I will always be this way; the bad wolf beckoning. I give in because I have to survive this way. It doesn’t seem like a choice. (All the shame comes rushing in: I do have choices.)
I feel so sick letting it run me over yet I don’t believe I have the power to stop it. (Guilt abounds: why am I continually weak, letting the bad wolf poison the good?)
And to that end, I see no point in living because I cannot live like this. It’s a miserable space to be—in my head. (I’m endlessly sorry, to everyone I’ve ever loved.)
It’s common for every struggle to feel permanent. But not everyone who struggles is stuck there forever.
I’m thinking of all those brilliant therapists out there who were once hardcore drug addicts, alcoholics, anorexics and self-harmers, and who now not only live free but help guide others to that same place.
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