Tale #7: (Arche)typing a Dirty Schem(a)

Tale #7: (Arche)typing a Dirty Schem(a) (Chapter 4 in the 'As Before, Now Again' series) (Content Tags: Hypnosis, brainwashing, messy diapers) Doctor Farren prodded her notepad with the tip of her pen. It'd been difficult for her to keep attentive in her other appointments, when her afternoon session-to-be was looming ever closer on the clock. It wasn't for lack of empathy that she found herself losing track of what her other patients were saying, it was just that the insidious seed of vengeance had sprung up like a weed inside of her. Her morally dubious plot was of a far greater concern than 'why little Suzie was bullying classmates on social media'. If she was more intellectually honest with herself, then she would probably come to realize that this level of resentment and vitriol was hardly justified to levy at a middle school student that didn't even need to shave yet. Of course she'd already remedied this ailment with the convenient delusion that she was actually helping this brat, and that did soften those shades of ethical gray, while also helping to dampen the niggling cries of her conscience; the devil on her shoulder was dressed like an angel, and while a smart woman like her already knew that, she preferred the lie of convenience that absolved her of this unprofessional lunacy. To speak nothing of upholding a code of medical ethics, she'd also had to acknowledge the extreme amount of legal liability she was putting herself in. She was effectively brainwashing her young patient in a concerted and intentional effort to ruin his life. Lawsuits and losing her license would be small potatoes compared to the punitive arm of the justice system; she didn't think a jury would be swayed by some teary-eyed tale about her poor persecuted son either. The stress was immense...But so was the rush. She'd never had any reason to do anything but help those who needed it most, but now, when she'd been given a righteous quest on a silver platter, she found no greater thrill than dismantling a delinquent's mind. The doctor had been waiting for it all week. She'd conceived of new additions to the plan since the moment that she'd watched Matty waddle out of her office last week, with a giant steaming pile of shit in his diaper. Any sense of disgust from the sound or smell of the boy soiling himself in her presence was completely and utterly overshadowed by the representation of what it meant for his sense of self. She had abandoned her mission statement of keeping some reasonable shred of subtlety; no, she wanted Matty to be known far and wide as nothing more than a stupid, whimpering pantspooper that was cruelly relegated to the lowest rung of the social totem poll. The biggest obstacle to that goal was one that now actually saw an opportunity for solving: Mathew's mother. With her son defecating himself again and being given a medical referral for him to add full-time Pull-Ups to his wardrobe, her skepticism had finally crested. The therapy sessions were mandated in lieu of a brief stint at juvenile hall, but the woman could pretty clearly identify that her son hadn't gotten any better, and in fact now had the added malady of these accidents. So she'd sent an email to Dr. Farren, outlining her concerns and capping it off with the definitive statement that she'd be sitting in on their next session. While this could have been a major hitch in the plan, it wasn't something that the doctor hadn't already accounted for; it was obvious that Matty's issues would be cause for suspicion, so she had already known this was an inevitability. Her handling of it was calculated and she'd actually integrated this into her overarching plan; with a clever approach, she'd turned a crisis into an opportunity. "Now, Miss Corbin, if you would go ahead and take the seat next to your son." It was all falling into place so easily. How could it be this easy? If fate didn't sneer at Matty as much as she did, then there was no way this could go in such an accommodating way! "All comfy? Now, let's start with something simple. Mathew, would you like to tell me about how your week was?" With the boy's accident at school last week, and with the fact that his undies had been replaced by what were essentially Pull-Ups, it sounded as he'd kept his nose clean this week. He hadn't bullied anyone, at least not enough to trigger his hypnotic programming, so there were no accidents to recount or reenact. Dr. Farren took notes, playing the role of a dutiful therapist who actually cared for her patient. The boy's mother also seemed at ease during this opening portion of the session, which was good for what would happen next. Once Matty had spilled his guts all about the mundane week he'd had, only suffering the