I held my daughter’s depression diagnosis in my hand and pushed open the door to the psychologist’s office. “Doctor, can you tell if a normal person is faking depression?” “I suspect my daughter is pretending to be depressed to avoid the SAT.” The doctor looked at me strangely, but still asked patiently. “Can you tell me about your daughter’s recent behavior? Why do you suspect she’s faking depression?” I thought carefully and answered honestly about my daughter’s situation. “Rachel has been obedient and studious since childhood. She follows the study plan I set for her every day, and her grades have always been first in her class.” “But this time, in the practice test before the SAT, she ranked seventh. After I slapped her, she ran away from home. When she came back, she had this paper, saying she was depressed.” “I’ve been so good to her. I wake up at four in the morning to make her a nutritious breakfast, and I stay up until midnight studying with her. I’m not depressed, so why should she claim to be?” The doctor saw I was getting emotional and quickly stood up to calm me down. “Dear, you don’t have a daughter!”
What did he mean I didn’t have a daughter? I pushed away the psychologist who had just come over to tell me to calm down. I looked at him in disbelief. “Doctor, what are you talking about? How could I not know whether I have a daughter or not?” I took all the documents out of my bag and slapped them on the desk. “See for yourself whether I have a daughter.” “Sammy is me, Rachel is my daughter.” The doctor picked up the documents and examined them carefully. “Ma’am, don’t get excited. Sit down first. Let me ask you a few questions.” “Are you raising the child alone? Where’s the child’s father?” I froze, not wanting to answer this question. “The child’s father has nothing to do with this.” “You’re a strange doctor. I’m starting to doubt whether you’re actually a psychologist.” I often saw online about patients who would put on a doctor’s white coat and impersonate doctors when the real doctor stepped out. This doctor seemed completely unprofessional. “You just questioned whether I have a daughter. Now I question whether you’re really a psychologist. Take out your credentials and let me see them.” The doctor just looked at me with a smile, offering no explanation and not producing his medical license. I was at my wit’s end, and my daughter was still lying at home refusing to go to school. And here someone was making a fool of me. “What a waste of my time.” I grabbed the documents from the desk and was about to leave. Time waits for no one. I had to find evidence that my daughter was faking depression. After all those years of hard study, the SAT was almost here, yet she refused to take it. I couldn’t accept that. Before leaving, I turned and spat on the floor. “Unscrupulous fraud impersonating a doctor.” He still didn’t speak, just shook something in his hand. I looked closely and saw my daughter’s diagnosis report was still in his hand. I snatched it from him and walked straight out the door. As I walked out, I suddenly thought—he was a fraud, but surely not all the other doctors were out of their offices too. I pushed open another office door. I immediately took out the relevant documents and my daughter’s diagnosis. “Doctor, my name is Sammy. This is my daughter Rachel. She insists she’s depressed. I want to ask you, can you tell if a normal person is faking depression?” The doctor seemed curious about my approach, but still picked up the documents to look at them. “You just said your daughter is depressed and that she’s faking it, right?” “So how did you determine she’s faking depression rather than actually being sick?” How else could I determine? She’s my own child—wouldn’t I know her? “She deliberately talks to herself in the middle of the night, crying one moment and laughing the next.” “Every time she waits until I’m asleep, then deliberately wakes me up. This morning she absolutely refused to go to school.” “Doctor, please write me a note proving she’s faking illness. I’ll take it home and show it to her, tell her to stop pretending and get to school.” The more I talked, the angrier I got. The older kids get, the more disobedient they become. To avoid going to school, she was deliberately faking illness. The doctor pushed up his glasses, carefully examined the diagnosis, then looked at me. “Ma’am, I think you’ve really misunderstood your daughter. She may actually be sick.”
