been here forever it seems

It is profoundly blatant to reread words I wrote nearly 2 1/2 years ago and find them as current as today. I relive events over and over. And each time I do they are like new, fresh and raw and real. It is not just about telling any person, it is about not telling the person I don't tell in first place. It's indelible. I can't wash it off. I can't cut the strings because it is only an illusion whenever I do. I think the past is over and it reappears at the most inopportune time, in the most inconvenient, humiliating, and degrading ways.

I spent a huge part of my life trying to understand me as if knowing would set me free. It isn't that I dwell in the past, whining about what happened to me, and I know it seems that way. What happens is that there is this infinite pain that is ever present, that is just below the surface, and it comes through and leaks into my life. I wrote all my poetry in 1990's to now and a lot of them during times I thought I was doing really well, that I was creating a life and living. Confession was first written at one of better times. I thought then obesity was behind me, just a matter of time. I was losing weight, choosing health, and getting thin. How ironic.

I can't escape my past. I can't escape how I am. I wouldn't give a shit about the past if it didn't impact my actions today, It is as though I can fight to try and change things (like swishing a foam pillow into a different shape) and it is a lot of work and as long as I keep at, it seems like it's working. But then I let go, take a breath, relax, or get distracted, or I am taken aback, off-guard, and the old pillow is back.

I have kept cutting strings to my past all my life and whenever I look, they are still attached as though they grew back out of me.

For a long time, I thought knowing or understanding me would set me free. But I eventually I saw that it does not. Then I thought, just being truthful about reality and what I want and living freely, but it is not, or maybe I just cannot. Being blind to the pain, doesn't free it. Moments of reprieve do not seal it away.