“A Perfect World: Case Study A” by Adam Frank Boretz
--page 7

Institute of Living
Norris Outpatient Campus
Office Visit LR017

- I received this yesterday(13).
- I’m very sorry.
- Yeah, me too.
- Have you spoken to her?
- No(14).
- Levi, I don’t mean to be flippant, but what does this tell you?
- What?
- What does all of this tell you?
- What does it tell me(15)? It tells me that my wife wants a divorce. It tells me that all this therapy is just bullshit and a waste of time and there’s nothing I can do.
- Exactly. Say that last part again.
- What?
- Repeat what you just said.
- What? There’s nothing I can do?
- Exactly. Have you stopped trying to be perfect? Have you stopped gouging little holes in your palms? Do you still do everything on that Behavioral Inventory?
- Yeah.
- You still do it?
- Yes, I still do it.
- And she left you anyway. She sent you divorce papers.
- Yes ... So?
- So, doesn’t that mean you don’t control anything? That regardless of what you do—of how you pick up your coffee cup at lunch—the world is going to go on, independently, because you don’t control any of it.
- I don’t know. I guess.
- And, in a way, isn’t that kind of liberating?
- I don’t think any of this is liberating.
- Fine. But you see that it’s not real? It’s not real, Levi(16).
- I know, but ... maybe it is. Maybe I just fucked it all up and everything is my fault. Maybe I did one little thing wrong and ... all I wanted was to make everything alright ... to make it OK, but I can’t ? I can’t even walk through a doorway ...
- Levi, it doesn’t work that way.
- I know.
- No, you don’t. You don’t control any of it. You don’t.


         At Wal Drug comma old men and young kids and mothers and sisters and priests and construction workers shuffle in line and no one speaks or even looks up from the floor period Stark fluorescent yellow floods the isles and everything is prepackaged and shiny period
         The pharmacist hands everyone a white paper bag and each little anonymous package is the same colon Prozac or Ativan or Ritalin or Lexapro or Celexa or Paxil period I stare at the anonymous faces that float past period I stare and count to four until each person is perfect period Like a photograph period Until each face is like a page in an album in a perfect world period
         The pharmacist frowns at me period Like a snapshot period Perfect period She hands me my change and I wander out of Wal Drug with my Buspar and Anafrinil period I sit down on a bench and then comma suddenly comma I hear it period The dull buzz period The pattering clatter period Like distant drums comma louder and louder and all around me period I drop the cigarette into a puddle and I start to count
         One two three four
         1 2 3 4
         I II III
         but then I stop period
         I close my eyes and I listen to the low steady beat period It rises and crashes louder and louder comma violent and malicious in my head period I can feel my pulse in my chest and arms and sweat clings to my shirt and it is like the whole world burns out around me and all that is left is a dull rhythmic shuddering period
         But this time comma I do not count period
         I just listen period
         And then it softens and fades period
         And I am still sitting there period
         And I am fine period
         The distant throbbing recedes all around me period And I am alone on the bench period Somewhere I can hear a radio playing a familiar song period An ambulance screams past and I stuff my pills in a pocket and walk home comma hopping over cracks and sticks with perfect little steps comma counting comma still counting comma and wondering where we are all going period

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