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Forgotten 1st Edition Cat Patrick Digital Instant
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Author(s): Cat Patrick
ISBN(s): 9780316094610, 0316094617
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 1.69 MB
Year: 2011
Language: english
FORGOTTEN
 Cat Patrick

LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY

NEW YORK BOSTON

 This is for my girls.
Later, when books are for reading, not eating,
I hope you’ll be proud.
Nothing fixes a thing so intently in the memory as the wish to forget it.

—Michel de Montaigne
Friday

10/14 (Thurs.)

Outfit:

—Straight-leg jeans

—Navy tunic with the little flowers (wasn’t dirty— back in the closet)

—Blister-inducing red flats

School:

—Bring book for English

—Get Mom to sign permission slip for History

—Spanish quiz tomorrow (not on syllabus)

—Read over History homework in the morning… too tired…

Notes:

—Ate tons of carbs today. (Mom bought mint chocolate chip ice cream!) EXERCISE!

—Ordered tights for Halloween

 1

Aren’t Fridays supposed to be good?

This one started badly.

The note on my nightstand didn’t tell me anything useful. My eyelids wanted to stay closed; my
favorite jeans were in the hamper; and there was no milk in the fridge.

Worst of all, my cell phone was dead: the shiny, candy red one that I’ll have until it falls into a
gutter; the one that has the calendar and reminder bells and is essentially my portable, socially
acceptable security blanket.

“You’ll be fine,” my mom said during the drive to school this morning.

“How do you know?” I asked. “I could have a huge math test today. There could be a school
assembly that I won’t know about.”

“It’s just one day, London. You’ll be fine without your phone for one day.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, looking out the window.

Now, right now, standing here, I have proof that my mom was wrong. I am not fine without my
phone for one day.

Today is the day that I needed a new T-shirt for gym class. Had it not been dead, my phone, the
phone my mom and I programmed together at the start of the year with important little reminders like
this one, would have instructed me, in its tiny block lettering, to bring a shirt for Phys. Ed. today.

Therefore, today is the day I’m standing in gym shorts and my winter sweater, wondering what
to do.

I can’t very well wear a sweater for basketball (which is what we’re playing, according to the
board near the locker room door), so I ask Page if she has an extra top. We won’t ever really be friends,
but she still responds overenthusiastically. “Sure, London, here you go. Forgot your clean shirt again,
huh?”

Again?

I make a mental note to jot myself a real note later, while at the same time wondering why
today’s note didn’t mention bringing a gym shirt.

Page interrupts my train of thought. She smiles and hands me a bright yellow oversized tee with
a beaming cat on it that reads: HAVE A PURR-FECT DAY!
 “Thanks, Page,” I grumble as I take the shirt from her and quickly put it on. It nearly covers the
shorts—shorts!—that I’m already wearing. Why my locker contained shorts and not some other
warmer, cuter piece of bottom-covering sportswear, I have no clue.

Note to self: add “bring pants” to note to self, too.

I feel like Page is watching me. I glance at her and, yep, she’s watching me. We exchange
pleasant nods before I throw my street clothes into the locker, slam it, and head out to the gym.

As I walk, two thoughts run through my mind. First, I wonder whether Ms. Martinez will let me
go to the nurse’s office for a Band-Aid to cover the painful heel blister that I can feel grating against my
sneaker with every step. And, second, I can’t help but thank my lucky stars that only the twelve other
hapless souls with first-period gym class will see me in this hideous ensemble.

Unfortunately for me, Ms. Martinez is a coldhearted woman.

“No,” she says, when I ask to go to the nurse’s office before the game begins.

“No?” I ask in disbelief.

“No,” she says again, black eyes daring me to argue. She holds her whistle at the ready.

I’m not stupid, so I don’t press the issue. Instead, I hobble back to the bench, join my
teammates, and vow to play through the pain.

Then halfway through what I can only assume is the lowest-scoring basketball game in high
school sports history, a noise ricochets through the echoing gym that all at once makes my arm hairs
stand on end, my eardrums seize up, and my teeth chatter.

For a moment, I don’t know what’s going on.

Ms. Martinez waves her arms in the direction of the exit, and my classmates begin lazily walking
toward the doorway.

That’s when I get it.

We are having a fire drill.

We, the students of Meridan High School, are going outside. All 956 of us. While I, London Lane,
am sporting a bright yellow cat T-shirt that says HAVE A PURR-FECT DAY! and too-short shorts for the
entire student body to enjoy.

Yep, it’s a good Friday indeed.

 2

The gymnasium is close to an exit, so we’re among the first to make it to the safety of the
faculty parking lot. Surrounded by the odd assortment of vehicles, from a station wagon here to a cherry
red Porsche there, I watch apathetic students saunter out of the concrete block that is our high school,
as if they’re impervious to fire.

Not that I believe there’s a fire.

My guess is that some moron pulled the alarm to be funny, not having the foresight to realize
that he or she would then be forced to stand in the cold for an hour while waiting for the fire trucks to
arrive and the firemen to clear the building and finally make the screeching alarm stop.

It’s windy, and I think I see snow flurries. With every gust, I pull myself tighter into a ball to try to
stay warm.

It’s not working.

I yank my hair out of its messy knot at the nape of my neck, hoping it will act as a scarf.
Immediately, the wind sets flight to my bright auburn locks, and I am both blinded and repeatedly
face-whipped.

As the hordes of students gather, I hear whispers and chuckles, presumably about my outfit. I
swear I hear the click of a camera phone, but by the time I peer through my wild mane, the
photographer has hidden the evidence. Still, the trace of giggling from the inside of a tight circle of
cheerleaders makes me nervous.

I stare at their backs until Alex Morgan whips her head of shiny black hair in my direction and
locks eyes with me. She looks like she took time to apply an extra layer of jet-black eyeliner before
evacuating the building.

