The Black Box.

[T his post refers to my ex-husband.] I cannot know why he wanted to take this photo.  But I can tell you why she allowed him to make this image - I am beneath his boot, face to the floor, unable to move. I thought - at the time - that he took a photo of how he needed this relationship to be, to repeat his father's marriage.  I am crushed, his boot is heavy and cold. I can't move . That is how I felt with him, and a part of me had known right from the start that it would be this way. Is this an erotic image?  No, not for me, ever. He had told me what he wanted, how he wanted me to be, and I agreed. I know myself to be strong, and I was thinking, if he wants this, if this is really how he and I must be, his intentions are made clear. And now - so are mine; I'm feeding a monster, to prevent it ripping us all apart.  But, it did that anyway.... It started with his shame. I came home - where were the children - I don't remember now..? I found him looking at porn. His sha...

Yesterday I sat in the shadow of the Tor .   I connected my mp3 player to the sound bar and played   a song by a young man whose death had led me here.  I thought of standing up, before letting the sounds ripple out to the four corners, to tell the whole story to everyone - and actually, in retrospect, perhaps that would have been the right thing to do.  But, I didn't.  I just played it.  It was time to let his ghost, go... As the music rang out I remembered sitting in the chamber of the coroner's court as the inquest was heard - and making my commitment to train as a therapeutic counsellor.  To become the sort of therapist he might have chosen to talk to. My question then was how do I prevent this death happening to others...or rather, how do I become the kind of counsellor who might be able to change someone's mind enough to alter their direction. At the inquest we heard that everyone had tried, everyone had done their best, so - blame it on bad...

He  - "So, what's for today then"? Me  - "Oh, offering the scarf!" A rush of pain washes over me as I begin to write. This is  t he last session.   Then and now, I was really aware that I wanted to leave having done it right.   My integrity is rooted in one statement:  love is worth dying for. Perhaps it is the only thing... I had chosen not to run.  I had trusted that Kit would stop treating self-disclosure as dangerous. He didn't.  Instead he lectured me about avoidance, whilst he avoided making any reply to my questions. He ignored the power-dynamic he had created, and failed to understand -or perhaps he did understand - that it would be maintained by his  absence. I left his room feeling worthless...disempowered, suicidal.  I'd set my coordinates straight for the heart of the storm; my role is to work with the people who get medicated unless we find a way to turn self-attack and justified rage, fear, ha...

I had discovered that mandatory therapy doesn't end until we have done at least 50 hours of placement and we have a letter from our therapist passing us as stable (!) And also to have filled out more forms to highlight our areas for development, and then also listing what CPD we are planning on taking.  In other words, I need not have given him a date to end therapy. He asks , ' have you found anybody'?  A new therapist... I say that I will leave that until I find a placement. And he isn't saying  anything.  Then we are talking about transcripts. He is telling me to never write my own transcripts because I can use a transcription service!  I write my own transcripts..  I say, 'where does that leave the promise of confidentiality then! I mean talking about a client to a supervisor for the purposes of making sure that I'm doing the best I can for that person is one thing, breaking confidentiality by letting some nameless person transcribe a conversation...

He - "So, do we have part 4?" Me -  "We do!" Part 4. Above clouds, between the void of space, above the pull of earth. I am drowsy between reality and anxiety.  At times like this when I have sought the glittering edge, I’ve longed for a simple way in; the perfect drug, the perfect word, the instant translocation .. Again, I've not posted the rest here.   He asks me if anything changes because I write.?   Me -  "Does anything change because I write. Everything changes, but does anything change because I write. This is - this writing - its like you are talking to the real person, but I'm aware that things must change, but I can't say what changes" He tells me that it isn't necessary that everything changes... Well ultimately change is the nature of this universe, but unless things change the suggestion is that I can keep coming here, we can keep having these one sided conversations as long as I pay him! I can't say this again. I'...

We begin by talking about the 23rd of May 2022. This will be the date of my last session, because it is when my course finishes. And this date is significant. Two years before, on the 23rd of May 2020 - my husband set in motion the resonance cascade that shattered our family.  My only hope, during this session was that I'd be able to contain my feelings; I felt there to be no way out and no way forward. I'd asked him to tell me how he felt in the mp3, and again in the 14th February session, possibly other times.  I'd said that this is how I get closure.  It never happened.  Instead he diagnosed my recording as transgression.   At the time of this session I couldn't take more instances of my feelings being dismissed, or described as crossing boundaries . H e was reacting as if my honesty opened a door to a  contaminating force , and as if this could ruin a professional, ‘clean’ therapy process.  Misogyny is not gendered. It is a prejudice against chara...