk to pick up a yellow notepad on a clipboard for stability and a pen, "I've coffee, water, soda...anything else you might want as well to drink, Mister Clayton. Anything you might need to feel comfortable, within reason of course."

Feral. It's the best way to describe Alexander's overall demeanor when he enteres the office; a stray dog looking for the chain collar or the kick he expects to come out of a blind spot. He pauses inside the door to study it - and Vivian - thoroughly, before letting the door close behind him. Another hesitation at the click, but he follows her without a word into the office proper. Which gets another thorough study, before he takes a seat in one of the wing-backs. He watches her warily, clearly on high alert, but his voice is quiet, even polite, as he says, "Nothing to drink, Dr. Glass. But thank you. For the offer, and for agreeing to see me. You don't seem to be quite up and running, yet."

"There are still a few quirks and things to work out, of course. But isn't that always the case for new things that open?" Vivian wonders, offering him an easy smile as she moves towards one of the chairs, settling herself down in it and crossing her legs, the notepad getting settled on her lap before she absently clicks the top of the pen, marking down something on the paper before she folds her hands together, "How are you, though, Mister Clayton?" She seems relaxed, a stark contrast to his rather feral demeanor. If there is a chain collar or kick that is going to leap out of the shadows at him she seems to be in no hurry to enact the actions.

But time will tell, right?

Alexander smiles. It's the smile of a man who has had smiles explained to him but never quite worked out what they're supposed to represent. "I would say 'fine', but no doubt you have your own opinions on that." He stares at her - his eyes flat, reptilian, and assessing. "I haven't been in one of these since I was a teenager. I'm a little rusty. They tended to start with 'why are you hurting yourself'. It wasn't productive. We should start elsewhere." A pause. "Why do you think I'm here, Dr. Glass?"

"Are you hurting yourself?" Vivian wonders, her hands not moving just yet, instead she's watching him with a thoughtful look, that calm, peaceful smile remaining in place for just a moment more. Then she makes a quick notation on the notepad in front of her, "I think you're here for the same reason most people come on their own, there is something you are worried about, or feel a need to voice in an environment that is safe. More specific than that I can't say just yet....I could make guesses all day that it is anxiety, insomnia brought on by nightmares, voices that are telling you to do something. But that would be jumping to conclusions without any basis of evidence, and that would do more harm to you and I than good."

"A complicated question, Dr. Glass. No. Not physically. Emotionally, I am starting to try and become...close to other people again. After a long time. That hurts. I'm sure it will hurt more in the future." Alexander tilts his head to one side, contemplating her and his own answer at the same time. He listens to her assessment, one eyebrow raising slightly at 'environment that is safe', but he doesn't interrupt. His hands fidget with his faded jeans. "Are you a native of Los Angeles, or did you move there from somewhere else?" A slight uptilt of his chin, just the barest hint of a real smile - he knows he's pushing boundaries, asking a personal question.

"Getting close to others will always potentially cause emotional pain, I'm afraid. But I can assure you that you are not alone in experiencing it, that's a normal function of life and all its usual ups and downs. It's more telling how you plan to react and deal with the pain that is more important, and that you continue to make those connections with others. Even with the pain that it sometimes brings it is important to emotional health." Vivian absently taps the tip of her pen against the notepad, contemplating if she is going to answer his question or not, "I'm a native of Los Angeles, yes. Have you ever been there?"

Alexander's lips twitch with amusement. "That is a very professional statement on emotional growth and healthy coping. Thank you, Doctor." He waits, quietly, for her to decide, then inclines his head in a slight mark of gratitude when she decides to answer. "No. Never been more south than..." his lips twitch downward, "somewhere in Northern California. I don't always remember where. But, so, you've never lived in a small town before. Gray Harbor will be interesting for you." He looks away from her, for the first time, to contemplate her office. "I know two people who hate each other, even to the point of sabotaging each other's professional interests, because one of their grandfathers cut the other one out of the football team when they were in high school."

"I could give you a less professional response, if you want." Vivian offers with a hint of amusement, and the very real possibility that no, really, she probably couldn't give him a very good non-professional response. "I've never lived anywhere but L.A., no. Small town or otherwise, in fact. So I suspect that Gray Harbor will be a very large adjustment in a great many ways, but I'm hoping that by being an outsider that people will feel inclined to come speak with me because I lack those long term, pre-determined opinions of them, their families and everything else that comes with small towns." She gestures lightly towards him at his story, "Such as those. I imagine that people have picked sides for years over something like that?"

"Yes." A hint of challenge there, in the flat way Alexander takes her up on the offer of a less professional response. His head jerks downward a little as she goes on. "Oh yes, Dr. Glass. Small towns run on grudges, secrets, and mysteries. Pre-written narratives that most people fill without noticing. Gray Harbor more than most." He glances down at his hands, flexing them into fists, then opening them. Close. Open. "When I came back. My narrative was already written. It was easier to go along than fight it. There's freedom in being crazy, and since I didn't care about whether I lived or died, it was more convenient if other people didn't, either." A pause. "Things are changing. People like you are coming to Gray Harbor. It doesn't fit the narrative."