Priorities.

Alex smirks at me and turns back to the huddle, and more giggles erupt from it.

At this moment, I wish for my best friend, Jamie. The girl has her faults, but she’ll never back
down from a cheerleader’s slams.

Alone with my bare legs and purr-fect T-shirt, I hear bits and pieces of conversations about
weekend plans, the “test we’re missing right now,” and “let’s just take off and drive to Reggie’s for
breakfast, since we’re already out here.” I hug my arms to my torso even tighter, partially to shield
myself from the weather and partially to obscure the cat.
 “Nice T-shirt,” says a smooth male voice, with just a touch of mockery. Using my left hand as a
makeshift ponytail holder, I grab all the hair I can catch and turn in the direction of the voice.

And then time stops.

I see the smile first. There is an unmistakable sweetness peeking through the teasing. My armor
begins to crumble before I’ve made my way up to the eyes; what’s left of it melts away at the sight of
them. Sparkling pale cornflower blue with darker flecks, surrounded by eyelashes any girl would envy.

Looking at me.

Right at me.

Even more than his mouth, his eyes are smiling.

If there was something near me—a piece of furniture, even a nonhostile person—I might reach
out and physically steady myself because I feel off balance in his presence. In a good way.

Wow.

And then it’s all gone. The shirt, the phone, basketball, Alex Morgan.

There’s nothing but the boy before me.

He looks like he belongs in either Hollywood or heaven. I could stare at him all day.

“Thanks,” I say after who knows how long. I force myself to blink. His face looks familiar
somehow, but only in the way that I want it to.

Wait, do I remember him?

Please, oh please, oh please let me remember him.

I thumb through years and years of faces in the album in my brain. This face is nowhere to be
found.

For a glimmer of a second, I’m sad about that fact. Then my optimistic side springs forth. I’m
probably wrong. He has to be in there somewhere.

Where were we? Oh, the outfit…

“I’m starting a new trend,” I joke.

I shift my body so that the wind blows my hair out of my eyes; I force myself to notice
something other than his.

“I like your shoes,” I add.

 “Uh, thanks,” he says awkwardly as he, too, looks down at his chocolate brown Converse All
Stars. With not much left to say about shoes, he unzips and removes his tan hoodie.

Before I know what’s happening, he’s draping it around my shoulders and it’s like I’m protected
from the world, not just the elements. The fleece lining is warm from his body and smells faintly of soap
and fabric softener and just… guy. A perfect kind of guy.

He’s standing a little close to me for being a stranger, now in just his own T-shirt. It looks
vintage; I’ve never heard of the band.

“Thanks,” I say again, as if it’s one of only ten words I know in the English language. “But aren’t
you cold?”

He laughs, as though that’s the most ridiculous question in the world, and says, simply, “No.”

Can’t guys be cold?

“Okay. Well, thanks,” I say, for the millionth time in two seconds.

What is it with me and that word?

“It’s really no problem,” he says. “I figured you could use it. You’re turning blue,” he adds,
nodding toward my legs. “I’m Luke, by the way.”

“London,” is all I can manage.

“Cool name,” he says with an easy smile. I can see a hint of a dimple in one of his cheeks.
“Memorable,” he adds. Very funny, I think.

A shriek pulls me from my Luke-induced trance.

“London, WHAT are you wearing?” Jamie Connor screams so loudly that at least five people stop
their conversations and turn toward us. “Please tell me you have pants on.”

I take back my wish for her to appear. She can go away now.

“Shhh, Jamie, people are staring,” I say, pulling her close to me to try to shut her up. I can smell
the perfume that my best friend will wear forever.

“Sorry,” she says. “But you’re kind of a disaster,” she adds with a little laugh. I frown at her.

“Bad morning?” she asks, looping her arm through mine.

“Yep,” I answer quietly, still very aware that Luke is nearby. “I forgot my gym shirt. Again.”

Jamie gives me a sympathetic shoulder nudge before changing the subject. “I don’t even want to
ask who lent you that one. Have you seen Anthony out here?” she asks as she searches the crowd. But
then her interest in Anthony comes to a screeching halt when she spots Luke. My Luke.
 “Hey,” she says to him.

“Hey,” he says back. He refuses to look right at Jamie; I might like it a little.

“Who are you?” she asks, head cocked like a curious cat.

“Luke Henry,” he says, finally focusing on her for a blink. “It’s my first day.” He looks away again
and scans the crowd, as if he’s grown tired of being where he is. I notice that he keeps his head low, like
he doesn’t want to attract attention.

Jamie is not used to boys looking away, and, frankly, with the short skirt and tight top she’s
wearing, I’m surprised by Luke’s disinterest. She shifts her weight, pops a hip, and continues.

“What year are you?” Jamie asks.

“Junior,” Luke answers.

“Cool. Us, too,” she says. I think she might be finished with the questions, but no such luck. “So,
why start on a Friday?”

Luke glances at Jamie, then his eyes find mine and there it is again.

He’s back.

“I didn’t have anything better to do today,” he says matter-of-factly. “We were unpacked. Why
not?”

“I see… and where did you come from?”

Make it stop!

“I just moved here from Boston.”

“You don’t have an accent,” Jamie points out.

“I wasn’t born there.”

“Gotcha,” Jamie says as she flips her blonde hair out of her eyes. It’s one of her signature
moves—one she’ll do in college and beyond—and, best friend or not, my claws are out.

My posture has obviously stiffened, because Jamie pulls back a little from me to examine my
face. She looks at Luke, then back at me again.

“Hmm,” she grumbles, and I’m terrified that she is going to state the obvious, but instead, she
continues the third degree. “Well, where were you before Boston—”
 Jamie is interrupted by the sudden, quiet calm. Alarm under control, Principal Flowers grabs his
bullhorn and herds us back inside in a tone that says he loathes every waking minute spent in our
presence.

