Suffering

I know this isn’t me: this isn’t my natural state of being.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’ve been freely myself since I was around three.

A therapist could say I am depressed. They’d only be correct in that the weight of all of this has always compressed.

It is not a condition of my thinking, but rather that I’ve only partially acknowledged it’s existence.

The fact that I’ve been so dissatisfied with results around me has always been downplayed.

I couldn’t afford a real accounting.

It would have crushed me.

Turning now to more fully face these defecits requires feeling how painful it all is.

It requires allowing grieving and letting tears run with faith that someday they’ll flow clean.

This toxic memory of all the suppressed, repressed, and congested chemicals – they all have to leave.