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Doc, This Session is Over

March 20, 2013

by Sean Michael

“It’s easy to hate yourself,” she says.
“Yeah, well try it sometime,” I reply.

My mind is on the run,
Fading in the distance toward the sun.
I’ll burn up there,
Poof! My existence is evanescent…

“Would you consider a new medication?” My therapist asks me.
She is always trying to prescribe me new medications.
I ignore her question.

Last month I began refusing the anti-depressants,
The anti-anxieties,
The anti-this and anti-that.
The lithium makes it hard to breathe.
And every time I swallow that little pink pill I’m inclined to
believe that they are trying to kill me.
The Wellbutrin makes me hyper,
The rest make me want to sleep an entire year.
They don’t work,
Those damned pills.

So I must be fine!
What a relief…
No, that’s a paradox–
The clearer things become, the more I lose my mind…

“There is a new drug.
Still being tested but it’s okayed for use.
Just sign this waiver.”

“What?! No way!
I’m not putting my name on that paper!
Doc, this session is over.
You know, I just wanted to talk.
Now I think I’d be better off taking a walk.”

I need a lot of things.
I need a new doctor.
My pen has run dry of ink.
I’ve only got a few scraps of paper in my pocket.
No money.
I need something new,
I need a new something!

So I walk from the office seeking a new perspective as I stroll along.
Trying to remember the words to a that song:
And we’re all just prisoners here…
Wait–
We’re programmed to deceive…
Wait–
Never mind, I can’t remember how it goes.
But it’s a damn good song.
I look down at my old trusty Reeboks,
Then back up to the sky.
The sun is setting in the distance.
Maybe with a steady step,
I’ll be able to catch my mind.

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From → BLOG, Poetry

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