Nov 2

 Last week was the final therapy session.

The therapist didn't know it beforehand, but the presence of the sword of damocles over the last month was most definitely known.

The week beforehand we had touched on the rift about the lack of listening, and then worse still, the lack of admission of that mistake in anything but glancing acknowledgements, and in general the failure of the machinery at that point. We talked by and large about other stuff.

Which was fine. I had given that week its full air time. To see if the therapist had finally managed to get their words in order - but as it turned out they had nothing to say.

Therefore. Last week was the last week. I had deliberated during the week about it. Pretty sure. 99% sure. But as the days passed I thought about it from different angles, before in the end, being very sure. Done. I expected the therapist to ask why. A. Stupid question really. But sometimes the therapist asks stupid questions. Just I think to get the words out there, rather than any implicit meaning. But still. At times they can feel very.... obvious. Why do you care whether someone gets harmed etc. I dont know. Because I'm human perhaps ? I give a shit ? Not a sociopath ? Sometimes I have had to explain some basic tenet of just being a person and not a monster. And no this isn't me rolling my eyes at something "obvious" that really isn't. But anyway. I digress. Not pulling those pointless things out. Take it from me. Sometimes. Stupid questions.

I started as ever asking how the therapist was doing. I'm ok they said. *Minor lie*. Uh huh I replied. Noting the discrepancy. Not all was tickety boo in the therapists world. Nothing dramatic. But. Not good either.

This will be the last session I said.

I paused letting it sink in.

I don't know if you want to talk about that, or something usual.

Well. I think we should talk about that said the therapist.

For me, honestly, I did not care. I didn't need to talk about it. There was nothing there that was unsaid. I had no further points to make or feelings to be conveyed. Closure. Zen. Nada. But. I figured the therapist would want to talk about it. Ironically. For their benefit, not mine. This is where the ... dissonance... starts to rise between the stated - these sessions are for you, about you, don't concern yourself about me - and then the whole, well think about the relationship, and, we should talk about X when I am in fact, done with it.

It's fine. I let the therapist have their room. But the irony is clear.

What's the reason for stopping the therapist asked predictably.

Sigh.

I looked at them. Just. Out of body slightly. Examining the branching paths of reality. Predictable. Like clockwork. Here I am. At that moment. That has already been played out. Cute. Ironic. Like watching an episode from TV.

Shall we start from the top I said.

The first thing is therapy itself. What it would mean to me. It has always been clear that therapy would not be the usual experience for me. I know my shit. I know me. I am open. I do not hide things. I don't avoid pain. The typical therapy path of finding things I have missed or explaining things I don't understand to get me to a different place, a different mindset was very unlikely to happen.

The therapist nodded.

So that angle is thin to non existent.

The second thing about therapy being validation, a safe place, a place I can speak, about it being about me. Sure. As it turns out. Some value in there. Just to be heard. But. Six months ago we had hit a point where I thought we were done. That being seen was questionable as to the worth it had remaining every week. We discussed whether turning up to chat about the weather was beneficial or not. The therapist thought it would always be - a stark contrast to their impatient beginnings that I called them out on ( and we had out first "rupture" where they denied it, gaslit me, then admitted it ).

Six months ago we had agreed to let it roll for a month and re-review. I had asked the therapist specifically if *they* wanted me to continue. They did. And that pretty much changed my mind to continue. For their sake. Opinion. Whatever. And we shall see.

That rolled on for six months. I didn't challenge it. Just. Let it roll. What is the therapists behaviour. Happy to let it roll.

And finally I said. We have what I still consider to be a mistake. And the worse mistake - failing to admit it, and adjust. The machinery of therapy itself compromised.

The therapist listened. There were no arguments. I offered no accusations. Just. Facts. As I saw them.

The therapist wanted a little more information.

I still think you fucked up I said. Badly. It has made me realise how very human therapists are. And I apologise. Because this is brutal. But I know from experience what a wide gamut of people practice therapy. From no doubt great practitioners to people that should be nowhere near therapy at all, so loaded with their own baggage and bias that they are likely to actively harm whomever they come into contact with.