Jamie and I look at each other, then burst out laughing at the booming voice coming from tiny
Principal Flowers. At least that’s what I’m laughing about.

When we recover, I look back at Luke. Well, I want to look back at Luke.

But he’s gone.

I pan the crowd furiously, but all that stands out in the sea of drab colors are bright red, white,
and black cheerleading sweaters. Definitely not what I’m looking for. I feel myself beginning to panic, in
that way you do when you lose something you really love, like a favorite watch or pen or pair of jeans.

We’re moving now, Jamie and I, arm in arm. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m moving:
because Jamie is pulling me forward.

Finally, I see it.

My insides do cartwheels when I spy Luke’s T-shirt making its way toward the building. His head
hangs low and he walks slowly but with purpose, conveying untouchable coolness. I am thrilled by the
sight of him, but then disappointed.

How could he just walk away like that?

We had a moment, didn’t we?

We had a moment, he lent me his hoodie, and he left. And now, he’s walking back to class like
nothing happened. Like he never met an interesting, albeit vertically challenged, redhead.

We had a moment, and now Luke Henry from Boston is over it, and I’m gripping my best friend’s
arm so tightly at the sight of his backside that said best friend gives me a look and twists her arm free.

All at once, my morning dips again, and I feel lower than I did when I discovered that my cell
phone was dead. Funny how possibility can lift you. Funny how reality can slam you down.

I watch Luke’s back from twenty feet behind as he strides down the PE corridor, past the locker
rooms and the Driver’s Education and ROTC classrooms, and toward the commons. It’s as if nothing
happened. Nothing at all. And who knows? Maybe it didn’t.

But as Luke Henry rounds the corner and slips out of view, there is one thing I know for sure.
One thing that gives me a glimmer of a shard of a bit of hope that we’ll see each other again.

I’m still wearing his sweatshirt.

“Good day today?” Mom asks when I jump into the Prius.
 “It was okay,” I say, turning on the radio.

“You seem to have survived without your cell phone. Anything interesting happen?” She drives
us out of the school lot and turns toward home.

Shrugging, I say, “A new guy started today.”

My mom glances in my direction, then faces forward. I can tell she’s trying not to smile, but her
efforts aren’t working.

“A cute guy?” she asks. I can’t help but smile, too.

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Luke.”

“Did you talk to him?” she asks.

“A little. We had a fire drill and we ended up standing near each other. He’s pretty cool.”

My mom is quiet a moment, probably sensing that I’m about to put an end to the conversation.
But then, nosy as she will always be, she can’t resist one more question.

“Was he in your notes this morning?” she asks casually. I consider changing the subject or
cranking up the radio even louder, but since she’s one of two people I can talk to about my condition, I
turn to face her in my seat and answer.

“That’s what’s weird!” I say.

“What do you mean?” she asks excitedly.

“Well, he wasn’t in my notes this morning, but I had this whole conversation with him and
everything,” I say. “It was bizarre.”

“Maybe you just forgot to mention him,” Mom offers. We’re turning into our development now.
I shake my head.

“Maybe,” I say, not wanting to discuss him anymore. In truth, I know there’s no way I would
forget to mention Luke Henry.

We’re almost home when my mom’s cell phone rings from the center compartment. “Sorry,
honey, I’ve got to grab this.”

“No problem,” I say, happy to be left alone to daydream.

 In the middle of the night, pen in hand, the hope seeps out of me. Luke’s hoodie is in the
laundry, but his face is almost gone. For three hours, I’ve tried to attach him to my forward memories.
I’ve quizzed myself: Do we share a class? Will we go out? Will I know him for years to come? But with
the clock counting down to 4:33 AM—the time when my mind resets and my memory is wiped clean—I
have to admit that Luke Henry is nowhere to be found.

He’s not in my memory, which means he’s not in my future.

When I finally accept it, the truth stings. But there’s no time to dwell on it, and there are only
two choices: I can remind myself about someone who is not a part of my life, or I can leave him out of
my notes to save myself from going through this all over again tomorrow.

This late, with my mind just minutes from “reset,” it doesn’t seem much of a choice at all. I grit
my teeth and grip the pen and do what I have to do.

I lie to myself.
 3

The house is still; it’s early.

I check out the bedroom, trying to pinpoint differences between two nearly identical pictures:
the one I remember from tomorrow and the scene before me now.

There’s an empty mug with a used tea bag wound around the handle on a coaster on the desk.
There’s a sweatshirt hanging over the edge of the hamper like it’s trying to get out. Tomorrow, the mug
will be gone. There will be textbooks on the desk; the hamper will be empty.

I hold a note that explains what I’ve missed. Well, at least the highlights.

10/17 (Sun.)

Outfit:

—Supersoft boy’s hoodie (Fri. note said I got it from the reject pile at school)

—Black leggings

—Sherpa boots

School:

—Bring Band-Aids for almost-healed blister

—Bring yoga pants, T-shirt for gym (had to borrow awful clothes from Page Fri.)

—CELL PHONE (Mom has it in the car)

Other stuff:

—J was in L.A. this weekend w/her dad

—Avoid Page this week

—Doctor this morning (tripped Fri. in PE)

I set aside the note and read through similar messages from the past week, paying particular
attention to Friday’s comments on clothes and school stuff. Then, still feeling like I’m walking into the
world partially blind, I haul myself from bed and start the day.

On the way to the doctor’s office, Mom takes Hudson Avenue, which cuts through the city
cemetery. At the intersection of Hudson and Washington, we get caught at the light.
 “We’re going to be late,” my mom mutters under her breath. She drums her hands on the
wheel, and I wonder if she’s missing a meeting to drive me.

