By Eric Morago
is to admit to needing professional help—
then seek it out.
So I spend all afternoon obsessing,
combing over my HMO’s website
to find what is and is not covered.
And I’m starting to feel a little better
by this idea of unabashed honesty
between myself and a credentialed
stranger—a doctor, trained to listen
and not make me feel crazy
when I say things like:
my skin is a parade of exit doors
I open myself.
And for the first time in a while
the anxiety ballet in my stomach
takes an intermission—
that is until I’m on the phone
with an insurance rep requesting
authorization and he asks:
What is the problem?
The question comes down,
both expected and unexpected
like a guillotine blade—
fast, brutal, clean.
This is not the stranger I wanted—
not the one I’d prepared myself
for, the one who was supposed
to make me feel safe and maybe
that is why it is most important
I answer him.