Cash saved for the unexpected
broken tooth, car repair, the day
the central heating quits. Water jugs
and food to last the outage,
snowstorm, hurricane. Go-bag
with important papers. Plan to retire,
insurance for wind, flood, fire,
earthquake. That’s been my way.
When the shrink found fault with
every friend and told me they
were users, when he said I returned
more neurotic when I visited
my family, my antennae should
have stood right up. Young, I didn’t
know the trademark of professional
tyrants and abusers, who help you block
your own exits to make sure you can’t
implement Plan B. Isolated, dependent,
distrusting of yourself, you surely
turn toward the one who stripped you
of your choices, who said, Your
therapy is private. Don’t discuss its
content with anyone. Don’t consult
another doctor or question me.
Nearly twenty years to read the signs,
conceive an escape plan. Now I talk
to other former patients, hear their
versions of the cult of feeling special.
Photo by George Bakos on Unsplash