I think I said the problem lies with how you verify someone in therapy. Unlike a bridge builder, who you can judge by whether their bridges fall down, therapy instead is full of untestable claims, and can vary from the logical, to snake oil salesman, and by and large, everyone gets a certificate on the wall and can setup practice. The field is couched in plausible deniability and touchy feely areas.

So. We have a range of people we can meet in therapy. And all of them. Are human. And even the good ones can trip and fall face first. Face planted.

The implication being that this is the therapist.

Face planted. 

Somehow we got to a point where the therapist recalled our first session. Where they said they feared being able to keep up with me.This is not keeping up with you they said.

I was slightly surprised they had got there. That exact thought had already crossed my mind in the week before. That a condensed version of this would be that they had hit their limit. They could not keep up with me. But not in an obvious clear cut, you don't know this kind of way. But instead. In a more subtle keep up kind of way. They could not practice enough epistemic honesty. Their ego intruded. Their baggage upset the machinery. And they fell. And could not correct.

Interesting you say that I said.

Well this is what it's about no ?

Could be I said. As it turns out. Maybe you had a point. Just. Not quite in the way I thought.

I softened my take. Because. I figured the therapist was smarting.

You are smart I said. You know your stuff. And clearly you give a shit.

But.

You face planted.

The therapist asked me what my feelings were about it. Seeking I suspect some visceral emotion there. But there wasn't one. Resolved.

Not much I said. But. It has caused me to think on the entire field. About my expectations. About what it can do. And I know therapy is not in the business of "fixing" people.

The therapist nodded strongly.

But I said. It's clear that therapy is not going to fix me. There are no answers there for me. Just. People. With the usual baggage. And bias. And flaws. I am not going to find what it is I am looking for there. No doubt therapy can be useful to some people. But for me. I now wonder if the whole thing isn't just empty for me. Eventually. I am still the adult in the room. Still explaining things. No one to talk to. I suppose perhaps. This comes back to peers again. Perhaps what I am looking for is someone to understand. Someone I don't have to translate for. Or wait for.

Perhaps my expectations of therapists are too high. What reason do I have to expect a therapist to be able to park their ego at the door. To approach things rationally. To be able to admit mistakes. To grow and adapt when mistakes are made. Is that an unreasonable expectation in a therapist ? Perhaps. But. But. I think my expectation is that. That the practitioner should be able to work the machinery. Not to need to be perfect. But to be able to progress. But now I think on it. Who is that ? Therapists are very human in my experience.

The therapist said I should not throw out the entire field. And that some other types of therapy might work better for me. Art therapy. CBT.

Mmm I said.

Dubiously.

Things like CBT are different the therapist said.

Yes. I know. CBT is basically the seven magical dance steps you need to practice in order to keep the gloom away. I get it. And I take one or two of those steps.

The therapist also mentioned Dr Sonja Falck again. About reaching out to her. As someone who had written a few books on dealing with "extreme intelligence". Perhaps she could help.

I squirmed with the implied label. Some of it pushed back in a rational faint.

I am dubious that she knows what she's talking about I said - the squirm given an out. It is one thing to write a book. Another to actually understand it. And. I am not entirely sure of the legitimacy of coming at it from that angle. Intelligence. Whether it matters. Whether its not conflating things together - autism, or somesuch.

In reality. There is some worth there. I am uncomfortable with it. And so I accentuate the possible - real - flaws with it. Without perhaps giving it a fairer evaluation. Not that its unfair. Just. Critical. Suspicious - for good reason. 

Moving on the therapist wanted to know what I felt about ending it. 

Nothing I said. It is what it is.

Had I got anything out of therapy ?

One thing I said, was that it had moved a bunch of fuzzy things into something more concrete. I knew my upbringing was not great. I was there.

You experienced it the therapist confirmed.

Yeah. So. I know. But. The words I had for it. Kinda. Maybe. And this wasn't great. And no that's not good. And. Maybe the times. And. This. And that. And fuzzy. 

