Dirty Therapy | The Truest Story I Know
To continue on the tangent of malevolent therapeutic manipulation, I'm sharing this email I wrote to my therapist after a particularly douchebaggy set of actions. Mind you, being out of the situation has allowed me to look back and reflect upon how incredibly douchebaggy this particular incident was; and taken in consideration with his suggestion I look at things from deep state's point of view and that it's not selling out if I take a payoff... well... it looks pretty damning in regards to his manipulation on behalf of another entity.
Why am I sharing it?
Because keeping his douchebaggery a secret enables it. And he's done significant damage to my trust in the therapeutic community at large, so this is the next best option, in my opinion. Plus, should anything happen to me or mine, I want this, in addition to the audio recordings, to be available to law enforcement for their investigation. Stored in the blockchain means it can't be scrubbed from existence. If you listened to the recording I made, then you heard him tell me to get angry. Well, I am, and this is what I'm doing about it. Providing evidence of his douchebaggery because this "healer" was anything but.
At this point in my therapy when the incident took place, I had been seeing this particular therapist for about four years (started in Feb 2014) and had a good rapport with him, with lots of joking banter. I was willing to overlook certain flaws because I enjoyed his company and I was trying to get some healing done because it's therapy and that was the whole point of going in the first place.
To get this email to my therapist, I set up an email address and gave him the password. Evidently he had issues logging into it and it took him over a month to "read" the email. Was it really that hard for him to get through because he has the attention span of a gnat, couldn't handle seeing his douchebaggy self through my eyes, or had he sent it off and was awaiting orders on how to proceed? Dunno. Can't say. But I found it irritating that it took him over a month to get the testicular fortitude to half-assedly address my very valid concerns regarding his set of choices by not apologizing wholeheartedly for his actions.
Here's the kicker: he knew of my penchant for info collection and note taking. I don't know why he wouldn't think I'd do exactly that regarding him and the things he did which caught my attention in a negative way.
Certain things will be bold for emphasis.
I originally wrote this email Dec. 8.
At our last appointment, you made it a point to say I lost my passion. It died a while back. With my fiction, I always had a muse. I have no muse, no one that inspires me to create. My non-fiction got me in trouble, so I've backed off on it. I don't paint any more, I don't tie dye, I don't write poetry or prose. Took me the better part of a month to get this word salad out and sufficiently edited. It's not impeccable. It's raw.
Wish I could just blurt it out, but it sticks in my throat. It's a highly charged topic for me; I can admit it. Hopefully this will give you better insight into my depression.
"Write the truest sentence you know. And keep doing that." -Hemingway
That is what this is. This is the truest story I know. Non-fiction with a fiction-like narrative.
THE TRUEST STORY I KNOW
Once upon a time not all that long ago, there was a girl who had an ugly life. To escape it, she read anything and everything she could get her hands on. However, some of life's problems aren't solved with knowledge, so she sought help as an adult from those with more knowledge on the subject than she possessed.
She met a guy who stood out. Not because he was Prince Charming incarnate, or any superficial reason. He was educated and funny, witty and snarky. It felt as though he could surf her mental wavelength, a feat not many could do. His superpower was the ability to make her laugh even though she wanted to watch the world burn around her. She viewed it as a gift of his, and it was cherished. He shone like a bright light in the darkness of her days.
After a few years, that light of his grew steadily brighter, and she knew she had to do something because she was at heart, a reluctant pragmatic realist. She wrote him a long letter in a little tan notebook, trying to articulate the angst and concern she had. In it, she tried reiterating more than once to denote the importance of the point she was trying to make: his personal life was none of her business. She knew she had attachment issues regarding him and sought to establish a boundary and protect herself when the inevitable would happen.
She knew he came from a culture where to be unwed at a certain age was heavily frowned upon. It was a matter of time, she felt, and knew she had to protect herself as best she could. She asked to be spared the personal details of his life, knowing that the vast majority of the information he provided wasn't therapeutic.
He read her long letter in the notebook, and made his point of view known. His tone had hurt her and she did her best to try and do the stiff upper lip thing. She was able to maintain for a while, since he kept the boundary she stated.
