A comfortable couch welcomes me,
the kind that you sink into, plush.
She asks me how I’ve been feeling
lately. Fine, I guess. Not bad. Numb,
if nothing else. She says that’s good.
Is it? I would have thought numb is
not good, but she’s the professional,
so I go with it. Her office emotional
support chihuahua nudges my arm. He
wears a sweater. His name is Poncho,
and I love him. I rest my hand on his
small head and pet him gently. He is
great at his job, I make sure he knows
it. She asks me if I’ve considered
harming myself lately. No, I just don’t
feel much of anything, if I’m being
honest. She says that’s good news.
I’m starting to think she only listens
for the yes or no in my responses and
filters out the rest. She guides me
through a series of questions regarding
the history of my traumas, asks if I’ve
been using the strategies we’ve been
practicing, yes I have, asks if they’re
working, I guess, and sends me on my
way. I still feel numb, I pull out my
phone and ask Reddit if this is normal,
and drive home to where my trauma
rests in the walls, soaks in the carpet,
floats like dust in the air of every room.
@jjjjjohn