Silent Colleague

Freud is on my shoulder, his beard tickling my neck.

When I peer at him, my glasses slip and I can’t see clearly. He’s my friend, my confidante, my admirer.

I can conquer fear, his words dancing whispers in my head.

He says it’s okay. He says it’s normal.

I believe him. I know there’s much to learn.

He is reassuring with his degrees, he is wiser than me. He understands my fears.

They are the precise fears he’s studied. He’s educated. Experienced. He’s helped so many before me.

I feel lucky. Lucky to be alive.

I let him talk to me. I let him advise me. I let him.

No

His feet dangle and hover over my left breast. His loafers tap absently.

I can see the truth.

Conquer fear, he says.

He shows me the truth. He doesn’t sugar coat it. Tread softly no more.

I try. I try but my glasses fell off. I can’t see what I fear.

He urges me to try. He urges me to see. He urges me.

I’m trying. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.

No

I let him see me cry. I let him see me. I let him.

He shifts in the crook of my collarbone. I feel a small crack.

I ask him questions now. I ask questions.

He says it’s okay. He says it’s normal.

I don’t believe him. I know, I learned.

He coos and caresses with words. So many words.

I can’t be studied, he says.

I feel lucky? Lucky to be alive?

Lucky to feel this life.

No

It’s easy to ignore one voice when another sings.

Freud is on my shoulder, his beard tickling my neck.

When I peer at him, my contacts stay in place.

There are maggots crawling in his beard.