The Black Box.

This is the session in which I placed symbols of the four directions , at each of the cardinal points in his room. A stone in the North . A feather in the East . A candle in the South and The sound of the sea (I played a recording) in the West . Perhaps I should have dropped this fly-by intuition thing I was doing, perhaps I should have availed myself of his psychotherapeutic knowledge. But, he was my beloved. I had just an hour. And the terror of the Kohuts was upon me - that our laughing together, our getting on, was his deliberate construct - twin ship or some other reparative relationship manoeuvre.   Not real.  No actual connection.  Manipulation.  Only his illusion and my delusion.  And in this room, well our laughter, it felt real. But that question he asks himself, the 'who am I to the client',  and how he seeks to be 'who they need me to be' feels like I've been duped by deceptive shimmering mirages. I don't need him to be anyone exce...

NOTES: I sit at his feet gazing upwards.  the tiny jewel  in my nose keeps  catching the light... I leave feeling empty, hollow. I'm his client no matter what I say. I'm not his trusted companion it bloody hurts. He is the therapist. I'm being baby sat... The hall of mirrors bends the light. His colours change. A divine chameleon. And I sit. At his feet. Last week the sudden,  burning thrill  as our little fingers touched. A sensation like hunger  and going over the crest of a hill  too fast. The session. Into the void... No plans, I didn't email him before the session to say what the subjects may be. But he follows up a link I'd sent to him some time before; an interview with a psychiatrist who stated boldly that a diagnosis of a mental health condition such as schizophrenia , is made entirely out of words. He is staggered; how is it ethical to carry out medical interventions, prescribe brain altering substances based entirely on a person's words! An...

NOTES 12th August 2021.  At the very centre of our dialogue The word  phantasy ripples through the air (with a ph) Idea condensing now into form,  Professor Couliano slumped,  a single shot  through the head. Metaphor, within a metaphor within a... bullet. That extinguished once and for all  the flame of his life. Lots of bullet songs in my life right now:  Filter - 'Hey man, nice shot'. Covenant - 'Time is like a Bullet'. Puscifer - Bullet train to Iowa...   "Going to be a while before we hit the ground"  And this connection that I'm imagining,  or longing for,  or creating,  or destroying? When the waves come  I am in bliss.  The session. There is a picture on his wall. I go over and take a good look.  It is of a  market, a festival day? And in the picture there is a big, stripy box  Full of people!  Are they trapped?  There is a ladder inside this rather large box,  Has someone place...

NOTE: 9th August 2021. Calm acquiescence. Really? As I sit here in a car too hot for dogs, radio on,  belly full of fluttering butterflies. I watched an old documentary about Eric Berne this morning. 1960s looked modern. Shock to see people smoking. Once so normal... And  People expected answers,  psychotherapy // Enlightenment ! But mostly... I'm terrified why? Undertow Kit gives me back everything I give him He doesn't reply to my emails anymore.. What has happened? I feel his warmth, but I'm what? Stupid I guess. Getting to the point where I tell the truth. Just say it I'm in love with you ... And you must know this, feel it, see it? This session is almost too painful to recall and write. There was so much 'us' in it. It didn’t feel as if there was an agenda. We talked as if we are friends and equals. But returning to this session and thinking about it - I feel my heart break - because what if this sense of equality was nothing but a result of his  techniqu...

  After a passionate plea. Sent as a voice recording.  I said it was about the past. I had needed to tell him how I felt, about my son, my husband, the fear.. But it was in the time of Covid,  Zoom ,  I was in the house.  Impossible to speak freely. Now I need to tell him how I felt.  An hour isn't enough time!  I want him to know who I am. I sit in the car about to go..  This is not therapy! I had sent him a voice message full of blurred lines, and five months later the blurred lines had sunk into the mud as trenches surmounted with razor wire...in a minefield.  I had no way to know this was to be, as I hit send. As I prepared myself to knock on the door and start this session I still needed to believe in him as a trusted companion. And I still needed, wanted the enormity of my journey, the weight of it, the devastation, all of it, to be witnessed and acknowledged. I was trusting him to see. And I needed an emotional, whole, a real interacti...

25th July 2021. Notes A day full of physical panic, my body full of crawling spinning electricity.  Not a nice feeling, not nice at all.  Then suddenly I was washed through and through. And the weaving, spinning, churn stopped.  I stood for a precious moment in the still point at the centre of the Sun - and I felt love once more. Mostly the laughing, that we laugh together... And that I am culpable.  It stops the panic.  Stops me waiting for the hammer to fall   Stills my expectation of a coming time, my trial by language . What is my worst fear? More hours, weeks, months of blaming myself for feeling anxiety.  So, more of the same then!  I could tell - when my husband was lying. My anxiety was well founded. Just no information... What do I want to know? Only good and positive things.  I'm beaten up. The greater my need for positive,  the harder it is to accept there can be negative consequences  for honesty...  26th July...

20th July 2021. So, here it is.  The day after.  I'm never going to forget it, seeing you. You were looking up the road, looking for me.  Waving.  I waved back my most graceful wave and slowly raised a hand to shield my eyes from the powerful sun that was fizzling my world into glitter.  That walk. Oh I was slow, considered, graceful, I am beautiful - I try to believe that.  Feel, it. Know it... Trust. It took me hours to reach you. Slomo. Closer . Then I followed you, simply not seeing.  Totally gone.  I wasn't there.  Really!   I went to sit in the wrong place, therapists always sit closest to the door.  But there are two doors? And so I shifted as you said, 'sit anywhere' but I felt you move to the seat closest to the other door - my wordless interpretation is so fast! Outside of here - the hottest day.  Inside - here - your room.  Wooden floor.  We are cool inside an old house.  You asked me if I wanted ...