Hours of therapy, weeks late payment from my parent’s coat pockets.
Don’t see the nutritionist anymore but she loved to talk about a copay.
I used my gift card to buy a journal & now it sits next to my bed, empty
threat. How do I account for the time between meals? I missed the bus
on purpose, wanted a longer walk. Don’t think Mom trusts me anymore
but we both pretend. In the waiting room, I step backward onto the scale,
ask the nurse to give nothing away. Does the doctor remember me bone-light
at 16? After three hours on hold I give up. Buy every book about the body.
When I can’t fall asleep anxiety presses the blanket tighter, I count breaths
and resist praying, resist resisting. On the worst mornings, sweatshirts
don’t even feel right. In my car, garbage bags of jeans, tank tops, bras
that don’t fit & the reason I’ve kept them so long is embarrassing.
buzzing, the new therapist takes payment over Venmo.
Here’s to everything insurance doesn’t cover.
Kayla Simon is a May 2023 graduate from the University of Connecticut, where she majored in English with a concentration in creative writing and double minored in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Communication. Her work has previously been published in New Square, Grub Street, Long River Review, and Red Cedar Review. When she isn’t writing or reading, you can find her taking photos for her photography business or looking at the stars.