39.1 Abandon the search for truth. Settle for a good fantasy. - Anonymous
“You are wrong,” Cass enunciates carefully. Even so, the words clearly take the therapist by surprise.
“What am I wrong about, Cassandra?” The woman is leaning back in her chair, with an irritatingly superior expression. She thinks she's caught Cass, though she's not sure how or why. How would 'catching' her be helpful?
She frowns. No, don't give up; she can get the words out. “Fantasy not bad.” They had been talking about the preference of many to replace uncomfortable truths with preferred fantasies. That Cass is defending fantasies is odd, she admits that, but the way the woman had come down on those that wouldn't or couldn't deal with the stark realities of daily life; well that annoys her. In a big way.
The woman gestures at her client to continue. Blast it, of course this would happen. Stupid words.
“Fantasy. Dreams. Make better, try more.” Cass scowls at the woman's perplexed expression. Oh hell. Her mind goes to Jason for a reason she can't even begin to name. Jason would....what? She shakes her head. It doesn't matter, not really. Right, the therapist is still waiting. “Fantasy. Starts. Begins. Where to look.” And that makes even less sense.
Or maybe she is making sense, because the therapist is giving her a considering looking. “Hi-Hi-Hipo--” She knows the words she wants, but it's too much, her mind and mouth are refusing to connect.
“Hypothesis?”
Cass' relief is palpable. She nods, her eyes bright with the hope that she can make herself clear. “That. Fantasy. Place,” she looks at the floor concentrating, “to....start.”
“But a hypothesis isn't a fantasy, it's an educated guess based on available data that you can then set about proving.”
The Asian girl waves her hand dismissively. “Not known first. Guess. Fantasy.”
“Okay, let’s say you're right.” And by the sound of the woman's voice, she doesn't believe that at all. “What does that have to do with replacing truth with fantasy?”
The smile on her face is calm, warm and genuine. This is one word she can speak. A very good word. “Hope.” And there's that's blank look. “Fantasy, easy. Give hope. Hope starts. Makes strong. Heals.” That gets her a blink, then a second one. “Mind is...weak. Easy hurt. Pieces lost. Fantasy fills holes.”
“That's a normal enough part of the grieving process,” the woman concedes, but still she doesn't sound convinced. “People rewrite events in their mind; gloss over that which is too painful. But it becomes dangerous when it's used to replace reality entirely.”
Now Cass is nodding. “But later. Starts fantasy. Not bad start.”
And so is the therapist as it all begins to click. “So, because I said it was always a bad idea, you are calling me on that, saying there are times when it's actually helpful?” With a firm nod she confirms the odd paraphrase. The woman inclines her own head. “You're right. I overstated the case. And you did very well presenting your ideas, Cassandra. Well done.”
The girl permits herself to enjoy the warm feeling of success for a moment. But it's gone just as quickly at the therapist’s next words.
“I'll have to find something else you feel strongly about, and we can have another discussion.”
Cass doesn't groan, but it's a near thing.