Psychotherapy first came to me as a new word of fuzzy concepts when I was still in China, a word that still reminds me of a Chinese university professor in the philosophy department who got his master's degree in psychology from Boston College in the 1950s. His overseas experience had earned him enough misery and misfortunes by the time I met him. It goes without saying that his misery peaked, like everyone else, during the Cultural Revolution. So, when the 1980s came, he was thrilled to witness that college kids started to fascinate in Sigmund Freud in particular and psychology in general. He took it that maybe those young and sensitive hearts couldn't bear the pain that made the hearts of their parents, grandparents and older brothers and sisters bleed. Anyway, the professor would talk until white foam came out of his mouth about the blank field that is psychology in our country and culture, damn it.
One day the professor met a visiting scholar from the U.S. whose field matched his old major exactly, "psychotherapy" came down like an avalanche of syllables out of his mouth which could only pronounce that word in his dreams for years... Thanks to the professor's shouting and other episodes in my life, "psychotherapy" has become a little compass which points my mind to a certain direction whenever I have time to mumble to my sweet self.
We Chinese have been relying on amateur psychotherapists, if they are any at all, for a good part of our life which is torn between sound mental health and psychiatric ward. We are proud of the tradition of our extended family and the network of friends, relatives, high school and college classmates we keep around for not only social advancement, access to resources and conveniences, but also for our psychological well-being. When we feel frustrated, that happens too often I may add, we talk to family members and friends, or to anyone we know and who is willing to listen. That's nice. When we are confronted with despair, emergency, life-and-death situations, we call upon the same group for help. We are thankful and proud to have them when in need.
And what about pain, horrific pain, pain of the unbearable variety, caused by unspeakable social taboos, such as incest and homosexuality? You can't tell me with a straight face that things such as these don't exist in China. Get real, my friend, of course they do and we have plenty of this kind of massive and destructive pain. "I see them. I see them with four eyes," as the professor shouted while cleaning his glasses and hands trembling, "and with tears coming out of two of them at times."
It should surprise no one to realize that there is this risk of exposing our hearts at vulnerable moments to amateur treatments or mistreatments really. Some amateurs might as well be patients themselves; they never fail to provide misleading guidance and even harmful advice which could lead to real trauma, as if more is need. There are explosions in our hearts which we feel but fail to acknowledge in the daily basis. You know what I mean, my friend.
Strange yet is that suicide rate is not that particularly high in China, as compared to other nations. Maybe we have grown so accustomed to suffering in so many other aspects of our pitiful life that our psychological state of mind becomes insignificant thus ignorable. However, when some of the most sensitive hearts get exposed to a new culture, things happen in the glorious forms of homicide and suicide. Or was it only yesterday that we discovered that we can't treat each other right; we lash out at those with whom we share the same illness. Or we try to point fingers to those who share the same background and say, "Look, those are the aggressors and I am the victim." Yeah, right.
Maybe it is something concerning only living standards. When we could not get our daily bread, psychotherapy bears the implication of laughable illusion and annoying eccentricity. Only now folks in China are allowed to go after money in a full-blitz manner, and you can bet that it will be a while for them to pay to see a professional psychotherapist.
But what about us? I mean those of us who have migrated to live in a different culture, enjoying or suffering through a different way of life, what do we do with our mental health?
I always think that, if I live long enough, I will open a clinic in the most depressing city in China with flowers and comfortable chairs for those fatigued hearts. But I have no training in psychotherapy, nor do I wish to venture into any depressing city, something that covers quite a territory in China, does it not?
February, 1996