I loll my head to the right side and scan the graves. They stand in formation, lines running
straight away from me and then curving slightly in the distance.

The light turns green, and as the car speeds up, a movement catches my eye. Two people, a man
and a boy, stop before a tombstone. In my rational brain, I know they’re visiting a lost loved one.
Nothing scary. But something about the mourners makes my shoulders tense and sends a shot of
electricity through my body. I shiver in my seat; my mother doesn’t notice.

“Do you remember what you’re going to say when the doctor asks how this happened?” Mom
asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes,” I reply, grateful for the distraction. “I tripped over a ball in gym class.”

“Good,” she says as we turn into the parking lot. She finds a space and we rush inside. We clear
the lobby quickly and then ride the elevator up two floors in silence. All the while, my mind is still in the
graveyard.
 4

“Doctor’s appointment?”

“Yep,” I say, smiling my most innocent smile at Henne Fassbinder, school secretary and obvious
lover of cats.

She frowns in response as she types something into my computer file with nails so long they’d
have to open a soda can sideways.

I hop a little, hoping she’ll hurry up. I want to get to my locker before class lets out—fewer
opportunities for mistakes that way.

“In a hurry?” Henne asks.

“Nope,” I say, trying another smile. She frowns again.

Finally, Ms. Fassbinder finishes typing and shoves back in her swivel chair. She opens a cabinet
and easily locates the file with my name on it and then inserts the note my mom wrote just minutes ago.

I assume that Ms. Fassbinder will wait until I’m gone to compare today’s handwriting with that
from previous days.

Turning around, I check the industrial clock mounted on the wall behind me. It’s 9:52 AM. The
bell will ring in three minutes, and I’m nervous about that, for some reason. I’ve missed PE, study hall,
and Pre-calc. Not bad.

Finally, the secretary offers me a hall pass and I take it, but not before noticing the tiny
decorative cats affixed to her nails. It looks like they were innocently walking through bright red cement
when it set and trapped them forever.

Poor cats.

I hoist my bag onto my right shoulder and bolt from the office. I speed walk across the
commons—ignoring the “badly bruised” ankle noted on my doctor’s excuse—and start up the main
hallway bordering the library. Halfway there, the end-of-third-period bell rings and I’m swimming
upstream through distracted students, hand-holding couples, and ironclad cliques.

I try to avoid eye contact with everyone, but sometimes it’s impossible. Page Thomas, looking
like a D-list celebrity on her stylist’s day off, approaches from the opposite direction and waves at me
with what I consider to be a little too much enthusiasm. For a beat, I have no idea why she’s so happy to
see me. I shift my bag to my left arm so that I can cordially wave back as we pass.

