I dedicated my life as a teen to follow my dream of becoming a psychologist. The idea of understanding the troubles of the human mind intrigued me. To comfort those who needed to be consoled and to reach their darkest secrets and restore them. I felt like a tin worker taking the dents from a crashed fender and with a little polish they could be normal, acceptable and maybe as good as new. But that was a falsity; an arrogant, ignorant, naive fantasy of what the profession really was. I was taken to the breaking point many times and soon my colleagues were counseling me. Some days they needed a session too. We listened to each other. Unable to maintain a relationship, I was childless and without a mate. My entire being was devoted to the consuming, draining, ongoing wars inside my patience's minds. The reality was that there was no escape for them, and soon I felt I would join them. Many events convinced me that my own sanity was questionable. To listen to the stories of the twisted minds and not feel the contamination was against all self-preservation. Inside these pages are some of those stories.