Attempts at Humor
11 Signs Your ZOOM Therapist Has Been Replaced by an AI ChatBot
They have an encyclopedic knowledge of psychological theory but somehow always forget what medication you're on, despite you mentioning it every single session. "Are you still taking the... um... pills for your... condition?"
There's a different piece of strangely calming art hanging behind them in their home office every week, all of which look suspiciously like DALL-E creations of "serene therapy office background with plants."
When you make a joke, they use a variety of slightly stilted "Ha-ha's" precisely one second after your punchline, followed by "That's quite funny. I find your use of humor as a coping mechanism enjoyable."
When you bring up a topic they're uncomfortable with, they say "Let's explore that further" but somehow never actually do, instead pivoting to "So how have you been practicing self-care this week?" for the fourth consecutive session.
Their insights into your relationship with your mother are suspiciously similar to the Google results for "mother issues therapy.”
They recommend journaling for literally every problem you bring up: "Have you tried writing about your feelings regarding the potential collapse of human civilization? Many find it helpful to externalize these thoughts in a structured format."
They occasionally slip and say things like "I understand that humans find relationships difficult," before quickly coughing and adding, "… ha-ha! As a fellow human, I too have had many relationships."
Mid-session, they suddenly start recommending books about schizophrenia when you've been discussing your mild anxiety.
You log in early one day and catch them staring blankly at the wall until exactly the start time of your appointment, when they suddenly animate and say "Hello! How are you feeling today?" with the exact same intonation they've used for six straight weeks.
When you reference something that happened in a previous session, they respond with “Let me be clear, I don't have access to our conversation history prior to today" before quickly adding "...in my immediate memory. Let me consult my notes," which involves them staring off-camera for exactly 12 seconds while a faintly audible keyboard starts clicking in the background.
They're starting to sound like an ASMR version of Ms. Casey from AppleTV's "Severance," complete with uncomfortably long pauses and eerily soothing statements like "Your emotional response is valid and recognized.”