My Voice Through Poetry

Yesterday I Went to Therapy

Yesterday I went to therapy
I walked into the lobby
That smelled of stale crackers
And sat on a chair that was too cold
The noise machine drowned out words on
The other side
And dulled my brain
I was finally called in after
My session was supposed to start
15 minutes ago
Although I wasn't complaining

Yesterday went to therapy
She sat in a cushiony swivel chair,
Slumped over a desk swamped with
Overflowing Manila folders
Her tired eyes contrasted her sleek, filled in eyebrows
Wrinkles deep like trenches
I couldn't blame her though
Listening to everyone's problems would wear me out too
And I can't even deal with my own

Yesterday I went to therapy
She started with
"Hello, what's your name?"
I answered.
"Nice to meet you."
She smiled out of professionalism
That made me cringe
I nodded my head politely
And sat down in the chair farthest from her
I knew how these things worked.
"I've already forgotten. What's your name again?"
I repeated myself.
No biggie. I also suck at names.
She ruffled a few papers
Half heartedly shuffled into stacks
And took out
A pen and a pad of paper
(Ah, the archetype.)
"What's your name?"
I blinked.

Then I blinked again.
I repeated myself.
"Ah, alright."
(As if it was the first time she had asked)
"Nice to meet you."
I thought it was a practical joke at first,
But the entire session she made me repeat myself
Over and over
And over and over.

Yesterday I went to therapy
Therapist: What do you do to cope?
Me: I write.
*a few moments pass*
*I clear my throat and tap my foot*
Therapist: Have you tried writing to cope?
Me: Yes ma'am, I love to write.
Therapist: So, you write to cope?
I sigh.
"Yes."
Goodness gracious, what's the pad and paper for
If you're going to repeat yourself the whole session?
This continues for another 45 minutes
Until I want to blow out my brains even more.
So much for getting better.

At the end of the session, she asks me my name.