"Couples Therapy"

Every Thursday I go to couples therapy with my depression. He whispers in my ears to stay in bed for another day, presses his palm to my chest afraid I'm going to escape the covers. After I scrape myself out of the shower I still smell like him. Like midnight panic attacks, like first in basis with CBS pharmacist, like I'm not hungry I already had a Rice Krispies treat today. Our sessions with our therapists are 50 minutes. We spent that time restating the same issues to her. We've been on again, off gain since high school, but this time it has been a solid year that got to me into getting serious.
She asks about my appetite. No, I haven't been eating but he likes me skinny, it makes it easier for him to be big spoon, it's like I disappear in him, like his body swallows mine. She asks if I have done anything with my friends lately. Not in a while, we usually stay-in. My friends aren't that thrilled when we are out together. That's what happens when you've been with someone so long. She asks if anything has changed since I started with the Zoloft. He digs his nails into the chair, grates his teeth, she asks me again. He gets jealous, but Zoloft treats me well.Takes me to breakfast in the morning, feeds me French toast. He got mad though; something like cheating on him, threatening to take out the scissors so I threatened to see Zoloft even more; all of them. Allat once; I almost did.
She asks if that was the night took me to the health center. "Yeah, but it was just one time." And the nurse said no visitors, takes Zoloft away from me, so we got to spend some quality time as a couple again. Our therapist thinks I'm only with him because my father called mother a whore, or because I still sometimes wish I were straight or because I have never had a serious love life. She doesn't understand this is the most serious relationship I have ever had. She says time's up, come back next week. He mutters, “Fine." under my breath, slams the door on our way out. Our therapist said that there have been improvements over the past few weeks; that he and I would probably always be together, but that I'll be more independent soon.
Lately, I've started thinking more about that. Mornings when I wake up hungry. My body remembers how to live the matters on its own, feel its arm shrink from my waist for a few hours, so I can finish a poem. Watch, "Pats and Rick". Eat a sandwich; make the bed without crawling back in even when he says that without him I would be a guarded house, scraped clean, creaking and caving in. Sometimes I still think he's right, but last week I stepped on to the scale I gained three pounds. It's only three pounds but it's all me. It's all me.

By - Patrick Roche

While this poem doesn't apply to me it gave me chills. This guys interpretation of depression and the situation shows his talent and brings out my love for therapy.

Hope you enjoy
Hugs from Hayley