Athena on the couch

Athena had been feeling down for a while, and the nursing home management had started to worry. Medication wasn’t a popular solution at the place – side effects are in a league of their own when it comes to gods – so at a group meeting, it was decided that Dr. Zeuberkrank would handle the case. He was known as the best psychiatrist for special cases, and they managed to secure an appointment – at a considerable fee. Athena tried to protest, but was told it was for her own good. So, somewhat reluctantly, she found herself in Dr. Zeuberkrank’s office on an otherwise rather ordinary Wednesday.

‘Hello, hello’, – Dr. Zeuberkrank greeted her with a broad smile – ‘Please lie down on the couch over there.’ Dr Zeuberkrank pointed to a large ottoman covered in red velvet, with tassels and far too many cushions. Athena looked at him in bewilderment but lay down. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘Psychoanalysis,’ Dr Zeuberkrank said with enthusiasm. ‘We need to find out what’s troubling you.’ He carefully seated himself in a large leather armchair, pulled out a notepad and pen. ‘Are you comfortable?’ Dr Zauberkrank paused dramatically, as no answer came. ‘Tell me about your childhood…’

Athena stared, dumbfounded, at the psychiatrist. ‘My childhood?? I don’t have a childhood.’

‘Ah,’ Dr Zeuberkrank said, delighted. ‘Already in denial. Excellent.’ He scribbled furiously on his notepad. ‘Immature use of defence mechanisms, repression, possibly total denial, poor frustration tolerance.’

He looked kindly at Athena. ‘Try closing your eyes and go back to the first thing you can remember.’

Athena sighed deeply. ‘Well, when I sprang from my father’s forehead…’

Dr. Zeuberkrank nearly swallowed his pen in excitement and continued scribbling. ‘Conversion, bordering on hallucination, signs of megalomania, clear indications of a personality disorder… your father?’

Athena practically hissed. ‘Yes, Dr. Sauerkraut – my father. Zeus! You must have heard of him.’ Athena was getting close to battle-ready – which, in her case, meant her sword and shield – adorned with an owl and trimmed in gold – began to materialise at her side.

‘Yippee!’ was loudly echoing in Dr. Zeuberkrank’s mind, though he managed to suppress it – albeit with difficulty. He stared in fascination at the shield, and the pen was once again working overtime, so much so that the ink was nearly smoking. ‘Clearly hallucinating with strong manifest tendencies from logus coergulens, poor coping and self-control, not at all adaptive to the situation. Anaclitic stance towards diatropic father figure. Aggressive inclinations towards violence.’

This was too good. It was the case of a lifetime. It was… years of therapy, no doubt. And fame. Lots of fame. He could already picture the book… but what to call the case? It would have to be anonymised somehow… ‘Hannah P’? No, not quite the right ring to it. ‘The Owl Woman’? Yes, that was it. Dr. Zeuberkrank glanced again at the shield and could almost feel the laurels on his head. He snapped back from his daydream. Back to work! And the fame… there had to be a neurosis here as well. One of the really good ones. Zeuberkrank was nearing a personal moment of triumph.

‘Zeus – of course,’ he said. Now he just had to play along, or there’d be no book. Zeuberkrank was all smiles. ‘Tell me about your father,’ he said in his sweetest, honeyed voice.

Anduin

Chapter fra Requis Aetatis – nursing home of the gods. (in progress)

Illustration: AI (DALL-E)