a fucking joke.
I am breaking. my bones, my heart strings, my pride, my dignity, my self-respect. broken.
Healing requires one to stop playing with old wounds. for the echoes to stop. Healing requires steps forward. Healing requires change.
I have plateaud. Stood still. Call it shock, call it fear, call it lack of motivation. Call it whatever the fuck you want but my feet are in the same exact position they were six months ago. Facing in the right direction but cemented down.
healing. maybe. if healing was stagnant of fearful.
I would rather things be ugly-busy- hard. I would rather be breaking dishes and kicking down doors, crying, screaming, pleading for help.
but I’m standing still.
poking my old wounds.