Bluff called, perhaps. "Other people are terrible and amazing, but usually worth the bad for the moments of the good." It's....not exactly a non-professional opinion. "That's the thing about pre-written narratives, life is chaos and messy, and sometimes things will start happening that don't fit this idea of what should and shouldn't be happening." There is a very faint tilt of her head, mulling over something that he says before she wonders, "Why? Mister Clayton, why did it not matter if you lived or died?"

"Optimistic," is Alexander's quiet observation. "I'm not sure I would agree. But it likely matters the distribution and intensity of both the good and the bad. I'm happy you think that way, though." He echoes and mirrors the tilt of her head. "An emotional reaction, Dr. Glass. And practical. Most people, it doesn't matter if they live or die. Why should I be different." He's evading the question, and not really bothering to hide it. "How would you measure the value of a human life?"

"You say that, but I'd have to disagree with you that it doesn't matter. Every person that walks this Earth influences the next person, who in turn influences the next, and the next. None of us live in a vacuum, and so I feel that it does matter." Vivian makes another careful notation on her notepad, "So it does matter, and you would actually be different by it not mattering if you lived or died." She doesn't bother with answering his next question though, instead she turns it back around on him, "Do you find that human life has a value?"

"Yes. Most of it." Alexander's voice is flat. "Potential value, at least. Like any other sort of value, it can be squandered. Wasted. That's mostly a choice that people make, not one that is made for them." He tilts his head backwards to look at the ceiling. "An acquaintance put themselves in danger trying to follow me when I wandered off. That was fucking stupid. I don't want people to get hurt for me. I'm not worth that."

"That isn't your right to choose." Vivian points out, making a few notes on the paper when he looks upwards at the ceiling, "Just like it is a person's choice on if their potential value is squandered or not, it is their choice on where they place value in others. Clearly this person that put them self in danger for you feels that you are worth the risk, which means they find value in you or your relationship with them, and that is their freedom to do so." She then taps the pen quietly before asking, "Why, though, why do you feel you're not worth that?"

"People make a lot of stupid choices, Doctor. I don't have to approve of them." Alexander's voice is dry. He grimaces at the question, then there's a flash of amusement, and a real smile at the last question. "That's a very professional sort of question." He studies her for a moment. "I could say that low self-esteem is typically co-morbid with a whole host of psychological conditions that you are no doubt trying to narrow down to figure out which one suits me best. I'd lean towards schizotypal personality disorder, myself, if I had to choose. But self-diagnosis is notorious ineffective." He leans forward then, propping his elbows on his knees and stares at her. "I'm not a 'good thing', Dr. Glass. I want to be. But I'm not. I wish I were."

When he mentions schizotypal personality disorder there is a moment where she looks at him, his clothes, his mannerisms, then Vivian just smiles faintly without comment on it, instead she addresses the rest. "Mister Clayton, what, though, makes you think you're not a good thing? More to the point though, I'm curious as to how you define 'good thing'. Because, to me, that seems like that might be a very subjective definition."

"It's not my phrase," Alexander says. "It's Isolde's. But it's useful. To divide the world into good things and bad things. If I had to offer a definition, I'd say that a 'good thing' was something that brought more good to the world than bad. It's subjective. But useful." He looks away, again, staring at one of her plants. "How would you define a good thing, Dr. Glass?"

"That's a fairly apt description, although I'd suggest that a good thing is something that brings a sense of good feeling, or can cause good things, but those are really just narrowing down 'brought' into different categories, isn't it?" Vivian carefully folds her hands in front of her, "So is this Isolde the person that put herself in danger for you?" She lifts one brow upwards just a moment, then follows his look towards the plant for a moment, "Has she decided you are a good thing?"

Alexander shakes his head. "No. Isolde is a friend from college. She's sleeping on my couch until she can get her feet under her. She just came to Gray Harbor. Like you, Dr. Glass." It's toneless, his expression slipping into something flat and wary again. "And yes, she has. She doesn't know me very well. Most people don't know me very well." He looks back at her. "Are you sure that you know why you decided to come to Gray Harbor, doctor? Doesn't it feel a little uncharacteristic, for a big city woman to decide to start a practice in a town whose only appreciable quality is an unusually high number of mentally unstable individuals?" A faint smile. "Mister Thorne is handsome, I'll grant. But still."

The question for her is seamlessly dodged, without pointing out to him that it's not really any of his business, instead she nods, "He is." Which is only marginally less personal than her reasoning for coming here. "Mister Clayton, when did you or your family begin to notice these behaviors?" She begins to make more notes, watching him more than the passage of her pen across paper, "Your lack of social connection to others and desire for solitary actions."

