I got absolutely no real help from my therapist today. I told him my depression is worse and that I want to die, and he just moved right along to distracting me by bringing up horror games. Which was fun, but not actually beneficial in any way except perhaps at that precise moment. Distraction only works temporarily, and he should know that very well, which means he knew he wasn’t helping me at all.
I hate to say it, but I think I might need to look into getting a new therapist. I like my current one, I’ve been seeing him for years, he knows me well, and he specializes in neurological disorders, but even after I’ve said something about it multiple times, it seems he just cannot stop treating our sessions like casual chit-chat. I’m not paying to catch up or to provide information about my various treatments for him to share with his other clients, I pay for therapy. I can understand a little catching up and ice-breaking at the beginning, but I’m lucky if we exchange two sentences about whatever issue(s) I’m dealing with during the entire hour-long session, even when I deliberately direct the conversation back that way.
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Yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage. For although nepenthe has calmed me, I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.
-H. P. Lovecraft, "The Outsider"