I build fires to stay warm. I need to have control over the fire so that I can stay warm and also so the fire won’t take over and burn the house down.
I insist on control. I want more power over my fire. To contain it. To put it to MY use. To sustain me. I need that fire to keep me warm, but I need to control it.
I am speaking the voice of the Fire Doctor. Doctors have so, so much power these days. I think I will put a degree on my wall (we hope it doesn’t get singed) and use my doctor-power to control my fire.
I begin by giving it a diagnosis: Dear Fire, you now have a diagnosis: You have anger issues! You need treatment for your anger issues.
So, Fire, let’s begin. Your diagnosis is your new identity and you must be more aware of your anger. I will provoke you, adding fuel to the fire let’s say, by agitating and poking you, provoking you into making larger flames.
Oooooh, see how angry you are! That PROVES you have anger problems and need even more intense treatment.
Now, I want you to think hard about your anger. To force you to obsess over it, I will ask you to rate your anger on a chart. Rate it 10 for the worst anger you have ever had, and zero for no anger at all. Now, by causing this obsession, you will live up to all the expectations of your arbitrarily-given diagnosis. You will be more angry than ever, burning like mad, which of course is rather useful to me, the doctor. It’s still a bit chilly in here and I sure could use the funds…er, heat, I meant to say.
You must rely on me for treatment. I have a doctor degree and know all about your problem. Don’t listen to your own instincts and never, ever pay attention to your needs. It’s all about MY needs now, my proclamations, prescriptions, and control, and you are the sick, weak, dependent one.
So now I see you are so, so pissed off that you are burning nicely. Bravo. Keep coming back to me, the holy doctor, and I will fix everything.
Now that you are burning, I will close the stove door, latching it so you are properly contained and can never get out. You are destroying yourself so deserve this imprisonment. Burn until I have no more use for you. Then, your ashes will be swept up. Ugh. Unwanted filth. Messy, eh? Just dust, though, unimportant, wiped out and if I have my way, forgotten. Especially if I goofed my fire and it went out prematurely. But then I have other fires to take control of.
Day 2: The next fire, instead of complying, refused to burn and the doctor was cold that day. Whom to blame, the controlling abuser, or the victim the abuser so desperately needs to manipulate? Let’s blame the victim and persecute it. Make it a societal reject, unwanted and unloved, and shove those ashes into a corner, into the trash, in fact, let’s call the ashes “Trash.” Let’s isolate them so they won’t spread their filth to our holy clean society. We hate victims. We hate suffering and negativity. Let’s ban it. Of course, never pay attention or listen to ashes, it’s all the past anyway and we focus on the “here and now” because it’s so trendy.
Day 3. The next fire got so pissed off that it burned down the doctor’s house. Bye bye doctor.
It’s time to end psychiatric abuse.