I almost laughed when I read the following: “I’m really exhausted trying to get you to show a glimmer of compassion that indicates you have empathic understanding about the truth of why I’m suffering emotionally right now. But I must say I believe it’s not because of a failure of empathy on your part. I believe you know exactly why I’m feeling the way I do, but you simply don’t care that I’m suffering, even though you understand why I am. So my blunt question for you is: You don’t really give a damn about my emotional pain right now, do you?” The day I walked out of therapy for good, that was pretty close to the discussion I had with my shrink. For the seven years he had sat there, his total failure to respond in any “real” way had in the end left me feeling …almost like …????… Kafka’s cockroach. Totally othered.Totally wrong. In retrospect, I was probably too persistent in trying to develop some sort of rapport with him, and I think his lack of responsiveness was ultimately quite damaging.