Chapter 2

First, I took a long drive to New Mexico. I arrived exhausted, went to a cheap motel and crashed for the night.

The next day I checked and completed my name change procedure, then I opened a new bank account and transferred all the money I had in the previous account, and last I went to the cell phone company's office and had my phone number changed.

I slept for another night in New Mexico, and then started my long route to L.A.

In L.A. I found a small apartment near the university, bought a local newspaper and started job hunting. It was still summer vacation so finding the apartment and a job were quite easy. I wanted to settle in before the first term, so that when studying I'd be able concentrate on just that. I landed myself a secretary's job with a company that was used to hiring students. The arrangement was that when I was not in school I would work full time with as many overtime hours as possible, and when in school I would work part time, the work schedule would fit my studies schedule perfectly. It was a wonderful company and a wonderful job. My income plus the money I saved during the last two years should enable me to pay the university, pay my rent and eat. Maybe a little more will be left if I calculate each expense carefully.

This was my life now. I can't depend on anyone but myself. The more I work and the harder I study — the easier it should be to forget my past.

Among the many courses I had to have as a freshman, I made sure my registration for the Psychology classes was secure. Psychology was to be my major. On the introduction interview with the dean, he looked at me searchingly and asked for the reason I wanted to study Psychology. I just told him that I've seen some psychological problems in my short life and decided that this is the field in which I thought I'd be able to help people. To his question about which field of Psychology I had in mind, I answered — sexual abuse victims. He then looked at me hard and long, and then asked:

"Is there anything personal you'd like to talk about?"

"Not at the moment." I replied, "But it's possible that I'll need some professional help later. However, I don't know if I could afford it or not."

"Look, every year I take on three to four students that seemingly need help. If the student proves to be hard working and his future in Psychology seems to be promising — I do it for free."

"How come? You probably have your own clinic and being the Dean must take up a lot of your time?"

"You'd be surprised how many students take up Psychology because they have their own problems they want to solve. From my first impression of you — you are one of them. I believe that a Psychologist who has problems himself cannot function well in cases that are similar to his own. Therefore, when I detect a promising student I do everything in my power to help him or her out. We'll see how you do for the first half year, and if you fit in and if you have a natural aptitude to be a Psychologist, then it will be up to you."

I started working at my job. A few guys in the office tried to hit on me but I sent them all away. I could not even imagine having anything to do with men, apart from work. When I finished work, I did some shopping for food, went home and locked myself in until the next morning. This is how I lived until the school year started.

I studied hard. I put everything I could into studying wanting to succeed, no matter what, and I did. All my exams brought the highest possible grades and when lecturers asked questions, I was always the first to answer.

One thing was bad, though. With studying and with my job I had full days. I always got home tired, ate something showered and went to sleep. But the moment I was quiet with just myself — my thoughts drifted back to the old history, the history I was trying to forget. This happened every night without exception. I slept less and less, and I started feeling the effects in class. I started dozing off during class.

Half a year after school started, the dean called me to his office.

"My offer for free therapy is still open. I have received reports that you are on a long downhill road. Please accept my help or you won't be able to even finish the first year."

I just broke down and started crying. I thought I could handle the situation on my own, but I was obviously wrong. So wrong that others could notice.

The dean gave me his card and told me to make time and call him for an appointment.

The first time I was at his clinic I broke down again. After some prodding, I started telling him my story. I cried a lot, and spoke while sobbing. I could hardly utter a sentence without crying in the middle.

When I finished he brought me some cold water to drink and gave me a prescription for some medication that would make me sleep at night, saying that sleep was necessary if I wanted to continue with my studies.

He then went on and told me that based on my story he could diagnose both my mother's problem and mine.

"Your mother is what's known in the public as a Nymphomaniac, or also known as Sexually Insatiable. (He gave it the medical term too, but I didn't memorize it at the time). This is a very well known phenomenon, and can be cured with proper medical care which would include some short-term confinement. But as this has not been treated for so many years — treatment now will endanger her life. It's just like taking a heavy drug addict and cut him off all at once without any other treatment. I may venture a guess that your father and the other men in the family just gave in to her condition and really thought they were helping her. It's a great pity nobody thought of professional help. As I think now it is too late. I also believe they all ignored you out of pain. When you reached the age that you knew about sex, and was made to see all of this right in front of your eyes, they simply could not face you. And your brothers, whom you called <motherfuckers> may have been psychologically hurt by that in addition to what they suffered having to accommodate your mother. I really don't think it was easy for them bringing their friends to have sex with their own mother."