Alexander's mouth tilts upwards. "Self-disclosure is a valid therapeutic technique, Dr. Glass. It builds rapport with untrusting patients and triggers social expectations of disclosure in kind." It's not quite mocking, but it is teasing, just a little. "I've had night terrors since I was five years old. Almost every night. Except when I was away at college, and a couple of years after that. When I returned to Gray Harbor, the night terrors returned." He rolls his shoulders and continues, soft but rapid, like rattling an answer off a teleprompter. "People don't like me. In general. Unless I make an effort to make them like me, and that has its own problems. I've never desired solitary actions. Quite the contrary."

"It is a valid therapeutic technique, but I don't think the question was one worth answering." Vivian replies, tilting her head faintly, "I decided to relocate for a few different reasons, Mister Thorne's good looks were only part of the decision that I made. Would I have considered the town worth coming to if he had not been here? Probably not, I'd probably not even have known about this place at all. But he'd mentioned it, and very obviously I enjoy his company, but like said, I could have just moved closer to him by choosing Seattle. Instead I'm here. Which might be in part because of the higher number of people with mental illness, the slower pace than a big city....I don't honestly know that any one or the other would have been enough, but the combination of them was." She then takes a breath, letting it out, "Why do you feel that people don't like you, in general, unless you put in effort."

"And yet, you stand out. Haven't you noticed that other people stand out, too? Here. Doesn't that play into the decision at all?" Alexander is staring at her openly, now, gaze flat and intense. "And I feel people don't like me, Dr. Glass, because they mostly tell me that they don't like me. Sometimes verbally, sometimes just with rolling eyes and insults. Sometimes other ways." He snorts. "Half the town thinks I'm a Satanist." A pause. "Before you ask, I'm not. I've been in three cults, but none have ever been Satanic."

"Your freedom of religion is yours by law, Mister Clayton, if that includes the Satanic Church that is your right." Vivian replies with a shrug of her shoulders, clearly not making the usual small town judgment of someone as evil just because of the word Satanic. And very obviously not buying into the media hype of them, either. "What is it that you do that you feel causes people to tell you they don't like you?" She then hesitates, looking at him carefully before she clings to her very own measure of denial, "I'm not sure what you mean about standing out."

Alexander stares at her a moment longer. "Oh. This is going to be hard for you, Dr. Glass. I'm sorry." He sounds like he means it. He looks back down at his hands. "Complicated question. I don't think I can answer it completely right now. You're not in the right place. But the rest. General lack of social skills. Odd habits. Emotional instability prone to outbursts that are occasionally violent. I don't blame them or think it's unwarranted."

"Perhaps we can address the emotional instability and violent outbursts, see if we can't retrain the social skills. That should, hopefully, make it a little easier to become part of society, yes?" Vivian addresses the issues first before she addresses the comment, "What is going to be hard for me?"

"I'm not sure that you can help me with those," Alexander says, quietly. "Where you are now. You're too enmeshed in the real to be able to understand. Right now. But I'm willing to give it a shot. At least the social skills. If you are." A pause. "And if you take cash. I don't have insurance." To the last, he just smiles a sad little smile. "Gray Harbor. Gray Harbor is going to be hard for you. Stay with people, try not to get lost. And when you do, remember that the only way out is through."

The crypticness of that response causes a momentary frown, but it's a thoughtful expression as she makes another note. He could probably predict that she was going to make that note, in fact. At the question of payment Vivian nods, "I offer a sliding scale based on need and income, so there should be no problem with your paying in cash, and we can sort out what tier you might fall under."

Alexander glances down at her notebook. "Very kind of you. I brought some cash. My income is...erratic. My attendance is likely to be, too." Another look at the notebook. "May I see? What you've written. It won't offend me, whatever it is." His gaze flicks back up to study her reaction to the request.

"You can." Vivian replies, turning the notepad around towards him, holding it out. Mostly it's observations, his behavior, his knowledge and familiarity with the mental health field, the name Isolde, his curiosity and comments about other people's reactions towards him. "I'll send some paperwork with you, and you can drop it off this week. Mostly it is simply your medical history."

Alexander takes the notebook when it's held out. He reads it with a sweep of his eyes, then returns it. There's a jerk of his chin at the offer. "I'll fill out what I can. I don't go to doctors, so it may be somewhat incomplete. I can have my childhood records sent. If you think it would help." He stands, abruptly, and reaches for his wallet. "Thank you for your time."

"You can if you want, although unless there was some earlier diagnosis in your records then it won't be that helpful." Vivian replies, getting to her feet as well, reaching for the notebook, "I appreciate the fact that you feel you might be able to trust me." Because if he doesn't do doctors usually, the fact he's here is clearly a big step.

"No meaningful diagnosis," Alexander says, dismissively. He looks at her. "Is that what I feel? We'll see. You seem competent, Dr. Glass." He opens his wallet and offers a hundred dollars in wrinkled small bills. "I can pay this much right now. If it's not enough, just let me know how much, and I'll get it to you in the next couple of days."

"That would be plenty, Mister Clayton." Vivian replies, tucking the notebook beneath her arm as she takes the wrinkled bills from him, carefully folding them before she gestures towards the door, "Allow me to walk you out, and I'll grab the paperwork from the front desk. Feel free to drop them off any time before your next appointment."