20 hours.

A new blog.

The first page after the end. 

Let's rewind - This blog has history. It starts with Rings Around The Moon, it ended with The 3lack 3ox. 

Rings Around The Moon charted my family's journey as my youngest son suffered psychosis, and our experience of psychiatrists and the mental health teams. Then it follows my year of awful, life sapping days and nights as my husband's lies and cruelty broke my heart. What came next was not good either, and it was recorded as The 3lack 3ox (now deleted) my blog about psychotherapy - in other words, what bad therapy is, and what it feels like to receive it, and how not to manage 'erotic transfer'!

My experience of psychotherapy is best described as a two year plane crash. It was not healing on any level - unless you think taking heroin is helpful? In response to his flirting I'd fallen in love with the man - not the psychotherapist - and how he mismanaged this meant that when I left therapy I was suicidal. When you think about everything else I've been through which didn't make me suicidal, his mismanagement must have been quite something! 

This was the purpose of decoding the black box. I had to know what had gone so very wrong. 

Therapy was a bumpy hysterical ride into disaster. 

On the bright side it taught me a lot about the process of purposeful and malicious denial (his) and how ARGs operate - alternate reality games - and more than I ever wanted to know about psychotherapy (especially the similarity between therapy and ARGs). Surrounded by screaming and terror yet again - mostly mine - did I keep my head? Not a chance, yet I got out, and though I was bloody and broken, I crawled away from the kerosene drenched nightmare and retrieved The black box from the smouldering wreckage before I or it could be destroyed...

You will notice there is a lot of fear and a sense of threat in these metaphors? 

For three years (2022 - 2025) I opened up and read the contents of that box to understand the crash. I published the contents and I was gratified to see that it was read. Thousands of you! Thank you! I didn't feel so alone then. Even if many of you were Singapore bots, welcome all! Yet as I write I cannot forget or forgive how the plane was deliberately crashed. I see the 'ribbons' and tatters, the smell, I see the blasted trees, the dismembered parts, and I know exactly how bad, how miserably catastrophic the crash was.

And then, it was just fourteen days after the final section of the box was deciphered; I had finally had all of it, the whole picture. I understood how - but not why - the plane had been deliberately flown into the mountain. And while I was thinking how best to manage this information I received a message that made my blood run cold. I was informed that I was to be arrested. I spent the evening placing the contents of the black box in a secure place, then I smashed the box itself and went to the police station before they found me, before the handcuffs, and before the existence of the information could be verified and destroyed.

The final scene, twenty hours ago, last night. Darkness and cold. Saturn above the clouds, high above me. A special bit of rock in my pocket for luck and protection, to deflect what was to come. Trust in myself a smaller light than the faintest star. Tears in my eyes. Fear crushing my lungs, heart racing, body shaking. All day unable to eat. The night before not able to sleep - desperately Googling legal terms. I'd been called to attend my own execution. If I left the station with even a caution, I would not be able to get insurance, and without that insurance I wouldn't be able to work as a therapist. 

Twenty hours ago a psychotherapist deliberately tried to end my career...