**There are spoilers 
for this episode in the discussion below.**
Max (Alba) is a genetically engineered soldier who escaped her creators along with several of her "brothers and sisters." They live in a post-apocalyptic police state in what was formerly Seattle. Logan Cale (Weatherly) is Max's friend, love interest and, through anonymous television broadcasts, the voice of rebellion.
In the first episode of the series, Logan is shot and loses the use of his legs. He briefly regains the ability to walk later in the season, only to lose it and end up back in his wheelchair.
Logan comes from a rich family, so he has the money to pay a black market physician to try some experimental treatments on his legs. In her files on him, she has completed a psychological evaluation. She writes in it that he is "despondent" and "confused," has "depression," and that she is "concern[ed]" about suicide. Max breaks into her makeshift office and finds these files right about the time Logan chambers that one special bullet so he can blow his head off.
Just before he pulls the trigger, he notices water dripping from his ceiling and goes to the apartment above his to check on the source. The elderly woman who lives there has fallen, and water has overflowed onto the bathroom floor. Logan gets her help and realizes how precious life is. (This is all particularly fortuitous given that, as bloopers-finders have noted, Logan lives in the building's penthouse and that he never has an upstairs neighbor before or after this episode.) Max arrives at Logan's place after he's realized he wants to live.
Many therapists who make notes by hand do it during the session. They jot notes here and there if something seems particularly important, but they're usually not as linear as notes that are written up afterward.
Many therapists avoid writing during the session, though. They think it's distracting or even rude. (I was an in-session writer until a supervisor of mine insisted I stop. I said, "But sometimes I don't want to lose a thought," and he said, "If it's that important, you'll remember or it will come back up.")
Files are always subject to subpoena, so a therapist is always aware of what goes in them. For example, a file might be written up more thoughtfully for someone who's going through a child custody case, just because the therapist is so aware the files could end up in court under scrutiny. Some therapists actually believe that handwriting that's difficult to read is a positive thing—if nobody else can read them, they need you to interpret them, so files are less likely (in the sloppy handwriter's mind, at least) to be misunderstood or taken out of context.
TV series creators are often forced to make choices that affect continuity, and Dark Angel creators were forced to make more than a few.
Sometimes as writers, though, we try to take the easy way out and make a problem disappear when we've gotten the drama we wanted out of it. And I'm as guilty as the next person. What I've found, though, is that when I force the characters to work all the way through the problem, which often ends up including therapy and medications (though I may make that stuff something that gets more summary than exposition), I get a much more interesting story. Whatever else is difficult for the hero or heroine, now s/he has something else that must be overcome as well. And since many people struggle with what needing help means about them, you get a great opportunity to show us how the character/s handle personal problems.