But now. I have a concrete form of it. Unacceptable. This was done. That is neglect. That was done. That's borderline abuse. Unacceptable. Unacceptable. Unacceptable. There is no more fuzzy I said. And it has secondary effects. Because you then see the impacts it had. In concrete terms.

So validation the therapist said.

I suppose so. It has given me a bit of confidence to stand my ground with it a bit. When someone offers a naysay. Oh it's just that. Oh that's not a big deal. Oh that's how it was. I understand it. And. I have been vetted. By a professional. I have a certificate and everything I joked. So. I can push back sometimes on that - when someone with no training, no knowledge, gives me their bullshit opinion. Which isn't to say that they're wrong. But. Their voice has far less weight.

Also I said. Once the concrete terms came out. It is This. And it is That. Everything else - oddly - around me started singing the same tune. Others would then say. Yeah. That's not right. That's unacceptable. Second opinions. That also said the same thing. The theme. Became very obvious. Including in stuff I would read.

It made everything clearer.

The therapist at some point wanted to know if I had a sense of satisfaction recent process. It was a slightly odd ask. They were trying to figure out where I was coming from.

I said I didn't. The sense I got was that I had done all my due diligence. I had waited - perhaps overgenerously even. I had been patient and explored all angles. My usual chorus of doubts and possibly this or possibly that I said was pretty much quiet. There was no doubt. We were where we were supposed to be. Done. Because of reasons.

To me. It wasn't emotional. Or charged. To me. The very important thing. Was that I had served the machinery. Dotted my i's, crossed my t's. *My machinery* was running clean. With generous safety margins to allow the other person a chance and time to work. There is something of my core in there. About being sure. Allowing no wiggle room. Nailing down all the possibilities. 

We have 15 minutes left the therapist said.

Ok.

The therapist proposed we get to a goodbye. What wanted to be said. How do you want to say goodbye. Did I have anything to say.

Not really.

There was clearly a mismatch there between me and the therapist at that point. I had closure. No emotional connection. No emotions. Not suppressed. Just zen. No attachments. No doubt. 

In fact the whole session. Was slightly askew. Not greatly. But the therapist was in one place. And I was in another. Ironically. The therapist came over as more emotional and attached. And I on the other hand, had nothing. Just zen. Not attached. Not pining. Not anxious.

The therapist took up the conversation as I had nothing to say.

They had enjoyed working with me. It was interesting. I was an interesting person. And they would miss me.

The last said with a genuine twinkle of loss. Subtle. But there. Reaching the eyes. A little hurt. A little regret. Smoothed over a little.

I clocked it. As I had clocked it before when they said this.

Aww I said as a response.

Not reciprocal. Not a comfort. Just an acknowledgement. 

Social handshake time. To me. I am done. But. Human. This human needs a social handshake.

I have enjoyed getting to know you I said. Bits of you have come into focus slowly. Even perhaps though they are not supposed to.

The therapist disputed the "supposed to".

But it was weak. This is their usual shtick. Dancing on the head of a pin. Do. And Do not. Attach. But do not attach. Personal. But impersonal. A tension I think they do not do well with and is not a calm resolved line, but something more like a skirmish across a battlefront for them. Pick a lane. 

I gave some examples of therapists both stoic and ones that took up sessions talking about their life.

Well the therapist said. Maybe not that far.

Uh huh.

You all dance to your own beliefs I thought whilst defending them as some monolithic principle. Particularly this therapist. A wall. Which they peek over. The shy person who both does not want to be noticed and desperately wants to be noticed at the same time.

There was one last thing I wanted to leave with the therapist.

I said that before this session I had almost considered this a red pill or a blue pill moment. I had even discussed it with a friend.

Blue pill. Say thank you. It has been great. You have been great. Thanks for the time. Done. Everyone leaves happy. No stone is turned over.

Red pill. There were issues. Serious ones. Concerning how well you can do the basic machinery of therapy. Potentially causes distress. Upset. To what end ?

This kind of question lurks in many places if you are mindful enough to spot it. To say something. Or shut your mouth. The chance to adapt and learn with pain. Or live in peace. Knowledge or ignorance. Pain or peace. Understanding or innocence.