“Impossible. Doctor, I’m certain she’s faking.” I answered decisively. “She just doesn’t want to go to school. Yesterday I discovered she used my phone to search for symptoms of depression.” I handed my phone to the doctor, which showed various symptoms of depression. “Doctor, just write me a note saying she’s faking illness. The SAT is coming up soon—she really can’t afford to miss it.” “Missing class all morning, who knows how much she’s falling behind. Why doesn’t she understand my good intentions?” The grievance and bitterness in my heart made me cry. The doctor kindly handed me a tissue and asked again. “Since you’ve always believed she’s faking, why not just send her directly to school?” “Why do you need proof that she’s faking?” At this point, I really needed to explain this properly to the doctor. “I sent her to school before morning reading today. Who knew she’d throw a tantrum at school, shouting that she had depression.” “Doctor, don’t you think she’s deliberately trying to upset me?” “When the teacher saw her like that, they sent her home with me, telling me to show more concern for my child.” “While I wasn’t paying attention, she ran home first and locked herself in her room. No matter how much I called, she wouldn’t open the door.” The doctor was writing notes, seeming to record something. He looked at me and asked again. “What’s your relationship with your daughter usually like?” Did he really need to ask? I raised my daughter single-handedly—of course we’re close. Seeing the doctor’s serious expression, I could only answer patiently. “My daughter and I eat and sleep together. You tell me if the relationship is good or not.” I couldn’t help complaining internally. This doctor didn’t seem professional either, asking such pointless questions. Growing up in a single-parent family, she’d never seen her father. Besides me, she had no other relatives. I was her everything. And of course, my daughter was my everything too. For her sake, I quit my job to work in her school cafeteria, afraid someone might bully her, and it also let me supervise her to make sure she ate well. Fortunately, my daughter was very successful, always first in her class. She made me look good working in the cafeteria. Every time I served food, I’d give her and her classmates a full scoop of meat, never shaking my hand even once. Which of her classmates didn’t envy her for having such a good mother? Thinking of this, I urged the doctor again. “All I want is that note. Doctor, why do you have so many questions?” By now the first class at school was already over. “Can you write it or not? If not, don’t waste my time.” My impression of this clinic was really bad. Suddenly I thought of something. I asked tentatively. “Doctor, just tell me—how much money do you want to write this note?” I’d been careless, forgetting that’s just how things work nowadays. Something that should be simple—if you don’t pay, they hold you up and won’t help. I took out the last thousand dollars or so from home from my bag and looked at the doctor. “That’s all I have. Name your price.” The doctor looked helpless and put the money back in my bag. “I just want to understand your daughter’s real situation carefully. Don’t misunderstand.” “Let me ask you one more question. Please answer honestly.” “Why does your daughter want to fake depression? Did something else happen between you two?” After asking, the doctor looked at me expectantly. I didn’t want to answer this question. I even felt this doctor was really nosy. “You already said she’s faking it. Can’t you just write a note?” “Or are you not a doctor either?”
Small clinics just weren’t reliable. Patients could randomly impersonate doctors. That one earlier was, and now this one apparently was too. Hearing my question, the doctor laughed and pulled out his work ID from his pocket. “I didn’t expect you to be so alert.” “Look, is the photo on this me? Do you have any other doubts?” I looked carefully. He really was a doctor. I felt a bit embarrassed. “Dr. John, I’m really sorry. Just now there was a patient impersonating a doctor from your clinic.” The doctor waved his hand, not caring at all. “It’s fine. I’m the only doctor here.” “You must answer why your daughter wants to fake depression, otherwise I can’t write this note.” “You don’t want to waste time going to another clinic, do you?” Thinking about it, I felt what Dr. John said made sense. So I told him the reason why my daughter was faking illness. “When I was serving food, I heard her classmate say she had a crush on the new math teacher in her class. When I got home, I interrogated her repeatedly, but she refused to admit it.” “Dr. John, tell me, can she be in a relationship with the SAT coming up? Especially with a teacher! I absolutely won’t allow this to happen.” My emotions were getting worked up again. The doctor timely handed me a glass of water. “Don’t get excited, Rachel’s mom. Continue. What happened next?” I drank the water in one gulp and continued. “Then I secretly monitored her at school and finally caught her walking alone with the math teacher.” “In front of all the students, I scolded her severely, then reported the math teacher to the education department.” “He’s shameless, taking advantage of being a recent college graduate to seduce a female student. He was going to ruin my daughter’s entire life!” The doctor followed up. “Was it after this that you noticed your daughter started faking illness?” I shook my head. No, it wasn’t. “She only started faking yesterday. Before, she was just playing dumb. I caught her spacing out in class a few times, not listening carefully.” “Her grades dropped from first in the class to seventh. This was the last practice test before the SAT. You tell me, wasn’t slapping her face not too much?” The doctor didn’t answer. I continued. “I’d never hit her before. I raised her with care since childhood. Hitting her face hurt my heart too.” “But she actually ran away from home. When she came back, she had this psychological diagnosis in her hand, saying she was depressed.” “Kids these days really can’t take a single word of criticism. At home she’s acting crazy and playing sick, just waiting for me to apologize.” As I spoke, Dr. John kept recording, now filling up an entire page. “Doctor, I’ve told you everything. Can you write the note now?” Another class period wasted. My anxiety grew, and I couldn’t help urging him. “Just write on this paper: diagnosis invalid, this person does not have depression. That’s all.” “Cross out this doctor’s name and write yours. What kind of unethical doctor gave this diagnosis…” Before I finished speaking, I took the note and looked at it carefully. The diagnosing doctor’s name was clearly written as John. “What a coincidence, there are so many people named John…” I didn’t think much of it, simply assuming it was the same name. The doctor had finally finished writing and looked up at me. “Do you really not remember me?” What did he mean? When had I ever met him? “Rachel, you were just here yesterday. Have you forgotten already?” “Wake up, Rachel. Think carefully about who you really are.”
