after katy richey's “therapy”

Kaja Rae Lucas

  write a letter to your father. don’t send it. just stare at it until it becomes you and you become it. take your medication like your lover took your soul out of the paper cranes you folded for her (about her / with her). if you were paying attention to the news; stop. if you were eating donuts sparingly eat them more regularly. prepare for hibernation. prepare to die. prepare for electroshock with little nodes on your skull where the electricity goes when you come home, pray it doesn’t snow don’t tell your therapist he already knows a moment is a moment even when it’s not about you though; he tells you “you think about yourself too much” you tell him, “who else thinks of me?” and that’s the disorder, you don’t think anyone is thinking of you not even your lover. and some days she does. most days she doesn’t. prepare to lie to your therapist he doesn’t know you he only gives a damn about you in the tongue of pity please reward yourself with a drink (not an overdose) reward because you have learned the thing that matters most; you are only as human as you let yourself imagine you are. because otherwise, you’re just a devil with no imagination. this way, you’re at least creative. learn how to write a novel. learn how to write a eulogy. one for yourself / one for the ancestors. learn how to ache without body. learn the message of soul. learn to feel human. therapist tells you; “you know you never think of yourself as human.” and you laugh, because you’re more psychotic than person. psychiatrist tells you “that’s not a state of being, it’s an illness” you tell him try it for yourself and tell me how you feel. that letter; actually write it. one for yourself and one for your father in which you imagine them both as your abuser (which is a lie in both cases.) send it with your suicide note notice it will probably take seven days for it to make it to your family scrap it. scrap the letter. scrap the therapist. you’re hurting but not enough to talk about it.