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You’ve Got To Help Me

The ultimate confrontation for me was one of my individual therapy patients from the police department. He had a significant alcohol abuse problem. The family dynamics among himself, his wife and his kids was horrendous, extraordinarily pathological and violent.

I get a call. There was a problem at his house. He was inside, wouldn’t come out, had been drinking, and obviously has multiple firearms. I know this guy has a high potential for violence. I call in the response team, but I want him to trust me. They agree that the bulk of the tactical team will be in a parking lot a couple blocks away.

So I have the flak vest on and am walking up to his door, thinking to myself, He’s going to shoot me. I was thinking about the time I was married, about my family, my parents, my friends. I was thinking, I can’t believe that I just can’t turn around and go back. I’m going to get shot.

I get up to the door, swallow, turn around and wave to these guys. I knock on the door.

He opens. My heart is pounding. He opens the door and looks totally normal.

“Scott, I’m glad to see you. You’ve got to help me. Come on in.”

Ha. Meanwhile I’ve got my vest on.

He immediately see that and goes, “God, you know, I’m really sorry that you thought I was going to hurt you.”

“Well, you know George, with your temper.” I’m laughing, probably manic, silly at this point.

He’s huge with two sons bigger than he is, college football linemen, who would get in brawls in the front yard.

Driving home afterwards. I was thinking, I don’t think tactical knows who was involved. We didn’t get into trouble with the district. I didn’t get shot. Nobody got hurt.

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