therapy (revisit)

∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ interrupted, as he did quite frequently during our twenty-five minute conversation, to ask if I had read 'The Little Prince'.  As with the other interruptions, it seemed an unnecessary non-sequitur.  He'd already established that he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to me.  "The third chapter," he said.

"Very long ago," I replied.  I remembered the book, sure.  It was a children's book for adults.  Its applicability to my case seemed... questionable.  A lot about ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎'s gestalt therapy routine did.  Not least his emphasis that patients rarely left his care.

I did not, in fact, remember much about 'The Little Prince', much less the third chapter.  This fact would float to the surface, days later, leading to my being distracted enough to fucking g00gle it:

It took me a long time to learn where he came from. The little prince, who asked me so many questions, never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. It was from words dropped by chance that, little by little, everything was revealed to me.

Hrm.  Yet ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ kept saying his approach focused on body language, on nonverbal tells, and seemed to handwave away personal history as irrelevant, or misleading.  Which was why I finally gave up on trying to explain myself, or what I hoped to gain from therapy.

He didn't realize I was recording myself speaking on the phone, seated at my drawing board.  I had set up the camera with the intention of drawing while I talked.  My design for 'The Hierophant' had been on the drawing table for a solid month, and over the last few days was all but leering at me, daring me to draw.

So I sat there, moving scraps of vellum around, reduced to one- or two-word replies to his needless explanation of how group therapy worked, which had overtaken my last, futile effort to explain why I wanted to join a group-- to get more than a single perspective.  ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ was very protective of the people in his care, he said, over & over, and there was a "culture" within the group that was very delicate.  "My patients don't leave the group," he emphasized.  "I don't want to scare you."

I picked the pencil up.  Moved to make a mark.  Paused.  I put the pencil down.

"Mm," I grunted.  Wondering if he was aware how he emphasized the word 'cult' every time he invoked the Culture within these circles of men he was shepherding like herd animals.  "Thank you," I said.  "Believe I've gotten everything I need."  Flipping the phone closed with a toss to the couch.  

Frankly frustrated & annoyed and even a little angry.  "Well that was a bust," I groused to the camera.  Which had only ever heard my side of things, anyhow.  What did it see?  Doctor-patient confidentiality?  Inaction?  Self-censorship?  Me pushing a prospective therapist away, because I didn't understand what he was doing?  Did he know what he was doing?  

Why did I hit record?  Why did I even dial ∎∎∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎ to begin with?

'The Little Prince' in-fuckin'-deed.