Thus begins another year and
soon I will have my second-year anniversary of admission,
and I'm still at that same treatment clinic
for residential in-patient psychiatric care.

I've spent more money in those months
than I believe I had done in the whole of my adult life and career.
I don't regret the treatment,
but my stomach still drops at the thought of the total sum,
paid out one month at a time.

Just finished consolidating the cash reserves I have,
which includes shutting down accounts at a bank
where I was a customer for at least thirty years ...
having relocated to a part of the country
where that bank has no branch locations.
I kept that account as a nest egg, earning interest.
It was time to sacrifice the funds in that account
towards the payment of my treatment bills.
So, I had to travel out of state to get the cash
and close the accounts.
Just deposited the cashier's checks at my current bank this week.

My clinical team is pleased with my treatment so far and they find
that my recent work is productive.
Which means that it hurts like hell.
I'm sitting here trying not to cry
after getting out of my most recent billable hour of therapy.
I hate it when it hurts, I really do.