Then his control slipped, and with it, the boundary she requested. For example, he described his new car and what he got as a licence plate, so she could identify his new ride. While she understood his excitement and was happy for him, knowing what his car looked like only served as a visceral reaction whenever she saw said vehicle. Which was fairly often, since the pharmacy she uses shares the same parking lot he utilized. Maybe he didn't fully understand what she meant by 'attachment issues'... or maybe he sought to foster them. She didn't know.
When he had firmly rejected her after reading the notebook, she felt it was in her best interest to squash any hope his counter-transference gave, into a little box in her mind and pay it no heed, trying to starve it out of her life. Unlike him, she would accept the boundary stated. And for six months, she tried putting her nose to the grindstone to improve herself. She didn't have the heart to completely snuff out the hope, although she preferred to think of it as a poison of sorts at this point; as sweet as it was, there was no good end to it that she could see. It just was, and that was that.
But then came the day he mentioned he was dating/not really dating and made a joke about "the second ex Mrs. Jakobson," it was the first time she wanted to literally flee his presence. It was a verbal gut punch, and she wondered what would be less rude: getting up and walking out at an accelerated pace, or excusing herself to use the bathroom and duck out the building's nearby exit instead. It took every inch of her willpower to stay seated and see the session through. She missed their next appointment because her heart felt too heavy to even look at him. And that was a pattern she carried into the future: anytime he mentioned his friend/family/partner overseas, she would miss a day of therapy or struggle through a session, anxiously awaiting in dread for the moment when he'd cross that boundary she requested in writing; he did so on a weekly basis. It was at those times she disengaged from the session mentally, wanting to block out that which hurt, and she found herself doing that more often than not. She had hoped he remembered the importance she tried to instill when she wrote him, but it seemed as though he forgot. She knew she should have spoken up and said something then, but she had already said something-- in writing, going over the point more than once.
After a while, he stated he was going overseas "on vacation." She tried to push worry out of her mind, because she panicked the last time he went on vacation and came back injured, and he made it clear months before he wasn't hers to worry about. Besides, more flights than not make it safely. But still, her anxiety was there and she sought to hide it and not burden him with it.
Their last appointment before he went "on vacation" left her scratching her head, for he had said things that when taken individually, don't amount to much; but when seen as a group in a larger picture, were very interesting.
-First he told her that the white noise generator was on, so things would stay private. (she was under the impression it was always on, like it was at his last office.)
- Then he said that since he was licensed, he could get away with almost anything, as long as the police weren't called. (well, she had no intentions of calling the police, had no reason to do so; he was safe with her.)
- Then he mentioned female frustrations, and the trust his clients had in him. (she didn't want to think of him having a similar conversation with another female client.)
- And then he mentioned he never felt inadequate enough to measure his dick. (she wondered when it was okay to mention their genitalia... ever? since his "I will never reciprocate" speech was taken quite literally on the subject of lust and love.)
- And, as they were leaving, he complemented her on the discipline she showed regarding those interesting topics he mentioned. (it wasn't discipline; it was her safety net in case she wasn't reading the situation right. She wanted to observe and process the newest shift in her reality since it felt massive.)
She knew him nearly four years, and it was the first time he ever mentioned his genitalia. Since he had so firmly rejected her months before, the change in topic to his dick was very much a record scratch moment in her brain. She didn't know how to respond, because to her, at that point, anything associated with him lead straight to the path of rejection as it had in the past. So she said nothing.
Since it was her tendency to try and stay in the moment during their time together, she would parse through things later and process them, catching things she may have missed.
For two weeks, she parsed what he had said, and hope took root in her heart once again and put a bounce in her step.
She told herself that he wouldn't have mentioned that privacy could be ensured by the white noise generator, or tried talking about the feminine frustration she felt, or that he had confidence in his genitalia... unless he had something particular in mind... maybe he had changed his views? She had caught him staring hard at her breasts before, but knew just because a guy looked, it didn't mean he was actually interested in her as a person. Maybe he was open to her hesitant advances now? Maybe he felt something toward her beyond fondness? She didn't know, but she wanted to find out and see what he had in mind.So, she let hope grow and awaited the next time she would see him, intent on broaching the subject with as much diplomacy she could muster, due to the sensitive nature of the subject at hand and the potential ramifications for those involved. If things went toe up, he'd be the first figurative casualty and she knew it. She knew that the winds would be in her favor, even if she wanted no such thing. He would get no such leeway from others. So, she wanted to treat the situation with a light touch to protect the person she adored. As ethical as she considered herself, there were a handful of topics that could easily spur her toward side-eye worthy behavior if given a clear green light and she knew it. He was one of those topics.
