Kali Pezzi
I Treat My Postpartum Depression With Friends On Facetime
Self-diagnosed. I’m in the midst of an existential crisis.
I text crisis text line and they ask me if I have weekend plans.
I don’t. I can’t plan when my anxiety makes plans for me.
I can’t plan anything, not even enjoying a cup of coffee when my anxiety
tells me I’ll be dead. A friend says, “ugh you’re so dramatic.” I weigh myself
everyday. I finally weigh the same amount of grief I did at the beginning of the
pandemic. Low budget therapist Claire says, “go to your appointment
because at least if you die your hair will look good.” I find myself blinking at her.
My hairdresser tells me I need to go to story time and get a coffee.
I follow her advice. I tell my new therapist that my hairdresser made my
hair look good for my impending death. Even she can tell Claire is a low budget one.
My best friend Facetimes me. He reminds me how hard parenting is solo. He hears
my sons screams and screeches. He reaches into the void and plays the 1,000 the peek a boo
as I wail like a baby into his face on a screen. We agree that the worst thing society
ever did was split us in half.
Kali Pezzi earned her MFA in 2010 from Lesley University. She has been published in Gaslight Magazine, Boston Literary Magazine, Balancing the Tides, Tupelo Press 30/30 Project, Connotations Press, The Novice Writer, Newport Life, and The Fool’s World. Pezzi ran poetry workshops for a nonprofit in New York called “Emotions Matter.”