Oct 5

 Today started better. Sleep schedule better. Played a game. Felt a bit better.

Then I prepared to go out for therapy. And I felt ill.

In the shower I felt myself slide. Nausea up. Illness up. Bleh. Suddenly. Going out felt very hard. 15 minutes before hand I was planning on getting lunch as I didn't feel too bad. By the time I exited the door, I was back down into minimal bunker mode. Go out. Get it done. Come home. No room for pushing it.

Felt ill the same as yesterday. A bit better. But the same flu like condition.

The temperature didn't help. October. And the weather is warm and muggy. It feels like a decent summer day from the before times. Before summers became screamingly hot.

So therapy.

Uh huh.

After asking how I was and me going through how I was not doing well, and a brief recap of the week, I prompted the therapist to tell me on their reflection. Because they weren't offering.

I got a very defensive apology. Barely that. Lots of political language.

At one point the therapist said that it was clear they weren't 100% on track that week.

Amongst a bunch of other political nonsense.

I shook my head.

How do you feel about that.

Honestly ?

You are being defensive. Political language. You are not taking responsibility.

The therapist defended. They stated that they did not like that it happened. And in hindsight they should have stopped.

Ok.

It's the language I said. You say. Weren't 100% on track.

I didn't say 100%.

You just said that. Literally.

Oh. I didn't mean that.

I said not being 100% on track is technically correct. It covers everything from 99% to 0%. And in my estimation you were 0%.

If you were wrong, you can say you are wrong. Or. You can say. Well, I wasn't 100% correct.

Give me a break.

Other statements followed a similar line. The classic. I can see that it didn't work for you.

What the fuck does that mean.

I said to the therapist that was that lovely language that dresses it up as all in my space. Oh. It didn't work for me because of what's going on with me. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with what's happening on that side of the room. It's just me. And my likes and dislikes. Disconnects from responsibility again.

I paused here. Weighing up impact and helpfulness.

I said I was unsure what the point of opening the door further was. Because. Whilst the therapist is in theory some non combatant sounding board. In practice. There's a human sitting there. And. It would be feasible to squash them flat.

Is that what it feels like you need to do ? Squash me flat ?

No I said. The opposite. Hence why I am not sure kicking the door open is worth it. The question comes down to whether you choose to be epistemically honest, or, protective of a person I said.

Because as we know, the truth can be brutal.

The therapist wanted to dig.

But. After a few questions. I exercised my evaluation. And stopped them kicking that door wide open. No. I pivoted. To another problem arisen from the failed week.

You have been talking to me for a year and a half. And you don't know me apparently.

That. Is not good.

So, for a problem week it calls into question all the rest of the history the therapist asked.

It does, because it fundamentally asks whether you know any of me, whether any of it is based on me, or just a hand wave. It goes directly to how well you can understand and analyse someone. Me. So yes. It matters.

We danced around some. The therapist giving me some more weak apologies and half reasons. Again. Couching it in terms of me and not them. As if this was all on my side of the fence. And not about them fucking up. Oh I can see you are disappointed. No no. Yes I'm disappointed. But don't fucking word it like it's my fucking issue. I am disappointed because you did something fucking disappointing, not because I'm being unreasonable, or biased, or some other horseshit. 

In my humble opinion. You failed. Not a. It didn't work for me. You failed.

I cornered the therapist with their language. And out it came. Finally. A fall back to. They thought asking questions was a valid therapeutic thing to do.

YES. IT IS. BUT NOT AD NAUSEUM.

Not when I have said to you 5 times, stop.

You didn't actually say stop.

I leaned forward, now I am goaded. No. I didn't explicitly say stop. I didn't say that exact magic word. STOP. Which is why I asked what specific words you would have required to stop. I coded it in your language. I told you, you weren't seeing me. You had the wrong frame. And still you went on.

The therapist considered how to prevent this in future.

I said my friend had jokingly said we need a safe word.

Yes said the therapist. That could work.

Fail - the therapist fell right down that hole.

No I said.

Because if we are at the point that I need a fucking safe word in order to get you to stop, then you have failed in your job to read the other person in the room, to understand what's going on, to adapt, to... correctly social handshake. You have failed at a fundamental bit of understanding for your job.

Perhaps sometimes you will need to say stop the therapist said. And. Can we talk about something else.

