Wherein I act emo

tomorrow a needle will numb the spot where infection brews under my skin. i will lay back. i will close my eyes. a scalpel will cut my skin and dig into my flesh and remove what is not wanted.

what is not right.

it's invasive. it's violent. it's happened to me six times before. i know it.

tomorrow i will feel it, right now i fear it.

i will embrace this fear-not because i am brave, but because i have no choice.

because self-pitying doesn't heal.

i can't just quit gluten, take my medicines, take vitamins, walk a couple of miles to and from work every day and be better.

i can't be better. i can't stop this from happening.

it happens again and again and again.

and i am tired. i am tired of venting.

i'm not sure if i want to hit publish. if i want to keep reliving it. if i want to remember.

if the internet is erased, maybe i will forget. i will forget and only remember when the knife touches my skin. sense memory will flood over me, as it does now. as i picture it now, as i feel it now. it's happening now and tomorrow and forever.

usually i end this by saying: it's okay, i have so many other wonderful things in my life.
and i do.

but right now i shake and i cry and i wish, for once, that it was fine.

that i was fine.