First, thanks to all who have been taking this journey with me, friends too numerous to mention--and family, of course. All the great e-mails I've received are not shown as comments here at the blog, regrettably. Know that if you do post here, the comment is automatcally forwarded to me by e-mail. By posting her others can enjoy your remarks as well. Now for today's poem:
Like a stiff current applied to the solar plexus
life fucks with us.
If you do not read psychology as a horoscope
of self-congratulation, you are ill.
Ask your pastor: "Suffering builds character;"
or your therapist: "Let's work through this."
Psychology encourages confessions
but prescribes defenses.
Better protect yourself.
Today the speaker achieves anger, an important prognostic sign in coming out of a depression. It's better to be angry than sad, because anger energizes and sadness paralyzes. Besides, anger feels better. Here the speaker draws a necessary boundary for self preservation, with a dose of cynicism towards easy explanations and cures those unfamiliar with mood disorders often blithely advise. In other words, screw Dr. Phil!