A Letter to Dr. West
He has taken almost no new patients in ten years. If you want a seat, write to him — he reads these himself, which is why it takes a few days, and why the answer is often no.
“Don't polish it. Tell me the thing you said you'd do — and didn't. I read every letter myself, and I take my time.”
A name is fine. So is nobody.
Not your history. The thing that's actually going on.
Including whether you're working with a real therapist. He asks either way, and having one counts in your favour — he stays out of their lane.
Anything. Small is fine. This is the question he actually cares about.
He'll want it later, when the other question gets heavy.
A journal entry, a year-in-review, a letter you didn't send. He keeps his notes on what he read, never the page itself.
Dr. West is a fictional character portrayed by an AI. He is a mentor and a sparring partner, not a therapist, and nothing here is treatment or medical advice. Eighteen and over.
If you are in danger right now, this is not the place — call or text 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, US), or your local emergency number, and reach a person you love.