The Never Ending Quest For Sanity

CHAPTER 1 There were some things that we were not meant to understand.  There were some things that happened in the lives of people that drove them to desperation.  Sometimes, the ones that we entrust to our mental well-being are people who we would rather not trust if we knew their true nature and intentions.  There were many exits in life, but only one to exit life. As there were tragedies in life, death the most common.  This tragedy often leaves us scarred mentally as well as emotionally.  For some who find it hard to cope, physically, the desperation pouring from us like a violent downpour from a rainstorm.  These events are quite common, though unpleasant. It is in these times of trouble that we turn to those with a degree, the hurting searching for a qualified ear from someone who has the label of PhD or otherwise.  Sometimes, though, it pays to research the one who lends an ear.   Sometimes, through blind faith, we learn as we go. The clock was ticking audibly with each passing second in the office in which 2 people, the tormented and the one that was to deliver her from such pain sat.  It was quiet until the silence was broken by the innermost feelings of the broken, the confessions heavy with turmoil. "It's hard to talk about.  It was awful.  I found him…face down on the floor.  Why is alcoholism such a curse like that?"  Courtney asked as she tapped her cigarette in the glass ashtray.  "I hate it." "Well,"  Dr. Ambrosov, a Russian immigrant who had received his Psych degree from Russia began, "Alcoholism is rampant, unfortunately, for everyone.  Anyone can fall victim to it but the real victims are the ones left behind.  I want you to continue with your coping skills I have outlined from the beginning and come back in a week to see me.”  He jotted some notes on Courtney’s file and, looking at her for one final time for the day, closed it.  “The receptionist will make you an appointment.  My best advice to you is to try a new hobby or expand on your already existing ones.  Remember, you can overcome this loss little by little, it just takes time." "Thank you, Dr. Ambrosov.  I will continue building my birdhouses."  She rose and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. "That's the spirit.  Ok, see you next week."  She smiled and Dr. Ambrosov was the only one who remained in the room where many sorrows had been expressed.  He sighed and was almost in need of a therapist himself, feeling the weight of the tumultuous agonly each had spilled before him over time. Courtney was a rather unfortunate situation who was delicate in every sense of the word.  She had Manic Depression and often was prone to suicidal tendencies.  She had been hospitalized 10 times and committed 3 times, so she had the ability to trick them into releasing her and would go back to her world of self-loathing and horrific, nightmarish living.  She had been involved in a short stint with drugs and had become hardcore addicted to barbituates and cocaine.  Being 3 months clean, she still drank and felt like it was safer than the other, which she would often mix with cocaine to achieve a unique and dangerous high.  She didn’t think it a shameful act to lie about such a delicate matter that others would ridicule, not to mention cast her out of their circle.  She had been to the ER and lost her kids in the process more than once and DHS was tired of the cycle she was in.  They would often speak of her at the office with a tone of concern in their voices yet sticking by the book in all cases.   Dr. Ambrosov was completely clueless as to the effects of drugs from a personal standpoint, having never even had the desire to try such a foolish thing.  He did, however, love vodka, which he drank quite often.  Being quite unorthodox, he would do shots in his office throughout the day followed by a spray of a very strong breath freshener.  He never became drunk until he was at home, quite tolerant to its effects.  He was an alcoholic who was completely lost in the bottle and his ability to rise early in the morning and jog was beyond anyone's understanding, including his own.  Sure, he could advise, but he himself was completely blind to his own horrifically empty existence.  He was in need of counseling, but knew it was a solution he would never take, his methods superior to the theories and knowledge of his peers that would be more than willing to help him through his personal turmoil. Recently, he took classes online on voodoo and witchcraft and became rather proficient, excelling in the studies and practice that impressed those who oversaw the progress of all.  Eager to see the results of the power that he possessed, Having tried it on a few patients, there had indeed been results he would have never expected and was quite pleased with.  There was Greg, the mourning widower of his young wife who had overdosed on drugs intentionally, leaving behind a note which read only two words:  “I’m sorry”. There were no methods that the Doctors were able to use in an attempt to reach the core of the problem in hopes of the tortured man regaining his sense of purpose.  It was, to say the least, frustrating for them and time was indeed running out for the man, who was almost beyond help. Greg had come to the Doctor in hopes of coping but had gone clinically insane and breaking a window one day in session, slit his wrist with the shard of glass that had his death warrant in hand.  