Before Jurassic World

Chapter 12

If I had bothered to read the contract binding me to Masrani Global Corporation before I signed it I would have known that shooting someone came complete with an all-expenses paid trip to a shrink. After learning this tidbit of information I poured over the contract discovering that Claire was indeed correct in her order that I meet with the shrink they had flown in to psychoanalyze me.  I lost my shit in her office when she delivered the news, but in my defense you shouldn't bury something that important on page 180, paragraph R, subsection 20.

"Ms. King, the events that occurred were a tragedy.  It isn't unusual to experience nightmares, anger, guilt, emotional outbursts or difficulty maintaining relationships with others as a result.  It's called Post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD."  She punctuated each letter with a point of her perfectly manicured finger.

This was so typical; my life was just a series of awkward and humiliating moments separated by snacks.

Dr. Morgan Price was a 50 something year-old psychiatrist flown in from California.  She was an attractive older woman who wore her slightly graying hair pulled back in a loose bun with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose.  She looked more like a librarian than a psychiatrist to me.  For the last hour she had been trying to persuade me to "get in touch with my feelings".  I wanted to tell her I'd rather take a spork to the eye than touch my feelings.

"I understand all that Dr. Price.  It's not the first time I've been in a situation like this," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.  My head hurt so bad it felt like my brain was melting.

"I know, I've read your file."  I was really sick of people reading my file.  I was going to have Lowery find my file and delete it when I got out of here.

"That's nice."

"Can I be frank Ms. King?"  I'd told her to call me Jo, but she refused.  Probably some kind of Doctor-Patient protocol they teach you at head shrinking school.

"Sure."  Anything to end this torture. 

"Your childhood was a series of traumatic, abusive events.  You desperately wanted a home, a family, and a sense of belonging.  You were denied any these things and, as such, lacked purpose.  So, in the interest of self-preservation you learned to hide, become self-sufficient and distanced yourself from others.  Effectively never learning to form lasting relationships."  I mentally rolled my eyes.  "As an adult the events surrounding your childhood played a directly role in the choices you have made.  This manifested as a career in the military followed by the F.B.I, and now here at Jurassic World.  These professions allow you the semblance of control, stability, and even the family you've never had."

I hated to tell Dr. Price that as a child the only thing I desperately wanted was to be a superhero with global domination capabilities.  As for my adult life, I joined the Army because I occasionally got to blow stuff up, and the F.B.I. job came with an awesome badge.  Plus, they let me carry a gun.  As for my employment at Jurassic World, well, Simon got me on an off day.

"I don' know what you expect me to do with that information Dr. Price."

She handed me a brown, leather book.  "I want you to take this.  I think it could be helpful for you.  I want you to devote a few minutes each day and just write down what you are feeling.  It can be about anything or nothing at all.  I just want you to set some time aside each day specifically for this."

"You want me to keep a diary?"  What was I, 12 years-old?

"It's not a diary.  It's a journal."  Um, OK, I failed to see the difference, but she's the one with the doctoral degree.