125

125...

Is the amount deducted from my account,

an invoice is sent with almost 125 dollars paid,

it's what my trauma is worth, and don't get me wrong

I'm not complaining—never stingy.

The number just stayed with me for a bit,

not as an amount I do not care

and not caring isn't coming out of carelessness

but rather divine trust that money comes around again.

So 125 as an amount I do not care;

but as a number...

125 is the number of times I shut my intuition about something

my body knew but my brain just refused to acknowledge...

125 reasons why and a thousand more...

125 feelings and 125 ideas to kill someone

while making it look like an accident

(just a thought).

125 moments my skin crawled while my smile remained fixed.

125 times I convinced myself it was nothing.

125 nightmares disguised as normal days.

125 boundaries crossed while I stood frozen.

125 memories my mind tried to protect me from.

125 seconds of eternity that changed everything.

125 fragments of self scattered like broken glass.

125 attempts to piece myself back together.

125 prayers whispered into darkness.

125 breaths held until it hurt.

125 times I told myself "never again."

I don't remember how many times I have literally paid that 125

and received the same invoice,

a ritualistic transaction,

pain converted to currency,

memory translated to minutes.

I am not even sure that the hour I spend talking

is doing anything other than excavating

125 things I'd rather forget and keep hidden

in the hollow corridors of my memories,

disturbing dust that had finally settled,

opening doors better left locked.

Part of me is just doing it

so at least an effort is being made—

a ceremonial gesture toward healing,

a socially approved attempt at wholeness...

but I don't think it's working at all.

Perhaps healing isn't found in hourly increments,

or measured in dollars and cents.

Perhaps 125 is just an arbitrary number

trying to contain what cannot be contained,

define what defies definition,

resolve what may never be resolved.

Perhaps healing is found in forgetting rather that meticulously excavating memories that would rather be left untouched...

125 dollars.

The official price tag for what cannot be priced.

A transaction completed,

A receipt for the unreceiptable.

125.