By Ari Eastman, May 23, 2020, The Thought Catalog.
I reopened some wounds last night. I mean, not literally. Though I guess that wouldn’t be atypical. I do have a tendency to pick at scabs. I’ve scratched things off until they bleed. I’ve pushed the tweezers a little too far. I’ve never been good at knowing when to stop.
Last night, I dug up repressed memories. I took a shovel to all my layers of defense mechanisms and didn’t stop until I hit bone. I stopped making jokes. I looked at the hurt and let myself sit in it.
And it was fucking uncomfortable. I hated every second of it.
Healing is not just hot tea and bath bombs from LUSH. It’s not a slice (…or four) of pizza and the familiar comfort of....
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