In the transference Peter spoke of himself as an object in need of care: ‘my stomach hurts’, ‘I have a pain in my neck’, ‘I have a cold’, ‘I don’t feel well’. He spoke to me in the language of sighs, groans, and a haunting laughter which served his need to be emptied of agitated desire and to elicit my acute attention. He rubbed his hands, looked at his fingers, flopped his body around as if it were a sack. As I came to realize that this was not obsessive rumination which served as a resistance, but a secret discourse recalled from the culture of his earliest relations to his mother, he found
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Such a good example of seeing the action in the session.