Dr. Ambrosov had stared at him with shock, the event far from a normal, every day occurrence.  However, he saw this as an opportunity to better this man’s life instead of watching the decline slowly erode him from the inside to the outside. Mind control was something that Dr. Ambrosov was an expert in and used it sometimes during therapy sessions through suggestive words and phrases.  The task of rehabilitation was almost impossible with this man, but he was confident that this was a circumstance that warranted such a drastic measure.  He reserved such an act for those who he felt were not listening or those far beyond help, such as this man.  It was the personal belief of Dr. Ambrosov that this granted him the power he had craved his entire life and the influence that he craved more.  Sometimes they would succomb to self destructive behaviors, such as suicide and addiction, acting outside of their nature.  No one would ever trace it to the Doctor, who was an expert at altering files to make it appear that he had been told things they had told no one else.  The portrait that had been painted was much different and, due to the source, would be labeled as more credible than the tale told by the offender.   In one case, a client One had even resorted to the unthinkable--murder.  The victim?  Their boss who they chose to not forgive for the infidelity in his marriage.  This was the extent of the damage he projected.  The reasons were simple:  to ruin the lives of those that he had grown weary of guiding that were not listening.  Some though, like Phyllis, an older woman who was a severely paranoid schizophrenic with alzheimers.  It was a frustrating session twice a week, and she would repeat herself.  Over time, she came to the conclusion she didn't need her medication anymore and wandered into a swamp while on vacation in Florida.  It was an act that would cost her the most precious gift of all--life.  She was found soon after disappearing in the mouth of an alligator, her signature wardrobe making it easy to identify her.  The Doctor would write her off as a liability to his own mental health and well-being, the death not affecting him.  Empathy didn’t reside in his emotions and only he knew his true intentions.   In reality, he was the grim reaper, his sole purpose in the lives of these broken people to eliminate their suffering by causing their actions to be that of his own bidding.  No one traced any of these mishaps back to him, however, since he was so revered in the community, the most respected Doctor they knew. Living alone, Dr. Ambrosov had been divorced 5 times, however, almost all would die horrific and bizarre deaths which were clearly no fault of his, or so it seemed.  It was not something that was ever pleasant, let alone palatable, the positions of death always unique and far from comprehensible.  Who knew that a whole crew of officers would come to him for guidance on how to deal with these events that swept the city of St. Paul?  There were some that were affected so deeply that they killed theirselves with their own weapons, sparking awareness to the suicide epidemic of Police officers, who were unable to handle the traumas of the scene that they had stumbled upon.   No one suspected this Doctor, though, and that was the biggest oversight of all.  Had they made the connection, there would be more lives saved and less life wasted.  His cover was the record of 97% of his patients that had been labeled as the most vulnerable of cases to acts that seemed to make them less human than the rest. "Dr. Ambrosov, your 11 o'clock is here.  How about buying me lunch?  I've been working overtime." A sigh followed this statement over the intercom.  "It almost seems there is no end to the list lately." "One of the best there is.  Let's say I know how to get to the people in ways you couldn't possibly imagine." "Must be true.  You have 10 more people lined up today.  How do you do it?  There’s no way you don’t have a therapist." "1 word, my dear:  commitment.  There is a possibility that determination has a lot to do with this also.  Either way, I was made for this." "My kid needs to be picked up from school soon, he's sick with the flu apparently.  Leave it to winter, am I right?" "Yes, but in Russia, the bitter weather is completely normal.  In Soviet Russia, Flu has you.”  He was almost emotionless, his sense of humor rather difficult to figure out. "You're so funny!"  She said with a laugh.  "Anyway, talk to you in an hour." “Yes, you must tend to your son.  Don’t worry about things here, they will still be here when you return.”  He awaited his client and lit a cigarette. A man dressed in a suit entered his office and had a look of shock on his face.  He had been a regular through the doors and Dr. Ambrosov was curious if his experiment had worked from the last time.  He was about to find out. "It worked, Dr. Ambrosov."  The man was numb as he took a seat on the couch. "Killed the king, did you?"  He laid the pen on the desk and was curious how well he had accomplished the act.  “It was easier than you thought, was it not?” "It was too easy!”  Then, a pause.  “Wait, you're not telling anyone, are you?" "If anything, drugs are off the street, who cares?  I know you wear a different mask at night--the mask of the vigilante.  The bottom-feeding, scum of society have to pay and you are the instrument that removes the tumor.  If anything, you are a man who should be commended for what he does.  