deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Checked Box
It’s not in my head.
You keep telling me, “The labs look great, the scans are clean. Maybe, it’s your brain that needs fixing. Maybe… you should try therapy.”
Try therapy? I’ve tried therapy.
I’ve worked through every last emotion until all that’s left is red rage, because there is nothing more to uncover. Nothing more to see than a doctor whose blinders have blinded me.
You make me question every question I ask. Make me wonder, maybe it is all in my head. Because if there was something really wrong, if it was really that bad, someone would’ve figured it out by now. Right? I mean, isn’t that the job of a doctor? To check all the boxes, tick them off, one by one, and send their patients home with nothing left?
Nothing left but broken pieces. Nothing left but breadcrumb traces of hope—hope that once felt like an ocean, and now sinks lower than the ground beneath my feet.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe some of this is in my head. But if I’m willing to even entertain that possibility, then you have to be willing to step outside your little checked box.
Because if you don’t, who will?
You keep telling me, “The labs look great, the scans are clean. Maybe, it’s your brain that needs fixing. Maybe… you should try therapy.”
Try therapy? I’ve tried therapy.
I’ve worked through every last emotion until all that’s left is red rage, because there is nothing more to uncover. Nothing more to see than a doctor whose blinders have blinded me.
You make me question every question I ask. Make me wonder, maybe it is all in my head. Because if there was something really wrong, if it was really that bad, someone would’ve figured it out by now. Right? I mean, isn’t that the job of a doctor? To check all the boxes, tick them off, one by one, and send their patients home with nothing left?
Nothing left but broken pieces. Nothing left but breadcrumb traces of hope—hope that once felt like an ocean, and now sinks lower than the ground beneath my feet.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe some of this is in my head. But if I’m willing to even entertain that possibility, then you have to be willing to step outside your little checked box.
Because if you don’t, who will?
Published 27th Nov 2024
Author's Note
I wrote this poem to double as a monologue. It is about fighting the doctors to take my chronic illnesses seriously. If anyone has experienced this, please know that you aren't alone
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 2
reads 86
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.
28th Nov 2024 7:28pm
I'm married to a doctor. Most of them are genuinely doing their best with what they've been taught.... BUT what they've been taught is just one way of understanding health and wellness. Once it gets beyond measurable physical stuff, they can be pretty useless! And that's so frustrating. You captured it well with this write.
I wish you luck in advocating for yourself... I hope you have opportunities to get multiple opinions until you find someone who will listen. Don't give up; you're worth it!
❤️k
I wish you luck in advocating for yourself... I hope you have opportunities to get multiple opinions until you find someone who will listen. Don't give up; you're worth it!
❤️k
29th Nov 2024 10:07pm
