3-7-06 Weed Killer

My pain is so old
and so deep
and so familiar
that is seems far more frightening to let it go
than to hold it tight.

It defines me
tells me who I am
what I should feel
how I should act.
It defines me.
Without it, who would I be?
I cannot fathom it.
So I slam my mind shut to possibilities.
and clutch my pain close to me
feed it
stroke it
shine it
nurture the hatred for those I believe caused it.
It is my trophy and my identity,
It is me.
What would I do without it?

But there is a voice in my head
that keeps nudging at my brain
deep inside, in a small dark corner
a glimmer of a thought whispering
“What if I let go?
What if I opened my fingers and let the pain slide away?
Who would I be if I was free of it?”

The pain is deep and dark
and thick with layers of time
It is a weed with dense strong roots
entangled with the essence of who I know myself to be.

The inside of me knows that there is nothing to gain
from old, worn out, used up pain
no matter how new and shiny I have tried to keep it.
It is of another place and another time
of people who are gone away
of a person I no longer am.
The process of letting go begins with this knowing.

It begins now.

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