It's Not What You Think

The full bottle shattered into a wet explosion on the industrial pavement, an inkblot sullying the perfect peace of my life.

The fears and doubt winning again.

The shame-blame game activated.

These instances seem to pepper the biographical landscape of my life with a heavy hand.

Those inkblots continue to form, blocking out the most important things, people and places in my life, *** inherent beauty and worth into it's maw.

I wonder where this addiction comes from. This cycle or pattern that slowly has taken over my life. That tells me I'm not enough, never have been, never will be.

I know it's not my thoughts - like heart beats, digestion, my thoughts simply are. Automatic and innocent.

What I'm guilty of is believing the thoughts. Letting them run the show. And I wonder what gross negligence, irresponsibility and powerlessness is this? What feeble-minded circus am I engaged in?

How could I.