Chris [01 Sep 2001|07:34pm] Dear Journal Well that's how I'm supposed to start one of these things, isn't it? Takes me back a bit -God, how old was I when I started my first one? Too many years have gone by to remember or care, Keel. If memory serves me well it was full of useless junk anyway. Which is pretty much what's going to happen with this one. It was full of futile facts like which girl I'd made out with or the b… whoa there, Chris. Don't tell them everything - even diaries have secrets. I did that this morning. Told them all. Spilled the beans, laid my thoughts for all to see out onto the table, so that they could go away and cogitate about my inner most feelings. And now they want it in black and white. A journal of my daily thoughts and actions - no shit Sherlock - is supposed to help relieve the anxieties and tensions that are created by the job. It was Doctor, what's-his-name, oh yeah, Mathew Twain's idea. Actually, Doctor Twain was not your typical psychologist. He didn't wear the formal check jacket and stuffy shirt, just a casual t-shirt. Mind, an expensive one - I know designer when I see it. I should do, it's all Sam ever wears. My partner's a walking clotheshorse; never known someone to be so, what's the word…decisive about what he wears. Only the very best for our Sam. But then that would explain why he's partnered with me. Well, Doctor Twain, if you have it flaunt it. Anyway, back to the session. I think the clothing was a red herring, meant to lull me into a false sense of security. It didn't work. I'm too highly trained to even begin to think about falling for visual manipulation. No, no, no, for me it's just a game. A complete 'waste of my time' type of game. So why do I go, you may well ask? Well, believe me I put up a fairly good fight. Unlike my partner, I find it hard to keep my mouth closed when I don't agree with what's being asked of me. So Malone felt the sharp end of my tongue regarding the matter of Psychological Assessments. He listened, as he does every six months when I go off the deep end and rant and rave. And, as usual, I lose. I have an inane sense of victory in that at least I have made a protest. So there I was today, sitting in this very large, very soft leather chair with Dr Twain sitting opposite me. It's the kind of seat that's supposed to relax me, sell me the illusion that I am safe. A haven to share my deepest thoughts and anxieties. Excuse me! But what they fail to see or understand is that I'm selling to them. Selling the words that they want to hear, not the reality of my life. So I talked and he ticked away at his little boxes. Each little box probably making decisions about me, about my thoughts and feelings and my life. All of them wrong, of course, I feed them what I want them to hear. They wouldn't be able to cope with what's really locked up inside my mind. Hell, sometimes I'm not so sure I could myself, if I dared to unlock the box - a proverbial Pandora's box. There are some things that should be left well and truly buried. So, what do we have, Dr Twain? Let's see: a) emotionally vulnerable - that's always a good one. b ) aggressive - you try being in this job and play Joe nice all the time. c) anti-establishment - okay you can use that one but only in regard to the Met. The biggest bunch of…go on say it, Chris, you know you want to. Okay, wankers, a wonderful word I've learnt courtesy of my partner. Hey that felt good. Maybe this diary thing isn't such a bad idea after all. post comment

Sam [01 Sep 2001|08:45pm] You know the thing I really, really hate about psych exams? I mean, apart from the fact that they sit across from you, asking you those probing questions, trying to get inside your head while you try to keep them out. Only you can't try too hard, can you? Because if you do, they start to worry about what you're hiding. As though everyone doesn't have some secrets. No, what I really hate is how fucking superior they are. They're not just content with trying to see what's in your head, they're also interested in controlling it. And no, I'm not indulging in paranoid delusions. I don't mean controlling you, although I sometimes feel that nothing would make them happier than having their own little puppet. "Sit, Mr Curtis. Roll over, Mr Curtis. Lie down and die, Mr Curtis, like a good little CI5 Agent." No, what I mean, I suppose, is that they ask questions to get a reaction, and they tailor the questions to get the reaction they want. And that is psychology. Take today. Our six monthly psychological appraisal to ensure that we are as fit mentally as we are physically. Somehow I think that this is one of those jobs where a sign on the wall saying, 'You don't have to be mad to work here - but it helps!' wouldn't go down very well with Doctor Jackson and her colleagues. Pity. She's tasty. Just no bloody sense of humour so even if I could get into her knickers it wouldn't last. She'd bore the pants off me in no time - and not in a good way. I wonder if she's ever going to read this? She said not, but when has that ever stopped the upper echelons of CI5 doing what they want? She said, and I quote, 'Perhaps you should consider keeping a journal, Mr Curtis.' I was half of a mind to ask her why I'd want to do something that daft, and when was I supposed to find the time? Then she droned on about coping mechanisms or some such crap, and about how they would be completely confidential etc etc etc. They. I asked Chris about it afterwards and he said that he'd been asked to keep one by the idiot he'd seen too. Needless to say, Chris was hardly complimentary about the whole experience. I think he hates these appraisals more than I do. Seems that CI5's shrinks are concerned that many agents don't have an outlet for the pressures of life in the field. Can't talk to their loved ones (do these people actually believe we have lives outside CI5?) Can't talk to friends because of confidentiality, and sometimes can't talk to their partners. And there's a reluctance to use the 'resources available within CI5' (her words, not mine) in case it's perceived by the powers that be as not being up to the task. So I guess this is the latest in psychiatric practice. Get the patients to treat themselves through the use of journals. Why can't I get paid to think up crap like that? Still, wouldn't mind a few 'sessions' with Jackson though. post comment

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