How I Learned About Intimacy From Two Murderers

There's a sweet spot in the dark places that's ripe with intimacy, just waiting for us to simply turn towards it. That's all it needs. It will then do its work.

I've discovered this many times in my life, but one of my most potent experiences was when I was completing my Master's in Forensic Psychology. It was my final semester, and I was doing an internship at Kirby Forensic Psychiatric Center: a maximum security facility housing people who'd committed violent crimes, and were either found Not Guilty by reason of Insanity, or who were currently found mentally unfit to stand their own trials. I was 23 years old.

I'd earned the internship because my GPA was high, and I already had experience working therapeutically with violent juveniles. I also had experience helping to run Drama Therapy workshops inside of a women's prison. I assisted one of my professors two summers in a row. And Kirby had yet to implement Drama Therapy on their roster of arts therapies. So would I be willing to run a group? Bright eyed, and ready to impress, and absolutely NOT wanting to have to write a research paper in lieu of securing an internship: I said absolutely.

Now, I felt like hot shit. I was in charge of running the group. The only Master's level intern to Run a group, rather than assist. My assistant was the Doctoral level intern and at least 10 years older than me. I sat proudly in front of the group of about 12 patients, also all at least 10 years older than me, if not much more. All with violent histories due to psychosis, including assault and murder.

I was bubbling on about my vision for the group and how I was expecting them to participate, etc etc. I had my notes written out. I was dressed in a crisp professional outfit. I brightly asked if anyone had any questions. That's when the largest member of our group - a hulking, brooding, big shouldered, too big for the chair he sat in, man - raised his hand and spoke slowly, and with authority, in a thick Russian accent: "Yes, I have a question. Why should we be listening to you?" He looked directly into my eyes.

It suddenly sunk deeply into my awareness that there were no guards in the room. If someone got violent, we were to push a phone receiver off a phone on the wall and try to hold our own until help arrived. I remembered, suddenly, how one of the doctors had been killed recently from a patient stabbing him in the neck with a pen he had pulled out of the doctor's own pocket. I realized that my assistant was no match in size for the man burning a hole in my head with his stare; and if we managed to make it to the phone on the wall, this man could kill me before help arrived. And yes, he was in the facility on murder charges.

In a split second I had to assess my next move: which my gut was gently telling me, despite the rest of my bodily turmoil, connect to him. Why SHOULD he be listening to you? This is just a man with an actually very legitimate question sitting politely before you. He's been listening. He's interested enough to ask more of you.

And so I looked back, directly into his eyes, and talked about my previous experience... but then I simply got real. I said: But listen everyone - you all know I'm a student here doing an internship. They've asked me to run this group because I do have real experience doing it - but, I'm actually here to learn. So, I want to learn as much from all of you as I hope that you'll learn from me. And I'll be honored to guide all of you through the program I've put together, but I'm actually really looking forward to what you'll have to teach me. ...And I realized as I said these things - they were true. They came from the dark center of my gut, who's voice comes through so clearly when our whole body is activated in survival moments such as these. And they made so much more sense than to have me be another authority figure setting out rules and protocols for all of them (although yes, rules were laid down).

The hulking man who had murdered people sat back, more relaxed, and nodding. He now trusted me enough to listen to what I had to say. And the rest of the group was leaning more fully in as well. I loved that group, and we ended up really getting to play full out together and explore the art of truth in performance.

Now, the story has a nice ending there - BUT, there is more. Also in the group was a female murderer from Russia. And the two fell in love working together in my group. She wrote poetry (beautiful, intriguing words of deep longing); and he played the piano for her as accompaniment while she recited her words aloud. There was passion and torment in their performance. There was respect and admiration between the two of them.

Having the narcissistic traits that this man did, he pulled me aside one day to tell me that I should know that he felt my group was stupid and beneath him as a pianist (it became clear early on that he could not read music, and had beginner skills... but that's another story). The only reason he is continuing to attend is for Her. And it was so touching, and so beautiful to witness his heart emerging, his heart leading him, that I simply told him so: That's beautiful. Thank you for offering your support to Her. I can tell how happy she is to have you with her. And those words were true.

Now, come performance time: when we were doing a showcase for the whole hospital, including patient family members - he was nowhere to be seen. And his love came running up to me with tears in her eyes: He's not coming! He said he's not coming! I cannot read my poetry without him and my parents are here!

Thankfully for all of us, Love was running the show. It had been for awhile. I was no longer in charge - so I said, Oh he's coming. Don't you worry. And I marched up to his sleeping quarters, where he was sitting angrily on his bed, and sighed in frustration when he saw me storming in through the door. I told all the staff to Leave Us Alone. I Need To Speak To Him. (Again, not me. That intimacy doing its work). And the staff left. And I went and sat right next to him, beside him on the bed. No alert phones anywhere in immediate reach.

What are you doing? I asked softly. He looked down at his feet. He couldn't look me in the eye now. He was afraid, but instead of admitting that, he said: It's all stupid. It's beneath me. I don't want anyone knowing I'm involved in your stupid group.

I asked: Is she beneath you? He didn't answer.

I said: She's down there right now crying because you made a promise to her, and you've left her. She wants to share her hard work with her parents, and you're a part of that. Are you going to let all this "it's stupid" keep you from keeping your word to her? (or I said something along those lines...)

He remained looking at his shoes and sighed a deep sigh. Then he looked back up. He looked me in the eye again. He said: Ok. I will do it. I will do it for her.

We exited the room together. I stood near him, close to him the whole way down to the cafeteria where we were performing. He needed support but would never ask for it. I would have held his hand or put my arm around him in a different setting, but standing close, almost touching, was enough.

When she saw him, her face lit up and she smiled and wiped away her tears and thanked him for deciding to be with her. They gave a powerful performance. I'm not sure what others felt or thought about it. But for me, witnessing the great courage it took for both of them to be so pure and intimate with each other - it was a performance I will never forget.

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