But when she saw him next, he had a new ring on his finger. Not a pinkie ring, or a thumb ring. She knew what it meant without him saying a word about it. She wasn't stupid.
But she was deeply hurt.
Whatever she had wanted to ask was eviscerated as she bawled her eyes out because once again the demon called Hope stabbed her in the heart and twisted the knife.
He thought she cried over her father's mortality.
No. Her father's newest diagnosis was a cover for her spirit breaking. Two weeks of talking herself up and getting excited over him and the hope he'd given her, popped like a balloon under a pinprick.
That ring on his finger meant he knew when he was heading overseas "on vacation" he knew he'd be getting it. So when he spoke of ensured privacy and his dick to her, he was already engaged. So, for two weeks while she "hoped," he was celebrating his nuptials, and the realization enraged her, because why would he do that to her, timing-wise? He knew of her deep regard for his person-- that was never a secret from him. Why give her hope for something only to yank it away?
She tried to logic things out with the limited information she had and when things boiled down, she felt confused. Why did he say those things? She wanted security in her life, and that whole interaction left her bereft of the feeling. It wasn't that he hinted toward things that upset her; it was the timing and that he hadn't given any indication that winds could shift to her favor for the span of a single day. If he wanted to play a game with her, it was only fair, she felt, that the rules, boundaries, and goal posts be known before the ball was put into motion. But since that didn't happen, she felt like she had been toyed with, and that pissed her off incredibly. She tried to be a straight shooter when it came to him; for some reason, she thought at least that would be reciprocated in some measure. Honesty is free, after all.
Life had fucked with her enough as is. She didn't need that feeling from him. Especially since he promised he'd never give her "bullshit hope" again. She held onto those words of his, wanting to know whether they stood the test of time. "No bullshit hope" was the talisman that kept her from losing her shit over the situation.
However, the thing which cut deepest was when he told her to "have hope" several times that very day she bawled her eyes out. Hope, the very same poison which lead her to believe he may have felt something akin to how she felt for two weeks as she basked in ignorance. "Have hope," he said, every time cutting deeper into her emotional jugular. All she could do was cry harder as she emotionally bled out in front of him, because she did have hope-- at least for two weeks-- before reality bit her hard on the ass.
A handful of days later, he told her she could have what she wanted, if she went back to where she went wrong. Was he speaking about things in general or him specifically? Did he even know what she wanted or how she operated? As if rejection wasn't enough, she didn't want to look like a fool, hoping for the impossible. Because hoping for the impossible, or the merely improbable hurts. Why deliberately court disappointment and pain when not a masochist? He told her no. She believed him. Why would she entertain a frame of thought for naughtiness or reciprocated adoration when she was told nyet? She wasn't pathetic enough to pretend otherwise.
She knew she was foolish to have hoped for two weeks solid that she was reading the situation correctly. She knows she's been minimizing the situation because she hates feeling that the only thing she's mastered in life is abject failure on every front. That, and to address it properly, involves hearing details she requested in writing to be spared.
She doesn't fear his response; she doesn't think he'd get angry or mean. She fears he may hide behind plausible deniability, rather than being forthright with her. More than anything, she feared having to start over in her healing from ground zero, with him being the newest tire fire in her life. She didn't want to demonize him in order to deal with him, especially since she counted on him as one of her closest allies.
For a year, her perception of the reality in which she dwelt took a toll on her and she felt more frazzled and stressed. The situation with him made it just that much worse, because for several years he presented her with consistency. But that changed. And with it, her sense of security failed. Her sense of safety disappeared in July from the stalker events. And her stability felt jeopardized. Truth was, she hated this whole situation and feeling uncertain. Feeling uncertain about him was the cherry on top of the fucked up sundae.
