Picking at wounds
As I progress in life, I find myself reflecting on the various flaws I’ve always exhibited.
This weird fixation I have on past memories, trying to fix things, bad moods causing restlessness.
In the moment it seems normal but as I look back it’s obvious how much of an issue it is.
It’s like there’s an open wound in my brain and I’m idly playing and picking at it with whatever I can.
Like somehow my self abuse has been transferred to mental instead of physical.
Lately, my hobbies have helped me avoid the dark corners of my idle mind.
But I can’t seem to understand the new perspectives doing so has unlocked.
I used to think that perhaps growing up I was only lied to, that past villains were victims.
Now that I’m even older, I’m starting to wonder if anyone’s telling the full truth.
I think about this now, in my early 20s, the dawn of life on my own, having made steps to some goals and accomplishing others.
Reliability, self-sufficiency, motivation, courage, all of these characteristics and accomplishments I finally have.
I’m not arrogant to say that it’s really that big of a deal, or that I’m even close to ever understanding things.
But life finally feels like it’s mine, no chaos, no chewing out for clothes, no time to do anything for anyone but me.
Selfish sounding, sure, but I love the fruits of labor.
I guess it never occurred to me that I always could’ve been lied to by both parties and at that point, why care?
If I’m truly going to grow and I truly want to let go of the past, then I need to do it for everything, not just my stupid internet drama, not just the mistakes I made and the way I hurt people in the past, but the things done to me too.
It’s hard, not picking at your wounds.
It’s hard because the pain is easier taken than the difficult task of steering your idle mind away from the sharp jagged edges of your bad memory shore. As the waves slumber beneath the tide-line and raise with a deafening static, the repeating sounds of things you think happened seem right there in the present, you aren’t near those rocks.
You aren’t even near the beach.
You aren’t even on the same planet as them, but in your heart, your soul and your mind you feel like you are.
That’s why it’s such an easy task and why it’s a deadly one.
At least now I’m acknowledging my own faults, I own up to it.
I was fucked up and did fucked up things, but I can’t keep living this way.
I gotta stop picking at wounds.