When will it End?

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.

 

 

 

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