I used to dread going through old journals, as it seemed to me i was spinning my wheels in the same place, the trenches were just deeper. Now, i see real progress. I’ve finally come so far that it’s not only okay to look back on where i’ve been, sometimes it’s even quite enjoyable. ~H~
So, it’s clear to me that i’m gonna need to force this one out. Meh, it’s okay. Sometimes i’ve gotta drag out the first bits before it begins to flow. Sometimes the whole thing is pure straining effort, but not as often anymore.
(Did that sound like i’m constipated to you? Because i just read it and snarfled.)
The words aren’t so much stuck as i am maybe holding them back. I’m afraid to tell you this next bit. Not because it’s painful, or embarrassing, or ugly, or anything else like that. It’s because it’s good, and i’m afraid of good.
I’m afraid it’s a fluke.
I’m afraid i don’t deserve it.
I’m afraid someone will come and take it away from me.
I’m afraid it’s not real.
I’m afraid it won’t last, that something terrible will surely follow.
I’m certain i’m not the only one who struggles with good…
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