I went to therapy again last night and
Oh look!
yet another way in which
I am fucked up.
{sigh}
How many more ways
am I going find?
I know I said I want to get better,
but I had no idea,
how many wounds there are,
how painful it is,
how long it would drag on,
this business of becoming whole.
So again, I pour the iodine of brutal honesty
on this new
old, crusted wound,
cleansing it of the infection of the past,
giving it air to let it heal.
I am weary;
there is no choice.
Once seen, the sickness cannot be ignored.
I need to just keep on:
keep cleansing,
keep doing the Good Work,
keep putting one foot in front of the other,
keep
hoping.
Because I know
the only way out
is through.
