I understood it after I walked out on her

The day I recognizing my therapist was a narcissist, and fired her was the day I healed from the trauma I brought to her feet: how could I stop being so susceptible to narcissists?

I understood it after I walked out on her.

“I don’t think its therapeutic for me to see you anymore.”

That’s probably been true

A time or two

Before

But in the flickering lamp

Of uncertainty

Her shadow was someone elses

Someone I recognized

And I realized

I’m cured

And the spell wore off

And the sun was out in London

And I didn’t need my phone to walk all the way to Waterloo

Because I live here now.

In this broken newness

I embed into the cracks

And fall through them

“Tell us about your experiences with the NHS” the Guardian asks

My experiences. I’m too tired to take the bait.

Nothing will change, I’m nearly 52.

The optimism has to stop sometime.

But in her folds I see that’s not true

Living in the laminations of Susanna’s

All of us stacked and nearly constituted

I can’t see another choice.

And I stand, and I leave.