the aftermath of opening one's mind to the uglies inside...
sometimes I think the numb place was better
The piles are so big and messy
Sometimes it’s like someone turned the fan on full blast
and all my papers went flying around the room
all mixed up
slashing me with paper cuts.
Whirling, whirling.
Stop the fan!
Settle down.
Get control.
I cannot go on like this.
No.
Please help me.
What has taken over me?
I don’t know.
Every day I wake up and wonder
“Will I be OK today,
or a mess?”
Ruth Crilly McWeeney
New Tribes Mission, the 70s
written March 2011
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