On Telehealth, Therapists, & God | Nicole Jean Turner

Kamil Zubrzycki via Pexels

leaning into the uncertainty
    at some point becomes carelessly
        running towards harm in the sideways guise
of self help and growth. Admirable
is the weightless who carries nothing from the before
into the ever present now, no

there is no wisdom in the false prophet,
but enough mental wellness holistic nonsense
can convince even the most devoted
they should repent and spend and invest
in yourself or, what are you even worth?

I did not know shame before the unpinnable point of charge
I have spent thousands in therapy to track down. What I’m saying is
the timeline for what I’m told I lost and where I am
does not add up. I suspect much

like a True Crime podcast
the offending memory thief snuck in
and clipped my truths into scrapbook pieces,
tossed the remains after ransom-note-pasting letters
together to leave behind a threat in place of the truth

so I may never know what I really went through.
I have only the grief stained retellings
and even Goodwill throws out anything with stains.

the ghost of it haunts my neck and spine
Through back to back booked therapies
the DPT measures my lean and asks if I was injured
and I wish it were so simple that I could point
to the moment of impact which changed
the trajectory of my mindset and poise

but all of it is decoupage and fodder and Jesus’ business model,
I’ve heard there is Salvation after three easy payments;
I was drunk when a street Scientologist offered
an answer for any questions, all free after one video session, so I solicited

gospel. Is it endless, or a bad string of con artists
framing my nerves as fatal
capitalizing on gossip and catastrophizing
a ceaseless spiral if I don’t sip their snake oil?

I was fine before they told me I wasn’t.

Nic writes in cursive to hide the butchered spelling that would otherwise raise suspicion about their master’s degree in writing. Get to know their work on Poetry-Journal.com @njtpoet

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