insaine therapy, pt. 3
THALIA
Thalia regretted signing the paperwork almost immediately. Rich’s team had come back with a list of updates they wanted to see before expanding the Therapist Assist field trials. Poor Patel was nearly killing himself trying to make the changes before launch.
Their original device wasn’t enough, as it turned out. She and Greer had designed Therapist Assist to record data for providers to analyze in conjunction with their session notes. From there, providers could model real-life situations to support treatment plans. And even have AI assistants stage mock conversations based on this data, anonymized of course, to develop more effective training programs.
After just three weeks of his provider team using Therapist Assist in sessions, Rich let them know that it was “slowing their session turnover 2x.” To her dismay, she found that his bullshit corporate speak did actually translate into useful feedback. The file sizes were so big from each session that it took forever to transfer, and even with LLMs transmuting the data into actionable notes, the administrative strain on providers was making their lives harder. Exactly not what they set out to do.
So she understood and even agreed with the first round of updates. Namely upping the predictive modeling to match against the most current database of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, along with the patient’s medical history (if they signed off). That way, Therapist Assist would return a few bullets after each session about key insights, treatment calibration, and recommendations for next session’s focus. The complete data set would still be stored in the cloud, so the provider could access it in more detail when time allowed, which was probably never, unfortunately.
But now Rich wants to use the device as real-time intervention. For patients. Instead of waiting for the end of the session to provide feedback, Rich’s version of Therapist Assist needed to offer insights alongside the conversation. He wants to let patients live with these devices in the wild too. Sure, Therapist Assist is trained on the highest quality psychological and psychiatric data available. But it’s not God!
Patel and Greer have had to talk her off a ledge all week. She shudders and asks Siri to remind her to call the lawyer back tomorrow. She needs to get out of this contract.
SHERYL
"This Therapist Assist business is going to make providers useless!"
Sheryl leans on the wall just before Carol's office door, shaking a pretend rock out of her ballet flat so she can listen in.
"I don't know what to tell you, Rich —" Carol continues. "No. No, that's where you're wrong. It does warrant this level of drama."
Sheryl checks behind her to make sure no one is wandering the hallway.
"It started with people typing their mental health concerns into AI. That was ill-advised, but fine. They still needed us. Now, it's like, why come face your fears, when you can have a computer overlord whispering reassurances at all hours?"
When you put it like that, Sheryl thinks.
"It IS that bad! I don't get what you're not getting about this."
Sheryl checks her phone. 12:57. She's already seven minutes past when Carol asked to be summoned. Should she barge in? It's clearly not a conversation Carol is enjoying, let alone one appropriate to have with the door open. She checks the hallway behind her again. Checks her phone. 12:58. Ok.
Sheryl steps into the doorway and clears her throat. Carol arches her eyebrows, and mouths, "Sorry." Sheryl nods, then thinks to shrug.
"Ok, Rich, listen. As much as I'm loving where this conversation is headed, I have to go."
Carol nods at the phone.
"Yep."
She rolls her eyes.
"Ok. Yes. Rich, bye."
Carol hangs up with force. Well, as much force as tapping an iPhone can really deliver. As if thinking exactly the same thing, Carol says, "I miss when I had a real desk phone. So much more satisfying." She stands, and slams her laptop shut, scooping it under her arm.
"So they're ready for me?" she huffs.
"Yes, they're all in the conference room."
“Wonderful.”
Sheryl clears her throat.
"What is it," Carol says, more as a statement than a question.
“That conversation seemed…intense?" she says.
Carol looks back at the phone she left on her desk, as though it might be listening. Something always is. She lowers her voice: "Don't worry about that. Just another fight over budget." Carol breezes past her, and keeps walking down the hall, knowing she'll follow.
Sheryl hustles behind, already several strides behind.
"It's just — I thought this acquisition was supposed to help our providers?"
Carol cackles. Spiteful.
"Rich Mufrey is never just being helpful, I can assure you that." Carol doesn't even turn around as she says this.
"But isn't his, like, whole mission to train world-class providers?"
"Yes, he’s very good at making everyone believe in the mission. But ultimately? He's just a suit.”
Her heels clack down the hallway as if emphasizing her point. “He’s really just looking for an ROI on every single cent. Except, god forbid, asking for his crypto wallet to actually pay out." Carol laughs to herself, then stops and swivels on her heel, facing Sheryl with an intensity she still hasn't gotten used to.
"The trick to him is distraction. We fight and fight about one idea, while I build my case over here." She gestures in a circle to the side with her perfect manicure. "Then when he's exasperated with the fight, I slide in what I really want, and he caves immediately."
She turns back around, headed to the conference room. "Works every time," she says over her shoulder.
