Scabs

When does it end? When does those wounds heal? When does the scars fade?
You know those scabs you get when you hurt yourself and the skin’s healing? It forms a hard layer, which is termed, scab. It’s a really ugly thing, wrinkly like a dried prune, color of old, dried blood. But from young I’ve always had the habit of picking and picking and picking at it till it hurts like nobody’s business or it bleeds. Most often it’s both.
Now I seriously wonder if I treat my emotions’ well being the same. Reopen the wounds, never letting the fresh wounds heal completely. I’ve read it so many times and yet it hurts, more than the first time, if it’s possible.
I think I’ve let the wound fester and fester and fester till it’s become gangrene. I wish I could cut it off. But how can I live without a heart? Yet, how can I continue living with a lie, a heart that someone has elbowed its way in, yet doesn’t know it? I wish with every might that I could oust them out. But how?
O mighty God how?
*screams of enragement*

There, I guess I can’t very well do the scream of enragement thing publicly seeing I’m in the office and working. Everybody’ll be rushing for the phone, to call the police.