2/11/2017, mid-day


I sat up straight in my chair, perfect posture. I had been slowly and steadily curing my own scoliosis. I knew it because I could feel it. Everyday I said, “my spine is straight” and God rewarded me by adjusting each vertebrae back into its linear place. I said it all day long, “my spine is straight” over and over and over again. As I drove to my clients’ houses, I changed the song on my playlist from light, airy ambient  with no vocals to dark, brooding male siren without a change in cognition and said out loud, “my spine is straight” with each beat.  I spread vegan tuna salad on crackers in my car, “my spine is straight.” I checked my reflection in a public bathroom, “my spine is straight.”  I would repeat it in my head all day long, even as I updated my clients treatment plans, “my spine is straight, my spine is straightening, my spine is straight, completely straight.” I sat up taller on their couches.


Every night I checked in my full length mirror to see that it was in fact, straighter. It leaned to the left a little naturally. Nothing too dramatic. My doctors have never been concerned, but it was incontrovertibly crooked, and now, thanks to my robust self esteem and devout prayer, was incontrovertibly straightening.  It was painless. It was steady, slow but moving.  It was deserved. Soon, I would be taller. My spine would be razor sharp.  I would no longer hunch or shrink as I walked. My spine would be straight. My spine is straightening. My spine is straight


 My ankles crossed, straw in hand, I began to give public gratitude. My eyes wandered up and stayed locked on the ceiling. “I just feel like, I don’t know, good. like nothing at all is bothering me. I feel untouched by everything, unbothered. I don’t feel the same drive to have things as I did. I feel, ummmm,” I paused, receiving a message, “like I’m supported by the universe. like,” I paused again, to understand the complete message, smile spreading across my face as I felt another vertebrae snap back into place effortlessly, “like God is really here, you know?”


That was rhetorical but I paused anyway. I didn’t need or care for her input at this point.  I had learned to read my therapist. I knew she wanted to say something. I sat up taller.  I pressed each side of my straw into my index finger and thumb, hard, in an effort to contain myself.


“God is really here,” I reiterated abruptly.


“Well, that’s good, Sarah. I’m happy,” my therapist smiled. “You have a firm commitment to your spirituality, and you seem to call on God of… “


“Yeah, “ I interrupted with elation, receiving another message.


“I feel like I was chosen.” I finally made eye contact.


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