he personality test is 200 questions long. It consists of statements to which you reply yes, no, or maybe. For example: "At a party, you have no problem starting a conversation with a stranger." I say yes. There are more curious, more loaded questions. For example: "Sometimes life seems vague and unreal to me." I mean, yes, sure, but not usually, so should I check maybe? What will that say about me? But the question says "sometimes," and if I am literal about this, I should check yes. (I check yes.)
"We should tell you that what this measures is not so much your actual personality as what you think about your personality."
"Okay. That makes sense."
We are seated across from each other at a small table in a room that looks very much like a library. A library with thousands of copies of three different books, all displayed in the bookshelves lining the walls. The man places a line graph in front of me. On it, certain personality traits are scored from 0 to 100 (for positive traits) or from 0 to -100 (for negative traits). So, for example, I score high in the categories of "Creativity" and "Emotional Expressiveness." In the category "Depression," I score a -40. Around that figure, someone has drawn a little flowery circle in red pen, like a cloud.
The man adjusts himself in his seat. I keep saying "the man," but that's hardly accurate. He looks 18, maybe 20. He has freckles and fuzzy black caterpillar eyebrows that move when he speaks. He nods a lot. He stares at me intently, with concern.
"Sarah, what are you going to do about your depression?" There is no irony about him.
"Umm." I'm not quite ready for this. "Drinking comes to mind."
"Oh, I hear that." He laughs. "But seriously. You're depressed. Have you sought help?"
"Do you mean like therapy?"
"Well, we both know there's a lot of alternatives these days. But yeah, therapy comes to mind."
"Yeah, I've tried talk therapy."
He scrunches his freckled nose. "Didn't work for you?"
"No, I liked it. But it's expensive. With my income, I guess I consider it a luxury."
"I hear that. Do you take medication?"
I don't.
"Good, good. Have you ever?"
I haven't.
"Good, good. So the question I have for you is this: What's keeping you down, Sarah?"
"I guess ... I don't feel kept down."
There is a silence. I feel like I should say something.
"Let's look at this Irresponsibility," he says, turning the graph toward him so he can see. Of all my negative traits, my worst is Irresponsibility. I scored a -95.
"You're really irresponsible," he says.
"I'm almost 100% irresponsible."
"What's going on there?"
"I don't know. I ... I've never thought of myself that way."
"No one does. But you know, there is a course that I think could really help you out."
"How much does it cost?"
"I think with materials and books and such ..." He does math in his head. "Like $39.95."
"Okay, I wanna be straight with you. I'm driving around the country right now, and I'm broke, and I won't be in town to do any course."
"How long are you in town?"
"A week."
"That's perfect."
"It is?"
"Because if you did --" He catches himself. "I'm sorry, when you do just a couple hours a day, you'll be through Dianetics in a week, totally refreshed for the rest of your travels."
"You know, I am curious about Scientology, and that's part of why I'm here, but I don't have $40."
"It's a lot of money. I agree."
"Yeah, and you know, maybe I'd buy a book or something, that would be more my style, but I just want to tell you right now that I'm not going to take a course for $40."
"Because you're careful with your money."
"I have to be."
"But when you think about it, what is $40? A dinner and a movie? A new shirt?"
"Maybe for you."
"No, listen, Sarah. I've got $4 in my pocket right now."
"Then you understand." I put my purse around my shoulder. "Listen, thanks for everything --"
His eyes deepen, his smile fades. "You're acknowledging me," he says.
"Acknowledging you?"
"'Thanks for your time, I gotta go, and so on.' No, it's fine. I don't take it personally. But Sarah, I'm looking at your chart here, and I'm wondering how I can help you. I'm a caring person. I care about you, and I can't just let you back out on the streets."
"You can't?"
"Sarah, you're irresponsible."
"I'm sorry?"
"You drink to alleviate your pain. You said so yourself. And that is a short-term solution to a long-term problem. Do you know how much pain you are causing yourself? How old are you?"
"27."
"Well, that's not young. But it's young enough for you to realize that you don't wanna go on living like you have been. And it's young enough to change. Don't you think?"
"I like to think so."
"I believe in change."
"I believe in change, too."
"Look at your Emotional Expressiveness. It's really high. It's almost like you're an artist, Sarah. Are you an artist?"
"I ... guess."
"Me too. I'm a singer/songwriter."
"That's great. Good luck with that."
"Thank you."
"Listen. My car is parked at a meter right now, and I'm currently having fantasies that it's being towed. I have to go. Thanks for your time."
"I understand." He stands up, shakes my hand. "Now you said you wanted to buy the book?"

Tomorrow: Psychiatry Kills!