Do you think the police honestly can do what you have accomplished?” "It was my first murder.  Something came over me that I can’t explain and I just had to blow his head off with my .44."  He thought of the act and smiled, the expression was exactly what Dr. Ambrosov had wanted. "Doing God's work isn't always easy nor in our nature, especially when it's for the greater good.  Tell me, how did it feel?  Was there a lot of blood?"  It was at this point that his own insanity bled through. "More than I thought.  I was afraid that--" "Were you seen?"   "No, it was a deserted alley that even the worst drug lords wouldn't frequent, even on a night when no one would remotely see them.  The smack addicts are so easy to lure with the promise of a good time." "Good work, my boy."  He poured a shot of vodka and toasted the man, whose name was Tyler, who was grossly opposed to drug dealers and those who associated with them.  His son had overdosed on a combination of Fentanyl and Cocaine at the hands of these animals and he knew he had to take matters into his own hands when the justice system had let such people walk on a technicality.  At 17, his son was too young to die such a death and there were a lot of unresolved anger issues and no answers, not even from God, who he had served his whole life.  Dr. Ambrosov knew that there were not too many options for a priest when it came to murder and that he may handle it irresponsibly.  They took a shot together and Tyler began to express anxiety over the act. "If the church knew I just took a shot, I would lose my position.  Alcohol is frowned upon by the church." "Does it matter?  I"m atheist, as you know, but I do have a concept of your God you worship.  I have no fear of death, yet my lack of faith does leave me wondering if there is a Hell where the bottom-feeding scum that kill people will go to roast."  He capped the vodka and they continued the session. "It exists but it's your right to not believe, Doctor." "Everyone has a right."  He said and capped the vodka, placing it back in his top drawer.  "I exercise mine freely and without prejudice to anyone." "It was so terrifying, yet glorious, to see the scum that killed my boy suffer like a pig.  I put 3 shots into his head.  I actually started from the front and worked my way back.  When his face blew apart, I knew I had achieved my ultimate goal.  Something inside of me yearns to take out the gangs next." "Careful on that one, you don't know the consequences." "Gang murders are things I do not wish to see any more of.  To me, they're just as bad, if not worse than dealers who kill people slowly with that poisonous drug epidemic we have around here." "So, go after the gangs.  What's stopping you?  If anything, the police would give you a medal for your work.:"  He cleared his throat and lit a cigarette.  "Trust me, you're doing the right thing, I applaud you.  After all, the courts are the enemy as well as the law enforcement.  To trust them is to trust the most vicious of animals in existence.  Then again, man is nothing but an animal with animal instinct.  We all are allowed a free pass in life.  We are allowed many passes when we are doing the right thing.” "You're right!  Thank you, Doctor!" "Always happy to help."  He paused.  "You can continue to do a great service to this city.  Next, don't you wish you could take out all the ones that are causing more strife than what we, as a society, are frowning on?  It's simple.  Kill them all, who cares?  Now, you know that there's meditation music that I play through headphones for you.  I want you to lay back and take a small nap and concentrate on what you want to do next and who you wish to make pay the ultimate price with their lives.  When you awake, you'll be a new man ready to make a statement.  It will be great to see the shot heard around St. Paul."  He took a pair of headphones and slipped them onto the patient's head.  "Listen and meditate.  I will be back soon."  He said and pressed play on the machine, the music and hypnotic voice of the doctor greeting his ears.   Little did they all know that they were being programmed to kill and do the doctor's bidding, which ultimately was a direct result of a self-gratifying agenda to take out all the people who were wronging other people.  It was too easy to get inside their heads and change their views and evil, in this case, would prevail against good for the Man of the Cloth.  At the end of these sessions, there were people walking away different than they had entered.  It was a great feeling to pull the strings of the puppets that were entrusting their mental well being to this man they would otherwise not trust, the simple fact that a piece of paper on the wall established a blind trust that all would express. At the end of the day, he would listen to smooth jazz music and loathe many of these people who were broken.  He couldn’t imagine a better job which provided more security than he thought possible.  His miracles were viewed as just that and he was almost elevated toi god-like status.  This was quite the ironic title and one that he somewhat loathed, yet found interesting.   As he stood, he turned the lights off and would begin his journey to his extravagant home that he had paid off in a matter of years.  Happy with life and how he lived, he couldn’t imagine a more fitting life for himself.  He had everything anyone could ever want and was quite envied by many. Life was great and he was beyond content.