Obsessed Read Online Free Page A

the train do the job. Even survived to tell about it.
    Though an obsession with limb amputation was rare, the syndrome had a name—apotemnophilia. The phrase had been coined by an expert in sexuality at Johns Hopkins. Apotemnophilia victims, he wrote, wanted to cut off their limbs so they could have better sex. The suffix philia grouped it with the psychosexual disorders that the average person thinks of as perversions. Emily and I had discussed whether this diagnosis fit Mr. Black. To both of us, the way he talked about his desire for amputation seemed more about being stuck in the wrong body—body dysmorphia—than about sexual desire.
    â€œAnd how do you think things will be different after the operation?” Emily asked.
    â€œMuch better. Infinitely. With this”—he stretched out a perfectly normal-looking arm—“I know how odd I look.” He crossed his other arm over the one he despised.
    â€œSo you think your arm makes you look deformed?”
    â€œIt doesn’t belong there.”
    â€œUm-hmm.”
    â€œI don’t feel right, and it’s all I think about. It’s cost me my marriage. My job.”
    â€œYour boss fired you because of your arm?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat’s what he said?”
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œSome mumbo-jumbo about inadequate job skills. I didn’t swallow it for a minute.”
    â€œDid he offer you job training?”
    He shrugged. “It wasn’t about that. I could’ve learned the goddamned computer shit. It was about this , not that.”
    â€œBut they’d promoted you before.”
    â€œOut of pity. That’s all it was. They felt sorry for me so they gave me the promotion. But I know the truth. No one can stand to look at me. I’ve never had a healthy relationship with anyone. It’s why my wife left me. How could she make love to someone as deformed as I am? Not when I’ve got this thing that doesn’t belong to me. I get such an overwhelming sense of despair sometimes.” He glanced quickly up at Emily, then back down. “I don’t want to die, but there are times I don’t want to keep living in a body that doesn’t feel like my own.”
    â€œI’m sorry—” Emily started.
    â€œI don’t need your pity,” he said, spitting out the words. “I just need to fix what’s wrong with me. It’s so simple. Why is it such a big deal?”
    â€œThink about what it’s going to mean,” Emily said. “You cut off your arm, you won’t be able to write, shake hands.”
    He blinked at her, as if unsure how to respond. Then he seemed to stare right at me with a look of loathing. I realized he was looking at himself in the one-way glass.
    â€œIf I had a great big nose, no one would think twice if I got a nose job. And what about all those Hollywood actors who get half their body fat suctioned away? My brother rubs Rogaine into his scalp every day and no one tells him he’s nuts.”
    â€œThose are different, and I think you know that.”
    â€œMy brother actually suggested maybe what I needed instead of an amputation was a new car. After his divorce he got himself a Hummer.” Mr. Black rolled his head around so the bones in his neck cracked. “You drive a red Miata. Isn’t that about the same thing?”
    Emily opened her mouth. She seemed at a loss for words. Course correction …I tried to telegraph the thought. Therapy is about the patient, not the doctor. This was classic resistance. Mr. Black was using this remark to shift the focus onto the therapist. The next thought wouldn’t have occurred to me if Emily hadn’t been stalked: How the hell did Mr. Black know she drove a red Miata?
    â€œAre you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to change your mind later.”
    â€œI know what I want. I’ve known it ever since I was