I Told My Therapist I Was…

“‘Tant poëte que je sois, je ne suis pas aussi dupe que vous voudriez le croire, et si vous me fatiguez trop souvent de vos precieuses pleurnicheries, je vous traiterai en femme sauvage, ou je vous jetterai par la fenêtre, comme une bouteille vide.’”
—Charles Baudelaire, ‘La Femme sauvage et la Petite-Maîtresse’

…the only thing that existed
She said this was a problem
I said it was a useful fiction
She said this was a problem

I instrumentally conceded it was a problem in a poem
She suggested a role-playing exercise
I threw her out the window
She read this poem

I sent it to her before our first session
She wrote me a poem
I said it was a useful fiction
She said to imagine people, not as naked, but as non-existent

I said this was unethical
She said it was a useful fiction
I threw her out this poem
She threw me out the window

I added this instrumentally to a poem
She said her non-existence was a useful fiction
I sent this poem to myself before our first session
She told me I was the only thing that existed

I read out a poem
She said this was absurd, delusional, schizophrenic
I said this was better than actually being so
She said, she said, “Go.”