Via of all places, MeFi, I came across a fairly powerful little essay by a man, himself depressed, detailing a bit of the life and death of one of his college friends, who committed suicide.

I haven't much to say about it that won't involve long and excessive rambling, but I wanted to note it down here for later reference. There were many snippets within it which resonated strongly, but perhaps none so much as this description and possibly indictment of therapy:

He had been brave enough to start treatment, to seek insight, but insight had not redeemed him, as insight often doesn’t. It is heartbreaking to give words to your pain only to find that pain unaffected by articulation. It is a betrayal—the betrayal inherent in art’s and philosophy’s clear descriptions of what they cannot improve.

Yeah.

My problem is that I seek therapy as a science, because I was raised as a child of the Enlightenment and Rational Man. The therapy I want is the science of the mind, and the normative science at that - one complete with diagnosis and prognosis and prescription. But I have found that every single therapist I've met who has agreed and claimed that those things can be found within therapy is, in fact, a terrible therapist. If, in fact, therapy (psychiatric treatment without or other than psychopharmacology) is an art and not a science, then part of me - a great deal of me - is instantly suspicious and considers it unworthy. Or rather, I cannot muster up the approach, which I learned at my mother's knee, of opening up all to the therapist. I can (at least I think I can) open up nearly completely to therapists; produce the innermost secrets that I'm aware of for their delectation and analysis - all because I treat therapy as medical science, and thus can accept the clinician's dispassion with such information.

If it's not a science, but an art, then it feels prurient and invasive, and I can feel myself closing up, the flower armoring for the winter.

Art, I tell myself, is not what I need.

But, of course, what if I'm wrong?

Ugh It's Monday again. Mondays really irritate me for some reason. Maybe It's the fact that I have to wake up at five AM after staying up until 1AM the past two nights. My Pre-Algebra teacher made us deliver the mums she sold to people around the school, and we didn't even get tips! I went with my dad to pick up his new car from the Infiniti dealership. It is a very nice car, and it has that fresh new car smell. I wonder how they get the cars to smell like that. I found out much to my delight that the Sci-Fi channel airs THe Twilight Zone from five to six every morning, so I can catch an episode after my shower while I eat my breakfast. I broke another guitar pick today. I'll have to stop by Guitar Center and pick up some more, or just strum less violently. Until tomorrow, Goodbye E2 Sincerely, Dr.Jimmy

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