I need to count the number of times I’ve used the phrase “Tomorrow is another day.” I keep hoping that each day will bring some magic change inside me, that somehow I’ll manage to snap out of it, and somehow all the things broken inside my soul will have mended themselves.

Physiologically, this makes no sense. If you break a bone and fail to set it, it’s not going to miraculously reknit itself. Scar tissue weakens the structure of organs, and while most people are focused on the scar tissue that forms on their skin, applying various products of dubious efficacy to get rid of them, there’s really nothing you can do about scars in your heart, your liver, your lungs, your brain.

In the end, all modern medicine can do is delay the inevitable. And if you keep poisoning yourself with alcohol, nicotine, and/or McDonald’s, no amount of medicine can protect you from their effects.

We have not yet gotten to the point where we can perform some kind of imaging study of the brain to confirm psychiatric diagnoses. While we can see scars in the brain, we can’t see scars in the psyche. And even if we could, could we really do anything about it?

Are there simply wounds that won’t heal? Or at least injuries that are irreversible? Sometimes the best you can hope for is that the bleeding stops, maybe.

I’m a spiritual amputee, perhaps. Maybe it’s time to accept the fact that some modicum of normalcy is basically impossible for me at this point, and that I just need to get through this life accepting my significant emotional limitations.

Hope has never regenerated a limb. It’s probably even too much to ask that hope regenerate parts of my soul that have disintegrated over the last decade and a half.

Turn me over, I’m done on this side.

Random links: Famous last words