Then I remember.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
Notwithstanding this, the idea continues to exist and may influence
his actions in a roundabout way, or it may provoke symptoms. The
idea has simply been repressed into the unconscious. Repression
naturally plays a great part, in psychopathology. Every affect has a
tendency to act in a definite direction. Because some one has
insulted me an apparatus (chance apparatus) results in my psyche
which seeks to avenge me, just as the accommodation in the
psychological experiment creates a kind of transient reflex ap 
 38 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY paratus, which, without any
further exertion on the part of my will, responds to the appearance
of a red light with a pressure of the right forefinger on the button, or
like any resolution when formed incites one to put it into execution.
The apparatus is shut off, e.g., through the fact that it has
accomplished its purpose. I have revenged myself, or the experiment
is finished, or it stops because it has lost its purpose, as when I
become reconciled with the person who offended me. According to
the strength of the affect it has a motive power which can be
compared with physical tension of energy. If the motive power is too
weak, or if the function of the apparatus is restrained by external
circumstances of inner opposing forces, then the apparatus with its
"tension," remains inactive. But if new impulses are added to the
same or even to a similar action, the "tension of the apparatus then
becomes reenforced, so that, under certain conditions, it finally
overcomes all obstacles in an explosive manner and like an inhibited
reflex it may even shoot extensively and intensively beyond the aim.
One then conceives the impression of an "accumulation of affects."
Qualitative departure from the original purpose, in the form of
simple mimetic expressions, such as exultation, screaming, or
smashing of an innocent object, may also occur and they suffice to
put the apparatus out of action. One then speaks of a discharge or
abreaction of the affective tension, while the real process consists in
the dismantling of the apparatus in question. For, if the apparatus is
not actually put out of function, it remains throughout life and may
cause in normal people some sort of an incomprehensible readiness
to react explosively to certain experiences; in sick people it may
provoke a variety of symptoms without losing any energy thereby.
This is particularly true if the affective complex has been repressed.
In that case it cannot be shut off by the conscious personality and
may continue unrestricted in the same condition; indeed, through
similar new experiences the complex may even acquire more and
more tension. Exaggerated sensitiveness to fear in an adult may
thus be traced back to a repressed terrifying experience of childhood
which has been furnished with tension from all similar later
experiences, without any knowledge of it on the part of the patient.
Indeed, such an occurrence may produce the tendency to
experience similar things over and over again. Chance apparatus
occur also without any special affects, wherever there is an intention
to do something, even if it is simply a question of finishing some
thought. Secondary experiences and thoughts of the previous day to
which one often pays no attention and which appear in dreams also
belong here. Habit too creates chance mechanism which
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 39 are particularly
difficult to abolish, because they are not set for a definite aim
happening but once and the attainment of which automatically stops
the machine. Affectivity varies greatly in different individuals and
frequently even in the same person at different ages. While every
normal person must call a cat a cat and observe the general rules of
logic in order to get along with his fellow-men and the external
world in general, he may love the cat or consider it a monstrous
animal. The individual's mode of reaction, which primarily expresses
itself in affectivity, is not tied to such narrow standards as logic. It is
for this reason that one may argue, for example, whether or not the
isolated absence of feeling tone in moral concepts is to be looked
upon as pathological. The character of a person is almost exclusively
determined by affectivity: Animated and easily changeable feelings
constitute the sanguine temperament, while persistent and profound
feelings the phlegmatic character; a person who does not accentuate
the concepts of good and evil with pleasure or displeasure, or who
puts a weaker accent on them than on egotistical ideas "has a bad
character." Next to the quality of reactions we must also consider the
rapidity and force of the affects and hence of the impulses. Jealousy,
envy, vanity are characteristics as well as affects. Affectivity is also
responsible for laziness, energy, steadiness, diligence and
carelessness. From what has been said above, the function of
affectivity in our psyche is evident. It determines the direction and
force of action, and through its endurance and irradiation, as well as
through its influence upon the logical functions, it provides
uniformity and emphasis for this action. It especially regulates social
intercourse with our fellowmen. Here it is important to note that we
constantly apprehend and respond instinctively to the most delicate
fluctuations of affects in our fellow-men. We strive for the
pleasurable, which on the whole consists of what is useful to the
individual or the genus. The reverse is true of the displeasurable.
Exceptions to this are concerned with experiences which are quite
rare and therefore do not endanger the existence of the genus, or
with occurrences to which the race has not yet adapted itself
because of lack of time. Thus we find the taste of the beneficial cod
liver oil disagreeable, but that of harmful alcohol pleasant. That
excessive affects may be harmful (paralyzed with fear, blind rage) is
quite obvious. Compared with the daily and hourly occurrences in
which, for example, a very slight anger or slight fear is a help in
overcoming an obstacle, they are rare exceptions which cannot
threaten the existence of the genus.
 40 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY Physical pain assumes a
special position. It accompanies destructive processes in the body
and is localized like a physical sensation. At the same time it is also a
feeling or an affect and has the same significance. It forces us to
direct our attention to injuries of the body and to ward them off
energetically. There are also other "primitive feelings" (v. Monakow) ,
which cannot be clearly separated from our conception, as for
instance hunger. h) Attention Attention is a manifestation of
affectivity. It consists in the fact that certain sensory perceptions and
ideas which have aroused our interest are facilitated and all others
inhibited. If we are performing an important experiment, we only
observe what is relevant to it; everything else is entirely lost to our
senses. If we wish to concentrate on a certain theme we call to our
assistance all appropriate associations and exclude the others. The
greater "clearness" of observation and thoughts to which we direct
attention is merely the expression of the fact that everything
relevant is observed and considered while the irrelevant is
eliminated. Hence in attention the "interest" inhibits and facilitates
the associations in the same way as is ordinarily done by the affects.
The more successfully this is done, the greater is the intensity or the
concentration, and the greater the number of useful associations put
in operation, the greater the extent of attention. A distinction is also
made between tenacity and vigility of attention which are usually,
but not always antagonistic to each other. Tenacity is the ability to
keep one's attention fixed on a certain subject continuously, and
vigility the capacity to direct one's attention to a new object,
particularly to an external stimulus. We must also differentiate
between maximum and habitual attention. Many patients habitually
observe very little, they do not orientate themselves when they go to
an unfamiliar place, etc. But if they are induced to exert their
maximum of attention, they can do this without any difficulties and
sometimes particularly well. If attention is directed by the will, we
designate it as active: if by external occurrences, we call it passive.
