I Tell My Therapist I Don’t Want To Die Today

Mike Monaghan
Mike Monaghan

“No, I don’t want to die,”

I tell her.

She clears her throat,
asks for clarification.

I try to explain.
My words seem stuck somewhere I can’t reach.
I sound sticky,
like I swallowed five marshmallows whole,
didn’t even stop to chew.

I try to tell her how I wanted to stop living.
Once,
back then.
Which is why I’m here,
I suppose.
My low has leveled out,
for now.
I try again.
No,
not die, exactly.
Just not be here.
Be in this body that requires so much ache.
A sickening difference that doesn’t make sense,
Something I have tried to explain
in conversations with different therapists,
Beautiful women with multiple degrees
hanging on porcelain walls.

“But I don’t want to die, today.”
I tell her.

“Why?”

And realize I don’t have a very good answer.
I want my disease
to show itself
in some sort of logical way.
But instead,
I just feel okay
when I feel okay.
It’s like she’s still wanting something.
And I’ve never known what it is.
So I start talking.
I tell her about my ex,
or Pop-Tarts,
My dead father,
Anything.
All of it.

Because I just don’t have a good enough answer.
I don’t have the right things to say. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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