BY REASON OF INSANITY by Edward L. Woodyard

By Reason of Insanity Chapter Thirteen

I saw Mara was still moving orchids around in the ceramic pot. I then reconsidered the loaf of bread and the jar of peanut butter – and returned them respectively to the oven and pantry. "I don't want peanut butter. Why don't we have any food in this house? Or has Phyllis the Vacuum Cleaner sucked it all into her enormous gut?"

Phyllis was Mara's older sister and a constant presence in our lives. I had once found Phyllis stuffing food from the garbage into her mouth after a birthday party at our house for Willie. I have long felt that the mind can control the body; therefore, knowing that Phyllis had not always been this obese, I wanted to do two things to help her: one, I would avoid any self-esteem-protecting euphemism that she was "large" or "big-boned" or "full-figured;" and two, I knew that understanding and empathy in the past had merely enabled her to continue to expand like unrestricted urban sprawl. Using controversial methods, I was going to help her since she wouldn't help herself.  At least I would try.  My therapy techniques had to include Mara, who I believed had enabled Phyllis since they were girls; I had to minimize her culpability.

Nevertheless, I knew that my snide question had just overstepped a truce line of an undeclared conflict. Mara was surprisingly calm as she cautioned me in her response, which she couldn't just let be without comment. "You're being cruel to my sister. She can't help it if she's fat. It's her metabolism, her glands."

Mara was facilitating her role as a facilitator.  She knew that I opted for a confrontational approach, one that avoided "fat shaming," but didn't ignore the obvious. "She could stop swallowing. She attacks a refrigerator like a raccoon in a garbage can. Tearing and shredding any packaging that gets in her way. Is there a calorie in this house that she hasn't overlooked?"

"Did you ever think that your anger and concern about Phyllis were because you actually might love her and care about her?"

Mara was right. I did love her and did care for her; however, I avoided any answer to what Mara suggested. By trying this new psychological approach in dealing with her sister's enormous risk to her health because of her obesity, I believed the reality of a direct assault on her condition would force her defenses to recede and a redemptive healing process to begin. I wasn't trying to be mean for meanness' sake, but to use a controversial therapeutic technique to make Phyllis healthy. While my strategy may have been perceived as vicious and severe, my motive was clear:  love.

Mara reentered the kitchen from the greenhouse and poured herself a glass of water from a ceramic crock dispenser. I was going to change out of my Brioni suit into something more casual for my afternoon clients, but I noticed on a digital stove clock that I was running late. I started toward the front door. "I have to get back to the office. I may be home late tonight."

"What else is new?"

I hesitated at the door. I debated whether to let her derision go unacknowledged. However, she continued, "Want to know something, Adam? With each one of your patients, you try to achieve an intimacy or your therapy doesn't work. The same goes for marriage."

"You're not one of my patients."

"Sometimes I wonder. Why are you so afraid of being intimate with me? And I'm not talking about sex either."

I thought that Mara's question was harsh and unjustified. Intimacy requires equality and I had always treated Mara as an equal, if not at most times as a superior. She knew my life would be incomplete without her and Willie. I did recognize her pain.

"I'd be glad to talk about it, Mara."

"It's always talk with you and no action."

"It's what I do. I talk.  But I listen more than talk."

"Do you make house calls, Adam? Or do I call your office for an appointment?"

I wanted to deflect a potential confrontation. I could sense that Mara was almost insulted when I looked at my Breitling Navitimer and put my hand on the front door knob. Since her perceived cynicism preempted any logical response from me, I was going to practice an art of avoidance. "I'm running late," I said pointing to my wristwatch.

"Forget it, Adam. Go on."

I did want to avoid her frustration right then. It might have been a conversation that would have gone on for hours, for which I didn't have time at that moment. I pivoted, "Why do women avoid conflict? They always want to keep things pleasant."

"You're the shrink. You tell me."

Mara calmly returned to the greenhouse and stared first at the arrangement of orchids and then the blank canvas on the easel. I quietly opened the door, felt the heat of the early afternoon greet me and closed the front door behind me, preserving the air-conditioning in the house. That was one way to keep things cool at home.

But I had been stung by her comments and felt they were unfair. I loved her with every ounce of my being and she was questioning it. What did she need from me that she felt I hadn't given to her?