Maximum attention will always be active while habitual attention
may be either active or passive. The latter plays a special part in
recording the daily happenings of one's environment. The success of
attention is, of course, not merely dependent on the affect, but also
on the general disposition of the psyche. Some people are not
capable of great concentration although they seem to possess
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 41 a sufficiently strong
and stable affect. Exhaustion, alcoholic effects, and many
pathological states hinder concentration and tenacity. The extent of
attention is, of course, also dependent on the general capacity to
form associations, and it is therefore not as great in people of lesser
intelligence. The opposite of attention is distraction, which shows
two contrasting forms. On the one hand, if a pupil shows a lack of
tenacity in hypervigility he may be designated as distracted if he is
disturbed by every noise, whereas hypertenacity and hypovigility are
characteristics of the absent-minded scholar. A third form, which is
pathological in its more pronounced manifestations, is due to an
insufficient capacity to concentrate. The latter may have an affective
basis, as in the case of neurasthenia, or it may be due to
disturbances in association, as in schizophrenia and certain deliria, or
it may depend on more complicated conditions, such as exhaustion.
Temporary distraction usually originates in a definite situation. It is
self-evident that an affect will hinder the attention from being
focused on something of quite a different nature, as in the case of a
schoolboy who is about to make a trip and has to do his lessons. But
an affect of fear may just as easily transcend beyond the mark and
interfere with even an adequate reflection. In a critical situation
attention often fails us, the ability to concentrate is usually entirely
lacking and frequently also the tenacity, one continually wanders
away from the individual idea, or, like the pupil who is anxiously
tr^nng to complete his lesson, one is distracted by every fly.
Frequently, however, tenacity becomes too great, and the individual
is dominated by one single idea. A process quite analogous to
attention, w^hich is a sort of unconscious and permanent situation
of the latter, is the association readiness. If something occupies us
affectively, then the most various experiences will remind us of it. All
kinds of ideas will find associative connection with this idea, even if
it has not become actual in thought. A person who is afraid of being
arrested will easily be frightened by any one who might in some way
remind him of a detective. The association readiness, like attention,
can also be intentional^ fixed on certain things. Thus I may be
searching for something in a book, but I am also interested in many
other things in the book and therefore read at random, but as soon
as I strike the passage upon which I have fixed, or even something
that is only similar, I associate it with the desired subject. Mere habit
may also produce a sort of association readiness, even if in a
somewhat different sense. Thus a person who is occupied with
 42 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY much proof reading will
easily notice typographical errors in other reading. Even in normal
persons the association readiness often produces deceptions which
are very much like delusions, thus a person with a bad conscience
thinks that he is everywhere the subject of observation. There is also
a negative fixation of attention which plays an important role in
pathology. Here one does not wish — usually unconsciously— ^to
consider certain things, or one refuses to take them into
consideration in reflections. The association hostility makes itself felt
in attention. i) Suggestion ^^ Uniformity of action is not only
necessary for the individual with his various strivings, but even more
for a community of individuals. Animals, even those living in herds,
are apparently unable to communicate to one another ideas of a
predominantly intellectual content. Most of their communications are
about the approach of prey or of danger and, as observation shows,
this is done mainly through affective display, which evokes the same
affects in the other members of the herd. It is only through the
movement of flight or attack of the animal first seized with the affect
that the others learn the direction of the prey or danger. This is
entirely sufiicient for most cases. This affective suggestibility is still
fully present also in man, in spite of his language which has been
more and more developed for intellectual needs. Even the infant
reacts appropriately to affective manifestations, and the adult cannot
remain cheerful when he is among sad people, not because of the
ideas at the basis of the sadness, but because of the affective
display which he perceives. Because of the close connection
between the affect and the ideas to which it belongs and because of
the influence of the affect upon logic, it is self-evident that the ideas
are very easily suggested along with the affect, quite apart from the
fact that the object of this arrangement is surely also to transmit the
ideas. Ideas without an accompanying affect do not act suggestively.
"The greater the emotional value of an idea, the more contagious it
is." ^^ In conscious suggestion, to be sure, we usually deal with a
"pair" of affects instead of a uniform affect; in the sug^Forel, Der
Hypnotismus, 6th Ed., Stuttgart, Enke, 1911. Moll, Der Hypnotismus,
4th Ed., Berlin, Fischer, 1907. ^^The affect, however, may be
present merely in the person subject to suggestion as when a
remark, indifferent in itself, touches an affectively toned complex. A
person with an incurable disease hears about a miraculous cure
spoken of in an indifferent or even disparaging tone, and is
immediately enthused to try it himself.
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 43 gestor there is the
affect of domination, while in the person subject to suggestion the
affect of being dominated or of submissive. Moreover, in natural
suggestions, and even in animals there are also identical as well as
similar reciprocal relationships of affects. Among enemies the fear of
the one increases the courage of the other and vice versa. Not only
thoughts are accessible to suggestion but also perceptions, such as
suggested hallucinations, and all functions controlled by the brain,
i.e. by the affects, such as the "involuntary muscles," the heart, the
glands, etc. The influence of suggestion is therefore much greater
than that of the conscious mill, but it corresponds with that of the
affects. However, the individual suggestion is not of great
importance in the ordinary life of man. Infinitely more important is
the suggestion of the mass, which even the most intelligent person
cannot escape. The swaying of the masses in political and religious
movements is principally done by suggestion, and not by logical
persuasion; frequently it is even quite contrary to logic. A whole
nation is quite incapable of viewing critically, or resisting suggestions
which deal with the instincts and impulses of preservation,
greatness, power, and position. The psychology of the masses has
laws which are quite different from those of individual psychology. A
feeling of community is set in motion only by impulses possessed by
most individuals. The finer feelings which are developed individually
only, cannot come to expression; thus the masses possess another
more primitive morality in the good as well as in the bad sense.
Whereas the feelings become enhanced through agreement, the
individual's logic not only remains without any unified connection of
the mass, but it is hindered by it; at most the mass permits it only a
subservient part. Reflection, reasoning, and the creation of great
intellectual and spiritual values of the mass or of a people originate
more from dereistic thinking. Due to elementary suggestibility the
"leader" in the crowd attains great power in the discovery and
accomplishment of ideas. But sometimes he is only the one who
most definitely, most consciously, or most forcibly perceives the
chaotic ideas created by the people, he is merely the focus of the
mass psyche. The more the community increases in numbers, the
more and more does the guiding force become impelled by obscure
instincts, which are not clear to any individual and of which the
majority never becomes conscious. They are likewise difficult to