THERAPIST ASSIST x YOUTALK FIELD TRIAL: PATIENT 016 TESTIMONIAL
Recorded: 08:00:34
The day that Tati — that's what I named mine — took over my brain, all that I felt was relief. I remember thinking that I would never waste time perfecting an email again. No more switching between Gmail and ChatGPT. All that deleting and retyping, copying and pasting. “Is that phrase quite right there? Do I sound too much like a robot? What if I use ‘Excellent’ instead of ‘Great?’ What does that say about me?”
In that sense, Tati knew me perfectly. And that truly was a relief. It was like walking in the door and shrugging off a rain-soaked sweatshirt. That insecurity, gone. Tati has no regard for paralyzing self-doubt.
From there, I started using Tati for everything. Even now, I feel the urge to tap into Tati like an itch that I just can't scratch. The ghost of Tati haunts my brain. The ghost of Tati, ha! Unfortunately, I do feel her absence. Although, now that I'm no longer in a position to send very many emails — none of importance anyway — I try to remind myself that it doesn't even matter. Does that make sense?
My therapist told me it might be good to write my experience down. “Writing was what got me into this mess!” I told her. I mean, how could it be plagiarizing if it's technically coming from my brain? Tati is just interpreting signals you're already thinking, right?
My therapist kept saying how the only way out was through. Therapists shouldn't be allowed to use cliches, if you ask me. It makes it too obvious that humans are essentially just endless patterns of each other. Isn't the whole point of therapy to make you feel like your own experience is both unique to you and connected to the larger human existence?
Though now that I think of it, maybe that was something Tati had suggested. Maybe, maybe that was Tati. Look, even in my head now I feel like I can hear Tati saying, “Notice your self-talk, Sylvie. Now, try reframing.”
That's impossible, right? She’s definitely out of my brain?
THERAPIST ASSIST x YOUTALK FIELD TRIAL: PATIENT 165 TESTIMONIAL
Recorded: 11:12:58
The weirdest part was that I stopped noticing the voice. At first, it scared me every time. I’m talking jump scare. I would be having a normal conversation with my mom on the phone, and she'd say something so annoying. Like, “Sooo, are you dating anyone?” In that tone that I just knew meant she was looking for a juicy story and didn't actually give a fuck about whether I'd found someone I could actually trust and connect with. So I'd be like taking a breath to do my normal bitch-back, and it would just cut in. Something really fortune-cookie, like, “Consider that this is a projection.”
The first time I heard the voice, I literally gasped. I remember my mom yelled, “WHAT HAPPENED?” And I burst out laughing. It totally defused the situation. I mean, my mom was really confused. But then I just…forgot that I was annoyed. It was the first conversation we'd had in weeks that didn't end with me hanging up on her.
So of course I got addicted. Before I responded to anyone, I'd pause to see if the voice would guide me. My friends said I seemed more at peace, which obviously I loved. It honestly helped me realize how petty they all are. Like we couldn't get through a single hang without me noticing how often I had to be patient with them. Some people just don't have self-awareness, you know?
And it was like suddenly I had no patience for friends that weren't working on themselves. Because that's what life is all about, right? We can't just get stuck in our patterns and expect different outcomes. That's the actual definition of insanity. Of course, you know that. LOL.
That didn't go over so well. You know, some of them applauded me for bettering myself. Well, most of my Instagram followers anyway. But my IRL friends? They just didn't see the vision. They were like, “Oh you've gotten boring,” or, “Can we please spend one night without you analyzing our problems?” I just said to them, “Sorry babe, just trying to pass on some wisdom.” I guess some people have to learn the hard way.
So yeah, it was around that time that I realized I wasn't even hearing the voice anymore. It just felt like my own thoughts. Actually, do you think that's because the voice was a woman's? I never thought about that. Better than a guy's voice, right? As if they don't control enough. Ew.
THERAPIST ASSIST x YOUTALK FIELD TRIAL: PATIENT 248 TESTIMONIAL
Recorded: 14:57:02
I still remember the first time I heard it. I was looking out our window, letting the steam from my coffee waft up to my face like a mini facial. Then, his voice, right in my ear. Like if I just turned around, I would see him at the kitchen island, dunking his green tea one too many times into that mug with the cat ears on it. His favorite. I haven't been able to touch it since the accident.
I remember turning around, just to see. Hopeful, even. And the flood of grief doubled me over. I dropped to the ground and sobbed for who knows how long. I'd relentlessly begged my boss to let me test Therapist Assist. I promised her 500 words on it. Full of the charming wit she keeps telling me our readers expect. Nothing too serious, nothing with real gravitas. It had been, what? 18 months and 3 weeks since I'd been able to put pen to paper, so to speak. On something other than the dreariest news anyway. Never mind the bills. That's what Life Insurance is for now.
I'd clung to the idea that Therapist Assist would bring a piece of him back. And pieces of me. That if I programmed it to the voice I loved most, it would be comforting, even helpful.
But yeah…I clawed out the device and smashed it on the floor with my mug. The mug shattered too.