humiliation of talking about how the Pull-Ups felt to him, it was time to enter the more interesting phase. The doctor reached into her desk drawer and retrieved the amulet that she'd been using as a pendulum. "Very good...Now, let's begin the regression therapy. Miss Corbin, I assume this is the treatment that you wanted to get a better look at, yes?" The woman nodded, and watched as the doctor dangled the amulet from between her finger and thumb. "Yes, so this helps Mathew to remember things deep down? I'm just not sure how that's supposed to work." Dr. Farren gave a polite smile in response. "I understand that it sounds unorthodox, but it really is an advanced methodology. Why don't you go ahead and watch, and you can judge for yourself. It won't affect you since you aren't the one I'll be questioning." It was hard to count the number of lies she'd just spewed out, but the other lady was oblivious to the deception at play. Instead of considering the lapses in logic, Miss Corbin stared at the amulet just as intensely as her terrible son. "...Yes, good, you're both now under. You'll remain this way, receptive to everything I say, until I snap my fingers. Okay?" In Jungian psychology, an 'archetype' is a form of a widely held representation; a concept that exists in the human psyche as a solidified symbol. An archetype informs a person's view of a thing, or a person, subconsciously and almost innately. This can, and often does, consider the generalized notions of a 'role'. For instance, in Matty's case, she was assigning him the archetype of that of a 'loser'. For his mother, she would only be fine-tuning the preexisting archetype of a 'maternal' figure, so that she'd be more capable of handling the cons of a much less strong-willed son. Related to these archetypes is the vast network of 'schemas' that a person constructs throughout their life. A schema is the way that the human brain organizes ideas and concepts; they act as a series of ever-shrinking buckets that hold definitions and distinctions, like a matryoshka doll of narrowing categorizations. Rewiring these would have much more permanent effects; it wouldn't just be like a hypnotic trigger that was clearly the will of another, but instead would fundamentally change how they themselves thought. They would become the perpetrators of their own fate, all while thinking that there had been no alien prime mover of it in the first place. The first schema to unravel was the one around diapers. With some cautious construction, the good doctor made Matty more receptive to the idea of wearing them, or at least more cognizant that they were something he needed to wear. She did the same for Matty's mother, taking away her more apprehensive notions of them and replacing that with a subtle acceptance. Feeling emboldened, the doctor also tweaked Matty to be less disgusted by his own newfound 'potty problems'. He wouldn't be any less embarrassed, but he would have a more juvenile personal opinion of how a soiled diaper impacted him. She considered going further with it, but she caught a glance at the clock and realized she needed to wrap things up. First, she told the boy's mother that she would 'remember' watching the whole hypnotherapy session and had been impressed by the results; she would have no more nosy qualms with the doctor's methods. Then, for the sake of keeping the ball rolling, she told Mathew that shortly after awaking, he would helplessly fill his diaper while seated next to his mother. She snapped her fingers. "Oh, wow...I've never seen anything like that! I'm sorry for doubting you, doctor." The mother gushed, truly believing that she'd just seen the session unfold, instead of becoming a victim of it. "Its no issue, Miss Corbin, I know that it sounds outlandish without seeing it firsthand. Now, that should wrap us up for today..." FRRRRRRBLAAAAAART! BRAAAAAP! SQUISH! Both women turned their attention to Mathew, who at that moment was leaning slightly forward as he absolutely exploded into the backside of his hidden diaper. His face was scrunched up like a toddler, and the evacuation was so powerful in eruptive force that the boy's mother could feel vibrations ripple across the couch. After several seconds of this rude cacophony, one that could only mean an exceptionally dirty diaper as a result, the boy let out a sigh of relief and sat back flat with a sickening squelch. "Mathew Keen Corbin! Did you really just make a big stink in your diaper? I'm so sorry about this Doctor Farren, I thought he could get through at least one session without going in his pants like a two year old!" Doctor Farren smiled. "That's alright, Miss Corbin. Everything slides into place in its own time; a few more sessions and your son will be like a new boy entirely."