“And what are your thoughts about that?”
I hear myself ask.
Awake, often. And now even in my dreams.
Week 5 of psych and I try to be open ended.
I ask, as I’d like to know how you construct reality,
How neurons, transmitters intersect with personality, world.
How your thoughts take form,
How you cope and communicate.
Tell me how your delusions manifest,
What the voices sound like, and say.
How you need to lose 15 more lbs.
How you managed to buy an apartment while manic.
I have my own ideas, of course.
I screen for specific illnesses,
Using judgement, criteria and boxes.
Play with dopamine, serotonin, electricity, big couches.
Your story however defies diagnostic manuals, treatment algorithms.
A here and a now, constructed.
Unique in colour, depth and degrees.
How little of this I know, how little we understand.
It’s now week 6 of psych and I try to be open ended.
The diagnoses, the treatments. Yes, are numbered,
But our lives and even our responses are infinite.
Such that open ended questions, don’t even seem to suffice.