grasp objectively and resemble much more the evolutionary
tendencies of the vegetative or animal organism, or sudden
migrations of animal species, than actions with a conscious aim.
Each individual of a certain race or period possesses the same
tendencies, which burst forth -^"ith irre 
 44 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY sistible power and stubborn
persistency from the "collective unconscious," of which the generally
known "spirit of the age" is a partial manifestation. In chronological
succession crowd psychology expresses itself in traditions, legends,
and similar mechanisms ; only what is common to the various
generations is selected and retained. Suggestion has the same
significance for a community as the affect for the individual. It
makes for a uniform striving and provides it with power and
endurance. Simple habits, as well as examples, can exert very much
the same influence as actual suggestion. One does what one is
accustomed to do without any other reason; one likes to do as other
people do without much thought or feeling in the matter. In the
latter case, to be sure, suggestion, particularly mass suggestion,
may easily be a contributing factor. Viewed from another angle, habit
also appears in the form of Pawlow's association of reflexes
(conditioned reflexes), in which, for instance, secretion of saliva is
associated with the sounding of a certain tone, by letting this note
sound a few times at the time of nourishment. These mechanisms
must theoretically be clearly differentiated from suggestion, although
in reality they are frequently mixed. We also speak of
autosuggestion, but this is merely a name for the effects of
affectivity upon one's own logic and bodily function. It is of greater
importance in pathology. Suggestibility is artificially increased in
states of hypnosis which are themselves produced by suggestion. In
hypnosis the associations are so limited that one only perceives and
thinks what the suggestor wishes, that is, as far as the test person is
able to understand his wishes. On the other hand, the psyche has
far more power over the voluntary associations than ordinarily. The
hypnotized person will guess what is expected of him far better than
the normal person. He can utilize sensory impressions which would
be too weak for him in the ordinary state. He can imagine things so
vividly that he hallucinates them, but on the other hand, he is able
to shut off completely from his psyche actual sensory impressions
("negative hallucinations"). He has memories at his disposal of which
he ordinarily does not know anything. He frequently also controls in
a striking manner the vegetative functions, such as heart action, the
vasomotors, the intestinal movement. All these processes may also
be continued beyond the time of hypnosis, if desired (posthypnotic
effects). Negative suggestibility is the counterpart of the positive.
Just as we have an impulse to follow the suggestion of others, we
have as primary an impulse not to follow or to do the opposite.
Children at a certain age often manifest this negative suggestibility
in pure form.
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 46 In general, we see it
very distinctly in people who have a strong positive suggestibility,
one reason perhaps being that both kinds of suggestibility are two
sides of the same characteristic, but also because one is in greater
need of protection through the negative suggestibility, the greater
the danger of becoming a prey to the positive. The appearance of
negative impulses beside the positive is of the greatest importance.
It prevents us from too easily becoming the sport of suggestions, it
protects the child in particular against an excess of influences, it
forces the adult to reflect, and it makes self-assertion possible at
every stage of life. k) Dereistic ^^ Thinking Whenever we playfully
give free reign to our phantasy, as happens in mythology, in dreams
or in some pathological states, our thoughts are either unwilling or
unable to take cognizance of reality and follow paths laid out for
them by instincts and affects. It is characteristic of this "dereistic
thinking," ''the logic of feeling" (Stransky), that it totally ignores any
contradictions with reality. Thus the child and sometimes the adult
fancy themselves in their day dreams as heroes or inventors or
something else great; in one's night dreams one can realize the most
impossible wishes in the most adventurous manner; and in his
hallucinatory state the schizophrenic day laborer marries a princess.
Mythology finds it quite natural to allow the Easter rabbit to lay eggs
simply because it happens that rabbits and eggs have one thing in
common, namely, they are both sacred to the goddess Ostara as
symbols of fruitfulness. The paranoid finds a piece of thread in his
soup which proves his relationship to Miss Threadway. Reality which
does not fit in with such modes of thinking is frequently not only
ignored, but actively split off, so that, in these connections at least, it
is no longer possible to think in terms of reality. Thus the day laborer
as the fiance of the princess, is no longer a day laborer, but the Lord
of Creation or some other great personage. In the sober-minded
forms of dereistic thinking, particularly in day dreams, there is very
little disregard or transformation of actual situations, and only few
absurd associative connections formed. On the other hand, dreams,
schizophrenia, and to some extent mythology", exercise far greater
freedom in dealing with the thought material, where, for example, a
God may give birth to himself. In these forms dereism goes so far as
to destroy the most common concepts: Diana of Ephesus is not
Diana of Athens, Apollo is split into several personalities, now he
blesses and now he kills, he is a fructifier and he is an artist; indeed,
* Derived from de and reor (away from reality, unrealistic).
 46 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY he may even be a woman
although he is ordinarily a man. The interned schizophrenic demands
damages in a sum of gold which would exceed the mass of our
entire solar system a trillion times. A female paranoid calls herself
free Switzerland, because she should be free. Similarly in other
cases, symbols are treated like realities, and different concepts are
condensed into one. Persons appearing in dreams of normal people
usually have features of several acquaintances ; a normal woman
without being aware of it speaks of the "hind-legs" of her small
child, which was due to the fact that she had fused it with a frog.
Dereistic thinking realizes our wishes, but also our fears. It makes
the playing boy a general, and the girl with her doll a happy mother.
In religion it satisfies our longing for eternal life, for justice and joy
without sorrow. In the fairy tale and in poetry it gives expression to
all our complexes. In dreams it serves to represent the person's
most secret wishes and fears. For the abnormal person it creates a
reality which is far more real to him than what we call reality. It
makes him happy in his delusion of greatness, and absolves him
from blame if he fails in his aspirations, by attributing the cause to
persecutions from without, rather than to his own short-comings. If
the results of dereistic thinking seem to be sheer nonsense when
measured by realistic logic, still, as an expression or fulfilment of
wishes, as a provider of consolation, and as symbols for other
things, they possess a kind of realistic value, a "psychic reality" in
the above defined sense.^* Besides the affective needs, the
intellectual ones may also be satisfied in dereistic thinking; but as
yet we know very little about them. Thus in mythology, the sun
which travels across the sky has feet or rides in a carriage. In a
certain sense, however, all "needs" are affective. At any rate,
affectivity plays an important role in dereistic thinking when it
attempts to give us information regarding the origin of the world and
the structure of the universe. In its full development dereistic
thinking seems to be different in principle from empirical thinking.
But in reality one finds all the transitions, from the slight deviation
from acquired associations as is necessary in every conclusion drawn
by analogy, to the wildest phantasy. For, within certain limits,
independence of habitual trends of thought is a preliminary condition
of intelligence, which strives to find new paths. And the effort to
fancy oneself into new situations, day dreams and similar