There is no slam dunk universal answer.

Consider what pain it might cause. Consider what the point of it maybe - if nothing is to be learned or gained, question the pain in the first place.

A defence of, well it's just the truth hides the harm.

I said to the therapist, that whilst you can defend such things with it's the truth, it ignores the fact that truth can often be the worst damage of all. It being "just the truth" is a similar defence to "well legally I am entitled to...". And perhaps. In a perfectly objective world, the truth is always the truth. But we don't live there.

My general stance is to not tread on peoples agency. Do not make decisions for people. Even if you have the best of intentions. It is unfair. You are taking away their right to choose. To be an adult. Infantilising them. But. Responsibility very often comes with pain. Decisions are responsibility. But. By default. It is not my right to make a call for someone else where they have not asked for it. I do not know their mind, mood, likes, dislikes. There are easy slides into arrogance there, but not necessarily. You can make a choice for others and know that you cannot be sure.

But still.

Is it better to let someone know an asteroid will impact the earth in 3 days and kill everything with no chance of survival. Or do not tell people and let them live their last 3 days not in abject terror, but calm and at peace.

I would argue ignorance is better there in the overwhelming majority of cases. Even if it does mean I am choosing for people. And arrogant to assume they would prefer that. The problem is that you can't tell if the cake is poisoned until you eat it. And by then, it's too late. To badly paraphrase Merlin from Le morte d'arthur.

My friend had an important point I said to the therapist. At first he said you deserved to know. And that you should be the kind of person that wanted to know. Which I agree with. But still. The question of suffering. His next point you can't argue.

He asked if he would want someone to go through what I did. To not be listened to in a session.

No.

Then you have to tell them. Because you give a shit. You care what happens to others.

Yes.

So here we are I said. If there is one thing I would say to you. And you can throw this out the window. What do I know. I am wrong. Full of shit. But. I would say this -

In future, take a breath in any given session and check to see if you are listening to the other person in the room.

That's it I said.

The therapist thanked me.

And after some other words. We were done. With one last caveat.

The therapist would miss me.

Sigh.

Ok.

I know you will not do this I said. Because of professional boundaries. But. You know where I am.

I obscured the attachment for them for rationale.

If I don't know. You have questions about AI. Talk to me.

I have *many* questions about AI the therapist said.

Well I said, you know how to get in touch with me. From my side. I am not going to call you out on it. Or be offended at crossing boundaries - but I know you wont.

Thank you the therapist said. I appreciate it.

We left the office. Bye the therapist said. See you later I said, and caught myself with a half laugh. See you I corrected. Goodbye the therapist said. Uh huh. A sliver of meaning. Finality. Every word at every point in time conveys meaning. A little regret. A little sad. The tiniest of teeniest blink and you miss it pouts at the doorway. A social handshake buried beneath a mile of training and restraint.

I think perhaps therapists might be the most fucked up people of all. Under the hood.

I walked out of the building with a sense of relief. Slight surprise that I felt relieved. Like a small weight had been lifted from me. Curious. Why ? Not entirely sure. Perhaps just the relief that I wouldn't have to struggle to pull my ass out into the world once a week anymore. That wouldn't have to fight hard with the CFS dragons and awfulness. I could slump.

Both positive. And negative.

Stopping treading water means your legs no longer get tired.

It also means you drown.

We shall see.

I am zen about it.

Nihilistic zen perhaps.

No care whether I live or die.

It will be what it will be.

But what I am fairly certain of now, is that therapy holds no answers for me. Or any superior wisdom. Or insight. It has its codices. And dogma. And can be very useful to the truly lost. That cannot or will not look at themselves.

But for me. Deluded. Or not. It is people. Full of the usual inconsistencies. With a clipboard in hand. Of useful things to check.

I already have the book.

Regardless.

Perhaps I will return to therapy one day. When I find that on a given day, I just want someone to listen to me. To be seen. For half an hour.

And I will mull over reaching out to Dr Falck. Everything in me says no.

But mostly, I think. It's the trauma talking.

Do not be seen ! Stay quiet. Avoid "that" label.