Excuses I Make Not to Go to Therapy

Content warning: mentions of depression and anxiety. The following is a reflection on mental health stigma, both internalized and externally from our society.

Number one: I’m too busy.

How will I find time with all the tedious tasks

I’ve filled up my time with in

An effort to keep going?

From wakeup to work,

Work to wallow

My schedule’s booked with spirals and

Meetings with the imposter face-to-face.

Number two: I’m fine.

I glide on these waves, it’s my superpower.

I fly to the highest heights,

And if I get too close to the sun,

Something always pulls me back down.

I convince myself it’s better to

Die trying than never make it,

That I am invincible,

That gusts control my life

Instead of myself.

Number three: I’ve heard it all.

It’s everyone’s secret, 

Their cure,

Their age-old remedy.

I can’t help to find questions

Where others discover answers.

Life is an argument that seems

Impossible to solve in a conversation.

Number four: how is it not enough?

I am a glutton for grief,

Pandering for pain,

I seek where I shall find nothing.

I am served my chances,

Steaming and ripe, on a silver platter,

But I am not hungry.

Number five: don’t we all feel it?

The crash,

The shock,

The shake,

The quake.

How can I ask the world to stop

Turning for me when it’s falling apart?

Number six: isn’t this how it’s supposed to be?

We’ve all been through it and

You’re not alone are statements

Etched in stone and venerated as commandments.

We shook hands and made this deal.

We must nurture the life we 

Brought into this world,

Learn to live with it like a broken home.

Number seven: how can they know me better than I know myself?

I have known this land for years,

Travelled and roamed these grounds.

Tell me there’s an easier way

But I’ve made the trek many times,

Up the mountain and through the fields.

I’ll send pretty postcards,

Scalloped along the edge,

So you know where I am.

Number eight: will they recognize me,

Once it’s all said and done?

Will they look at me or

Through me in passing?

Maybe I’ll look like someone they knew

At some point in time,

A vaguely familiar face

They can’t put their finger on.

It’s like they signed “never change”

On my soul and I stored it safely on the shelf,

Ready to reminisce on later in life.

I long to skip to the good parts,

To give them what they came for.

I wonder if saying goodbye will be

So difficult when I meet someone new.

I’ll knock and say a hello,

They’ll let me in, and it’ll be like we’re old friends