planning, unplanning

thinking lately of how much my therapy must cost. whether my 

neighbors can hear me when i forget to close the window. 

whether i really made her cry or if i’m lending myself an air of 

grandeur. if the tinctures are really helping or if it’s a placebo effect. 

whether it matters one way or another. oh, i’m growing tired of it all. 

came to the realization that healing is endless & struck myself dumb. 

pictured the rest of my life an endless stretch of decisions & thought 

of tossing it all. thought of burning my journals. thought of drowning 

in the dying lake of the apartment complex. labeled myself overdramatic, 

manipulative, attention seeking. traced the labels back to their origins 

& doubled down. oh, this is all so self-indulgent. if i didn’t have insurance 

i’d die, but if i had anything better than state insurance i might not want to die. 

but of course i would. the lake’s too full of algae & bird shit to be worth 

drowning in anyway. i always thought lake superior would be nice, but it’s so 

cold this time of year. i’d try for summer, but all the birthdays, it’d be so 

selfish to cast a shadow over those. so maybe late spring. but who wants to die 

in spring, when the world is shaking itself awake & coming back to life? 

no, that doesn’t work either. my therapist said to me in our first session 

i’ve had clients who are suicidal as a default state & i was so flattered 

she thought i didn’t know that, wasn’t part of that subset of people, that i didn’t 

correct her. she’ll get it eventually, with or without my body being what guides her 

there. why rush to the point of understanding when it’s one that reflects so poorly?