His life wasn't any of her damn business and she'd be the first to admit it. She didn't want to hear about his wife/friend/partner/family, or his vacations. She could be happy that he was happy, and that was enough for her. She didn't need to know the details, didn't need to imagine all the things he left out of his narrative. If she could shut her brain off, she would. Because now, like Ireland, the Philippines were now something she actively avoided (media/food/literature wise) due what it's associated with in her mind. She hated how her mind worked like that.
She was at an impasse, not knowing what to do, but knowing she had to do something. Staying silent wasn't an option anymore, and avoiding him wasn't healthy. She knew she had a hard time emoting the nuance of her feelings, especially to him, and it angered her she fell back on writing to get things out. She wished she could be more assertive, but she learned at a young age that to assert oneself led to shittier outcomes and punishments. Those lessons left a lasting impression and made it nigh upon impossible to take the lead when she felt emotionally/spiritually shaky.
She wished she had seen all the little clues he laid out at that session before he went "on vacation," and maybe she wouldn't be kicking herself in the ass for blowing the one chance when she had it.
She knew he didn't have a problem crossing certain boundaries when it benefited him. As long as it didn't impact her life in a negative way, she didn't really care. It wasn't like she had to live with his choices; that is, until they started to impact her wellbeing. She found it interesting that he never mentioned his ex wife's name to her, but mentioned his new partner/friend/family's name a handful of times. Why? Verbal salt for an open wound? It's not like he was unaware of how she felt. She believed it was why he sugar-coated the truth for her, using euphemisms like "friend" and "partner" instead of the simple, four-letter word "wife." She hated that it felt like she made people walk on egg shells around her, to the point that they couldn't be honest with her because she's a precious snowflake so close to having a meltdown. She wished she didn't have those damn deep feelings for him, or at least possessed the ability to turn them off or mute them. It would make everything easier for all involved. Made her feel like an asshole that she kept bringing them up as she dealt with them; making them into other people's problems.
She also knew a large part of her own reluctance to bring up the topic stemmed from her fear of rejection. Having experienced it on every level growing up and in adulthood, the last time she felt it regarding him, it seemed especially devastating because of the esteem in which she held him. She didn't want to feel that way again, especially by him.
When mulling things over, she wondered if all these little things were him trying to push her out of therapy so he didn't have to deal with her any more, or if they were a different brand of hellish counter-transference for her to endure. She didn't know and didn't want to guess.
She thought long and hard about what she wanted from him. She wouldn't make unrealistic demands; only asking for honesty on a person-to-person level. If he was incapable of talking to her as a supposed equal, then he shouldn't have mentioned privacy could be ensured or his confidence in his dick within the same hour to her. If he could level with her, it would go a long way in clearing up any misconceptions she may have garnered.
She wanted to know what he was aiming for with all those interesting comments he made before he went "on vacation." He admitted to being the sort to have contingencies upon contingencies, so that road of discussion was pre-planned on his part. He had a destination in mind with her as a passenger. She wasn't sure if he knew that his prior attempt was like trying to make a car go from zero to sixty while still in park. It would have been more effective had she thought it was a possibility and receptive to the bait he presented.
She wanted to renew her trust him him since her modus operandi tended to include tucking tail and running when hurt; she wanted to break that pattern and knew it would be impossible if she gave up and walked out of the therapy room. If she walked out of therapy, she'd find it very hard to trust any therapist again and didn't want to carry that forward. She craved a meeting of the minds, so that she could get her bearings and move forward.
She felt he owed her an explanation as to what his intentions were and she wouldn't settle for less. He told her "No bullshit hope," after all.
Life's too short to pussyfoot around. She is also aware of the irony in that last statement since the incident in question was in mid-September.
And then she waited for her next appointment, anticipating with notable anxiety, with the expectation of getting answers so she could finally get back on track to healing and enjoying the light he cast into her life, if it were again possible. Although they both dwelt in a disposable society, she felt it important to salvage what she could from the relationships that matter most to her, such as his.
I look back on this period of my life and cringe at the fact I didn't tear him a new one, and that I enabled his douchebaggery toward me by not calling it out to his superiors. No longer.
