Therapy
Therapy is paying someone else to whine for you.
You only went because “others” knew best.
You abandoned therapy when you knew you knew
that you knew more than your therapists. That you
were paying $150 per hour to entertain them.
That the were ill-educated and inarticulate.
That quitting itself was the best therapy.
Who can know you better than you do?
Clearly not some fawning twit in a bow-tie.
How can someone less than you make more of you?
You’d be damned before paying for potted ferns
and putting someone else’s kid through Med School.
Unless you are among the dangerously diseased,
therapy is a professional multilevel marketing scam.
They prescribe a pill and call that progress.
Lure you in. Keep up paying. Call profit success.
Comes a time in a boy’s life when he’s got to be a man.
Shoulder the responsibilities for your own failures.
Outsourcing anxiety is not a viable solution.
Delivering depression to strangers is depressing.
“I’m not scared of PTSD. PTSD is scared of me!”
Trauma has been demoted to any insignificant bruise.
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
rain inescapably down on the heads of everyone.
Get me those shields up Mr Sulu.
Be strong for your right to live.
Revel in your elegant eccentricity.
If you like this piece, and can afford it, consider donating. The gravy train has been derailed.
