Lessons From Therapy

The COVID-19 pandemic forced me to become more introspective, an act I struggle with enormously but have found deep clarity through practice, nonetheless. Introspection was helpful, but it forced me to confront my struggles with anxiety, depression, and OCD—struggles that predated the pandemic but were illuminated in light of it. I started going to therapy at school. Like introspection, therapy was insightful, but part of me also hated going. I despised unpacking my life every week, loathed dissecting my childhood, and deeply hated how much more of myself I could see. They say ignorance is bliss, and they would be right. It felt far easier to just not talk about myself.

These poems are a reflection of my time in therapy. Each of these three poems represents a different aspect of myself that I have learned over the last year. Although the process has been nothing but easy, I feel more at peace with the knowledge I have learned, no matter how much it may hurt.

c

i

p

h

e

r

deconstruct me

dismantle me

dissect me

pull me apart at my bones 

let the sinew tear 

as my ligaments rip

bit by bit

break me apart

until you crack my code.

solve me, Einstein,

since you have solved

everything else already.

Palette of Me

As a painter, I mix colors,

Hues of green, blue, orange, and yellow

Every light

          color 

          shadow

I know it all 

And how to make it be

As a person, you think you see me

You’ve woven a narrative

Devising me a devil,

Red with horns and fangs

So from the first stroke of my being,

I’m told I should change.

“Change your speech

your words

your actions

your self”

“Change until we like you

Change until you’re better

Change until you’re palatable

for the narrative we have spun,”

and Arachne they become.

I want them to say once

what was really on their mind:

“Change, child,

Until you are the —

we wished you were.”

guilty

do you know what healing tastes like?

metal.

they say healing is a process and 

healing comes in waves

what they don’t tell you about healing

is how much it hurts.

healing becomes a price,

and my being is currency.

do you know what anger tastes like?

fire.

burning in my chest, begging to escape

anger consumes me like fires

in a forest.

but I can’t feel angry— 

I can’t feel angry because then I would be wrong

and I can’t feel angry

because then I would be human

and everything would be wrong.

do you know what guilt tastes like?

me.

By Anjali Chanda

Vanderbilt student, writer, and lover of starry night skies.