Dr. John waved a pocket watch back and forth in front of my eyes. I grabbed it away and threw it aside. “What? You’re that Dr. John? No wonder you kept asking questions and stalling for time.” “You’re the one who diagnosed my daughter with depression. Now she’s treating that paper like a sacred decree and refusing to go to school.” “I’m blaming you for saying she has depression.” Before he could react, I attacked him directly, scratching at his face with my hands. Asking all sorts of random questions—turned out he was the culprit all along. He must have been the one who taught my daughter to talk to herself at night and deliberately fake illness. “Tell me, are you interested in my daughter too? I’ll show you what it means to be shameless, teaching young girls bad things.” “I’m going to report you, you pervert, molesting patients who come for treatment.” I was absolutely furious. How could there be such a doctor? From the beginning, he’d seen the diagnosis and knew he wrote it himself, yet he kept asking questions, looking shifty—clearly not a good person. I’d already scratched his face, but I still wasn’t satisfied. Pointing at him, I cursed. “You…” As soon as I opened my mouth, he stuffed something in it and tied me to a chair. Was this some kind of illegal clinic? I saw him pick up the pocket watch from the floor again and place it in front of my eyes. “Sleep, sleep. Everything will be fine when you wake up.” In a daze, I really fell asleep. I watched myself first come in and argue with him. I walked out of the office, stood at the door for a bit, then came back in and pushed open his office door again. Could it have been just him all along? In an instant, I woke up. When I awoke, I was lying on the sofa in the office. I stood up abruptly, which made me feel dizzy for a moment. “Rachel, are you okay?” Dr. John actually came forward to support my arm, calling my daughter’s name. And he said he hadn’t been seducing my daughter? What did this mean? Psychologists have some dark arts. My daughter must have fallen under his spell too. I didn’t dare open my eyes or make eye contact with him, afraid I’d be hypnotized again if I wasn’t careful. Supporting myself with his hand, I sat on the sofa. I felt my small cloth bag and my phone inside it. While he was turning around, I immediately dialed the emergency number. “Hello, 911? I want to report something. A psychologist used dark arts to hypnotize my daughter, and now he’s trapped me in his office. Please come quickly.” “I’m at a psychological clinic near AB Middle School. The doctor’s name is John. Please send someone quickly.” I looked at my phone. It was already noon. I’d slept for so long. My daughter had missed class all morning. Who knew how much she’d missed? This damn psychologist. He was actually frowning at me. “Bah.” “I’m telling you, I’ve already called the police. Just wait to face legal consequences.” “My perfectly good child came back from your place depressed, threatening to die at home and faking illness.” If I weren’t afraid he’d knock me out again, I’d want to bite him a couple times to vent my anger. The police arrived quickly. When they came in, they looked at us and asked. “Who called the police?” “Officers, I called. I want to see your badges first.” I was genuinely afraid. Everything felt like a dream. The officers cooperatively showed their police badges. I checked each one before returning them. “Officers, I’m reporting that he used his professional position to brainwash my daughter, making her falsely claim she’s depressed and refuse to go to school.” As I was about to continue, the police interrupted me. “Wait, you said your daughter?” “You look barely of age yourself. Where would you have a daughter?”
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