Do I forget, or do I refuse to remember?

It’s not that I can’t remember. It’s that I prefer not to remember, which means that I prefer not to remember what not remembering did to me the last time I did it.

How many times has our conscience firmly prompted us to ‘draw the line,’ and we showed up with an eraser?

To be alone with myself in the space of silence is horrifying, for I know with the utmost certainty that in that space I will hear the very things that I constantly use the clamor to drown out. And so the question becomes, how long can I keep up all the noise?

The worst denial of all is being in denial that we’re in denial in the first place. And I would wonder if that’s not exactly where most of us live out most of our lives.

The reason placing blame repeatedly fails to work is that I repeatedly place it on everyone else instead of where it actually belongs.