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My patient, whom I call Leon, will soon be 14 years old. At his request, his analysis is ending. Only 15 sessions remain.
Leon puts the large box containing his drawings, paper, pens, etc. up on the table so that it forms a barrier between him and me when he sits down. He looks tense and fearful. He has brought with him a carton of Ribena, a children’s drink, on which, in big print, is written ‘FIFTEEN FREE EXTRA’. Through a straw he starts sucking the drink. He looks no more a schoolboy, but every bit a baby as he empties the carton, which is collapsing in a grotesque shape. Desperately, he sucks for the last drops. Then he hurls the carton violently away into the rubbish bin. I speak to Leon about being near the end of his analysis, of how he feels like a baby whose drinking causes such collapse and ugliness that he must get free – and free of me he will be in 15 days. I also speak about how he is not satisfied, and desperately still needs and hopes for something more, ‘extra’. There is a long silence. Then, very anxiously, he peers round the box to look at me, retreating instantly. I speak of his terror that I am like the collapsed Ribena carton, and of his being so afraid that he cannot see how I really am. His breathing becomes distressed and he starts to wheeze. It is most distressing to hear. He transmits to me absolutely rending pain and anxiety. And suddenly he falls asleep – it is so unendurable.
The next day Leon was different – every inch a schoolboy, a highly-defended one. He again made a barrier with his box, and then pulled out a pile of books from his schoolbag and spread them out ostentatiously. He read out his homework assignments loudly. For a brief moment he began to wheeze as if his lungs were again collapsing in agony, but he threw it off, and went on reading continuously in a loud voice bits from various schoolbooks. There seemed no way to make contact with him. I found myself feeling hopeless; I could d