occupations are indispensable exercises of the intelligence. **Cf. p.
7.
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 47 To he sure, the
contents and aims of such unbridled mental activities always
represent strivings which most deeply touch our innermost nature. It
is therefore quite obvious that dereintic aims are valued much higher
than real advantages, which can be replaced.^'-' This not only
explains the peculiar barbarities of religious wars, but we can also
understand why primitives are fettered with taboo rules, and similar
superstitions, and why they exert the most painstaking efforts not to
leave a particle of their food which could give an enemy the chance
to practice harmful magic on them. We can also see why we find it
difficult to understand how the savage is willing to bear such
burdensome regulations, even if we compare them with Chinese or
European rules of etiquette. It will be interesting to trace the
circumstances which determine so marked a deviation of thinking
from reality: 1. We think dereistically wherever our knowledge of
reality is insufficient for practical needs or our impulse for knowledge
urges us to keep on thinking; this happens in problems referring to
the origin and purpose of the world and of mankind, in problems
dealing with God, the origin of diseases, or evil in general, and how
it can be avoided. The greater our knowledge of the actual
relationships, the less room there remains for such forms of thinking.
Questions, such as how winter and summer come about, how the
sun traverses the sky, how the lightning is flashed, and a thousand
other things, which were formerly left to mythology, are now
answered through realistic thinking. 2. Wherever reality seems
unbearable it is frequently eliminated from our thinking. Delusions,
dreamlike wish fulfilments in twilight states, and neurotic symptoms,
which represent a wish fulfilment in symbolic form, originate in this
way. 3. If the different co-existing ideas do not converge in the one
point of the ego to form a logical operation, the greatest
contradiction can exist side by side, there is no question of any
critique. Such conditions are present in unconscious thinking and
perhaps also in some delirious states. 4. In the forms of associations
prevailing in dreams and in schizophrenia the affinities of empirical
thinking are weakened. Any other associations directed by more
accidental connections, such as symbols, sounds, etc., obtain the
upper hand, but this is especially true of those guided by affects and
all kinds of strivings. 1) Belief, Mythology, Poetry, Philosophy Belief is
closely related both to suggestion and to dereistic thinking. The
word "to believe" has two meanings: "To accept something as true
'^Cf. the next chapter on "Belief."
 48 TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHIATRY without logical proof," and
"to consider something as probable." We confine ourselves here to
the former concept. The greatest creeds in religion, politics, theories
of social position, esthetics, etc., are maintained almost entirely
through suggestion. Suggestion is above all responsible for the
uniformity in forms and details, and to some extent also for the
motive power of belief. The origin of belief always proceeds in
accordance with the laws of the affective mental stream in dereistic
thinking. The several great creeds serve as a definite gratification of
general affective needs, and for this reason they are so easily
suggestible and possess such great power that in most cases one
assumes these ideas without any logical realitic value. We wish to
know that something happens after death ; we wish to feel that we
can influence fate. The beatiis possidetis who, in the face of misery,
wishes to establish his position on moral grounds, acts in the same
way; and the sick person who wishes to become well and therefore
believes in the quack follows the same mechanism. We also
differentiate between belief and superstition; the latter contains a
great deal of magic which operates with unknown forces, while
belief has to do more with religion which deals with our relations to
a higher being. But viewed psychologically, there is principally no
difference between them ; the main difference lies in the valuation
which is measured by different standards. Belief becomes
pathological only when it dominates the psyche far too much and
when it glaringly conflicts with the logical faculties and eventually
also with the views of the individual. But from this alone, and
without other supporting points I should not like to make a
diagnosis. The name of prejudice is applied to false belief or to
superstition, when it does not refer contently to matters of religion,
or to one's relationship to fate. This varies from the prejudices of the
people in the recent war to the prejudice of one individual for
another. Prejudice may at first actually be based on a mere hasty
judgment; but it can only derive its power from affective sources by
way of dereism or suggestion. Poetry and mythology satisfy the
same need as belief, with the difference that the former lays no
more claim to direct realistic value than the day dreams of normal
people. Philosophy differs very little from it, in so far as it actually is
pure philosophy. (For there are some real sciences classified under
this name, such as the deduction of logical and esthetic laws, the
theorj^ of cognition, etc.) The current explanations of the optimistic
and pessimistic theories as a characteristic expression of the
philosophers originating them, perhaps most clearly demonstrate the
subjectivity of philosophy.
 PSYCHOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION 49 m) The Personality,
The Ego Most of our psychic functions have a continuity, in so far as
the experiences become connected with one another through
menriory, and in so far as they unite with a very firm and constantly
present complex of memory pictures and ideas, namely, the ego, or
the personality. To be exact, the ego consists of the engrams of all
our experiences plus the actual psychism. By this, of course, we
must not merely understand passive experiences, but also all our
former and present volitions and strivings; the ego thus really
comprises our entire past in a very abbreviated form. Still, not all of
these constituents have the same value. At a given moment most of
them recede until they lose all effectiveness, that is, they are not
ekphorized ; others are usually, or always present. The composition
of the ego of individual memory images, may be compared to the
"public" in a certain restaurant; individual frequenters may come and
go, some are constant visitors, others come frequenth', and still
others have visited the place only a few times. It is true that I have
learned to extract square roots but in my present activity this
knowledge is almost altogether latent. Certain ideas, however, such
as who we are, what we have been, and what we are now, what we
strive for in life, must be constantly more or less clearly present.
They are part of the directive power of our daily actions. The fact
that a student goes to the class at the right time is not merely
determined by the idea of the hour and his schedule, but among
other things also by that of wishing to study, and by the point at
which he has arrived in his study. Thus personality is not something
changeable. The component parts of its ideas change constantly in
accordance with momentary aims, but also in accordance with
experiences. There is still a greater distinction between the strivings
of the man and those of the child; and the destinies of life such as
depression determined b3' inner causes and even toxic influences
(alcohol) may, within a very short time completely transform the
affective part of the personality, which in some respects is the more
important. In a similar manner as in severe psychoses, the
personality may go to pieces in the dream. Some parts of it fall away
and are replaced by others that are quite foreign to it. Thus a
dreamer who in ordinary life is unassuming may feel himself as
being King David, a gentle person may commit a murder, and a
hard-hearted man may wallow in benevolence. We also often
attribute to the person a special personal consciousness or a " self -
consciousness." ^'^ These two expressions contain two ^^ In
popular psychology the expression ''self-consciousness" has a
different but important meaning, namely, estimation of oneself. I"
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