Again. If I need to lay that out in such specific terms. You have failed in my humble opinion.

The therapist then tried examining why I hadn't said stop the other week.

Because the conversation was being lead by you. I told you. Nicely. And then again. And again. Until we got to, you're not seeing me.

I am an open book. You can ask me what you like. I am following your lead here. I am capable of derailing a conversation for sure - I don't need to follow social handshaking protocol, I am aware of it and can cut it short. But I was accommodating you, and waiting to have an opening. I did tell you. I was engaging politely in the conversation. Not abruptly flipping the table.

In the end.

The therapists apology was half hearted. It was still couched in some bullshit of it was ok to ask the questions, without acknowledging they went too far, but in the same breath saying, they should have stopped. So. An acknowledgement that was wrong. But then. Stopping short of oh shit I fucked up. And instead we get it was right to ask a question.

Defensive.

Horseshit.

The therapist asked me again how I felt about it. Given they clarified they were unhappy that it happened. And they "missed"

Same I said.

Defensive. Political. Not taking responsibility.

We have an issue.

I gave the therapist an out and again - in better words - gave them my guess as to what happened.

That they had - with their advisors - formed some kind of gestalt of opinion, formed by two people not in the room, not able to respond. And the therapist had gone in with that gestalt which had... overriden... perhaps... their better sense of judgement in the moment in favour of the pre formed gestalt opinion.

It is. I said. Like the advisor had entered the room with an opinion. And no ears. And you delivered it. Without any context. Excellent. Fuck off I stated bluntly.

The therapist nodded. Something like that had indeed gone on. But ultimately the responsibility was theirs.

Yes I agreed. No matter the whys and wherefores of the origin, the decision to execute is still yours. Your judgement. Your in the moment assessment. You take the responsibility overall.

The therapist noted I was still angry and disappointed about it.

Sure I said. Disappointed.

Disappointed in me for not meeting expectations.

Yep.

Where does that leave us.

I gave them the run down of what their expected responses were. And mine.

And flatly I said that the difference between continuing and not continuing was minimal. Both. Were rational decisions.

A sliding doors moment I said. A coin flip. Not because its an arbitrary decision. But because theres nothing between the two choices.

We talked a little about the worth of it. I was unsure. It was ok to be unsure the therapist said. I didn't have to decide immediately.

We also talked a little about what therapy is and isn't. I once again noted that this was the kind of thing that I said therapy failed at. So cautious about protecting its own dogma. That it can face plant. And miss half the point. Tied in self made knots.

The therapist acknowledged the limitations of the process. That it was only a tiny sliver of possibilities. And it either works. Or does not.

Uh huh.

None of which gives a definitive boost for continuing.

At the end of the session the therapist wanted to once again know where we are. How are you, compared to when you walked in.

The same position I said.

Unsure. Unhappy. Undecided. The needle has not moved.

The therapist was very careful. My choice. The decision doesn't have to be forever. Or immediate. Can be reviewed.

Uh huh. Fair.

In which case.

We shall have another round next week. And see where we are. 

At some point just before the end. I asked them a boundary busting question. Which I acknowledged. How do you feel about it. Not the therapist. Not the therapeutic answer. YOU.

They answered carefully. Basically. Sad. Sad it had affected me. Sad they missed it. Sad it had caused the consequences it had.

Uh huh.

I asked another boundary busting question. How well do you tolerate being wrong. How strong is your ego. Are you good at taking responsibility and saying, yes, my bad. Or do you bristle and say fuck you. And I get. You probably can't answer.

The therapist waffled about why they couldn't answer, and that the therapy was about me, and in that frame what was helpful.

But I said. Your capability to acknowledge errors and correct yourself is very pertinent to the process. Crucial. Sure. You can just brand therapy as helpful or not, but its rather like approaching someone with a syringe and saying this will help. And I ask a question - so whats in the syringe. Oh. You're not allowed to ask that.

Uh huh.

Meh. None of today had good results. All of it was punctured weak sauce defences. And. Exposed horribly the weaknesses of therapy. And. Something of a lack of responsibility going on in the therapist. Not good. 

I slogged back home. Stopped off for a handful of groceries despite feeling like death warmed up. Came home. Slumped.

Tried not to dwell on the fact that even short supermarket runs are extremely difficult for me to do now. Extremely.

Sigh.

Live with what I have.