The Black Box.

On the evening before Halloween I found myself within the backrooms . The summons had arrived by post, and after a night of panic filled with frantic Googling, no sleep. And a day of dissociated numbness and despair - I drove to the location in a godforsaken town, and parked my car, hardly expecting it to still be there should I ever return. I felt as if I’d been asked to attend my own execution. The building loomed before me, a stone ship adrift on a concrete sea. I entered and spoke to someone behind a wall of glass. The waiting had begun. The message was passed on and I sat down on a bench - listening to muffled sounds,  feeling the cold air around my legs as if I was in a river of ghosts and I was beginning to go into shock, the endorphin opiate state of dissociation. I was the antelope who had walked into the lion’s den going down under tooth and claw without fighting, terror without sensation. All hope, gone. Opening my eyes I noticed that my captor-not-captor had an envelope...

To hear Susie Jamieson 's account of what it is like to have a complaint made against a counsellor, please follow the link to Josephine Hughes ' podcast:  [LINK].   It is clear from Susie's account that the way complaints are dealt with can cause emotional, psychological and financial devastation to therapists . This isn't what I wanted or needed to happen to the therapist. The harm he caused could never be made any better by setting in motion a procedure that causes more harm. On the other hand, the laws around harassment state that if a person has been asked to stop all communication and they don't - they risk committing an offence. This leaves a complainant with no option other than making an official complaint...or silencing themselves. There is no way now to repair the relationship and leave it as something as iconic and relatively pointless as Stonehenge, a noble monument - it will instead be a smoking ruin in the heart of dystopia, breeding zombies and monst...

I'm listening to File on Four , ( read here ) a  BBC investigation into bad therapy ...I'm feeling hurt, frustrated, blocked.  Mostly I feel about what happened to me, as if I'm returning to a bowl of sick. Sorry...horrid image. I can't let this feeling win.. Labour MP, Geraint Davies has proposed a new law which would outlaw people calling themselves psychotherapist or counsellor without the proper training. He also wants them directly regulated by Government, much like a doctor or a dentist.  I know this sounds as if it would solve the problem, but the therapist was registered, he had a Masters in psychotherapy , and he is a member of the most prestigious of the ethical bodies, UKCP . But when I wrote to UKCP seeking advice - because I was reticent about starting a formal complaint process as it would have done to him what he did to me -  the reply from UKCP seemed to have come from an AI . The reader had ignored my meaning, and simply scanned the email f...

 [+Music - Flood by Tool] I feel as if my lungs are still coated inside with river silt and the occasional dead fish and old boot. Focusing more on not coughing than anything anyone said to me these last two days...not good.  But I have survived the flood . [+Music - Undertow by Tool] And I'm going to have to write the letter, the handing in my notice letter to the charity I work for . This could be a reaction to the last few weeks? But I am feeling increasingly compromised as a solution focused therapist .  We are good with working with people who are sent to therapy, I ask ' so what would the person who sent you here hope to see different about you'? and yes we may well negotiate the appearance of compliance. This improves a person's experiences enough for them to start making plans for themselves! But I have zero comprehension as to why young people "who may have ASD " are sent to me. Or rather, why is no one taking seriously the effect of long term - yea...

The something took place on Wednesday. I drove to the most godawful town I've ever had the misfortune to visit. And it was obvious that no one should stop there. Zero street parking. A car park with no visible entrance was my first problem, almost as if you had to be someone who knows the secret door, and not a visitor, a stranger. I mean, Innsmouth . I should have taken the bus to get the full effect! With minuites to spare before the dreaded s omething , I found a parking bay and fed the machine some coins.  No way to pay by card.  The air was so cold, I was seeing snow.  I never, ever want to be there ever again as long as I live! I've seen this in others, the people sent to see me who take counselling as the final insult. My heart breaks for them. And now I know exactly how they feel. And the godawful town, made me think of a colleague whose misfortune it was to work here, how she was offered all sorts of interesting opportunities when she accepted the job. This...

I'm still ill. Almost phoned for an ambulance yesterday. That bad, difficulty breathing in. But, got through. So, here I am. Morning routine. Three rounds of Wim Hof , following a brief panic about the wording of my insurance. Realised again that interviewed under caution isn't the same as being under caution. But I need this in writing. Verbal wasn't enough to stick in my cautious mind. So, Wim Hof, then good coffee - which I can't taste due to my COVID like, non COVID. Sitting outside, soaking up the blue of the sky, the good green around me. Listening to: Lemanis by Spaceslug Next comes the cold shower of course. Breakfast... Then I'm as done as I can be.  And today? All clients cancelled because I can't talk, only cough. Many thoughts. What to do with today, how to navigate a safe encounter with the hurt and rage that bubbles under fear and compassion. I heard someone talking to Huberman about idiot compassion ...my understanding came from Trungpa ...