i'm here to help you

my therapist

calls me on my phone,

my landline

of all places,

i don't remember

giving her that number.

only my

mother

and telemarketers call

me on that number.

yo,

i say, when i hear her

voice.

she's crying. hey, hey,

what's wrong?

settle down, tell me what's

going on.

i just broke up with my

boyfriend, she tells me.

i caught him lying and cheating,

he's been gaslighting

me for months.

he was so nice in the beginning,

flowers

and chocolates, treating me

to dinners,

and movies, the theater,

he even took me to see Cher

one week,

and Celine Dion

the next week. what man does

that?

he love bombed me for so long,

but now nothing.

he purposely leaves the seat

up every day

and rarely shaves,

so that now i have a red rash

all over my face.

and, get this,

i found a pair of woman's

underwear in my bed, and

they weren't mine.

i'm so depressed.

i need to borrow some of the books

you read when

you were going through it

with an evil person.

especially that one, Psychopath Free.

sure, sure, i tell her.

come on by

this weekend and i'll wheel

them out of the shed

in the wheel barrow.

bring your truck and i'll load

them on for you.

i've got everything from sociopaths,

narcissists, covert and overt,

borderlines, anorexia,

suicidal tendencies, bipolars

and all the other toxic

personality disorders, you name

it and i've dated one or the other

at some point.

lots to peruse.

thanks, she says. you're the best

patient i've ever had.

i've learned so much from you.

hey, no problem,

i'm here to help you.