Who do you specialize in treating, and can you use my pronouns?
What modalities do you practice? Will I hate it?
Do you take my insurance?
When will I be better? I need a specific date. Really. I’m not kidding.
Where will I put these pocketfuls of trauma when we’ve exhausted them?
Do I recycle them?
No, not the trash; they were each such terrible, personal gifts.
Why must I learn to stay in my body? It’s dark in there, haunted, and full of bad presents.
What if this persistence is just the price of never being good enough to rest?
What if I never know if my love was big enough to deserve them?
How can I ever say for certain that I was enough to deserve anything at all?
Does your office make reminder calls? When do we begin?