I love you. Good-bye.

Perhaps the psyche's,
Erica's psyche's,
committed
pathological
self-hatred
is actually profound
self-love
in disguise.
 
Or at least a loving sort
of self-preservation.
 
Look,
says Erica's psyche,
or part of it
(I don't know how that works.
I did not go to grad school.),
Look,
says whatever it is.
You hate yourself so much,
there's no way that anyone
could ever expect
you to pull off
anything.
 
Pressure's off!
Allelujuah.
 
Go,
Clean a refrigerator.
Or sell a tie-dyed t. shirt.
to a new exhausted mother.
 
Hell,
just give it away.

Hell,

if you miss a chunk of mildew

in the meat drawer,

or a grain of rice,

at this point

it will still

be a bonus.

An unlikely almost miracle.

 

You're a bit of a wimp

slash

an odd and complex emotional nutjob

slash

your Cool Friend Fern

once called you

A Magical Creature.

 

Everything's fine.

You're fine.

 

Go,

have a good time.

I love you.

Good-bye.

 

The End. 

When I was four years old
I loved myself so much
that I farted
so I would look way better than my sister
in this picture.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

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Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
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I do not know how to fulfill my enormous potential.
My Ego Throws Up When I Won't Believe It
Five Days of Creative Recovery

Deep Unyielding Depression, Part One
Deep Unyielding Depression, Part Two