I think you’re wrong to say that kidnappings by beings from outer space are often remembered under hypnosis because of suggestions made by the hypnotist to gullible people. I believe my own case illustrates my point.
A few weeks ago I became concerned about an occasional stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. As I couldn't think of any logical reason why I should be so afflicted, I found myself becoming distraught. Fortunately, I remembered the name of a psychotherapist whom a friend had recommended. The therapist had helped cure my friend’s depression. She told me so the very morning of her suicide. I immediately made an appointment.
The psychotherapist, I’ll call him Dr. Henderson because that’s his name, ushered me into his office at the mall the next day. I explained about my friend. He hadn’t heard about her death, but noted he had become concerned when she missed her regular appointment and her bill came back marked Undeliverable. I was touched by Dr. Henderson’s concern, especially when he asked who was handling my friend’s estate. I surmised he wanted to express his sorrow to any survivors.
After a few minutes of this pleasant chit-chat, Dr. Henderson asked me why I had come, and I explained about my abdominal pains. When I told him that I hadn’t changed my regular diet or been punched in the stomach for months, he observed that the source of my pains might not be explainable by traditional diagnosis as medical doctors want to keep patients in the dark. He suggested that we try hypnosis.
The prospect of hypnosis excited me because I expected we were about to delve into past-life regression. I’ve long suspected that I was Cleopatra in an earlier life. How else could one explain my fear of snakes?
However, Dr. Henderson quickly corrected me. I had deduced incorrectly, he said. Any thoughts of past-lives were foreign to his intent. And, to avoid implanting pre-hypnotic suggestions, I should not harbor alien deductuctions. He said that twice.
In fact, Dr. Henderson said, it might be best if we interposed a conversation on an entirely unrelated subject to clear my mind before hypnosis. I asked him what we should discuss. He asked if I’d heard that the great movie director Stanley Kubrick had died recently. I admitted that I often found Kubrick’s films boring and liked a little more action. "Do you mean like Jaws?" he asked. I allowed that Spielberg was my favorite director. He wondered what other films Spielberg had made. I named a dozen or so. "Close Encounters?" he asked. "Is that a love story?" I laughed, and told him the plot of the film.
Then, at his request, I explained that E.T. was not about time zones. Apparently, Dr. Henderson is such a workaholic he doesn’t get out much. By then, the doctor felt my mind was clear of alien deductions and we could proceed with the hypnosis.
When I awoke, bits and pieces of a very strange experience were floating through my mind like feces in a toilet bowl (pardon the literary conceit). I was certain they were dreams, but fortunately Dr. Henderson had tape recorded what I had told him while hypnotized. As the tape played, it all came back to me.
I was somewhere – perhaps my bedroom. Suddenly, I was enveloped in a yellow barrell floating upward through the ether. It emerged next to a vessel of some sort. I couldn’t quite make it out but it seemed almost like a giant bicycle. A strangely familiar five-note theme was playing somewhere. Then hands with long, twig-like fingers lifted me into the bicycle where I was placed on a table and covered with small fish.
Across the room at a lecturn was an emaciated figure with no ears, eyes like prune centers in Danish rolls, and rows of sharp triangular teeth. It aimed a rifle at me. I tried to get away, but the table tilted and I slid toward a garage door. Then the rifle fired. A silver spear blasted into my abdomen. I reached down, pulled it out, and saw that the tips of my fingers were glowing like little light bulbs.
And then I was spinning slowly down through the ether, trailing a stream of darkness behind me like an outhouse shoved off a cliff (pardon the literary conceit).
"My gosh, Doctor," I said. "I think I was kidnapped by creatures in a flying object!"
Dr. Henderson said we’d explore that in our next session. After I paid him, he set a date for my next appointment. For my convenience, he let me pay that in advance.
As it turned out, I had to reschedule when I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. When I finally made my appointment, Dr. Henderson asked if my infected appendix had been examined to discover what the creature had implanted there. Sadly, the hospital had thrown away the evidence.
The good news was that during my operation I had remembered more details of my abduction.
(Please don't use my real name as I am presently in hiding.)