When the swimmer splits his suit

It's funny how a single thing washes over me the feelings of regret, even when that regret is misguided, inappropriate, useless, not real. I pursue, at a minimal but pervasive level, a subconscious "slicefest" against myself, deepening as I don't address its violent tendencies and subliminal aggression. It is what makes me want to write. It is what makes me want to open all the windows on my psyche and air the place out. Abandon the aggression and cutting, the judgements and poor treatment. But I have to wake up and see it first. There is always a sour, painful feeling first. I look at it and ask myself "What is that about?" then I begin to unravel the half truths and blatant lies that are the food for my discontent and malice. It is what makes me miserable, what digs at me and suggests that I am no good. It has always been a staple of my life, and not in a good way. My perspective is that I am not that messed up individual, that worthless person that those messages suggest. I just have to be vigilant in this moment to challenge them and deny them the air they need to survive. It is not for the rest of my life that I answer but for right now. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? I may wake up free of the whole mess of it all. Until then, there is right now and I say "NO" to the madness....