By Alison Terjek
Text C to confirm
I can’t do this
alone.
Subscribe to waiting
room jitters, label them
anxiety.
They label anxiety
me when I ask
to wait
outside. At the picnic
table for an hour
I fold
then unfold the list
of meds they gave me
to research.
Label them options.
Tell myself this’ll be
temporary
amidst infinite foot
tapping, trembling.
Follow when
I’m called to answer
most questions with
nearly everyday.
Text YES to get a 30 day
supply. Then NO
to holidays
over stuffing, over
asking and too many
sides of stigma.
Remember to text YES
to renew. Text OK
to confirm
I’m safe. Take with
sunrise and breathe
deeply. Let
snow come on it’s own
terms. Swallow each
day whole.
No two hurt exactly
the same. Text HELP
if you relate.
Alison Terjek is a writer and mental health advocate living in Northwestern CT. She spends her weekends outdoors where she searches for peace and inspiration in the mountains. Her poetry has appeared in RiverSedge, Soundings East, The Healing Muse, Watershed Review, Peregrine, Causeway Lit, and elsewhere.