The truth hurts. No matter what angle you look at it from, when you finally wade through all the subterfuge your able mind has spun, and come face to face with it, naked, nothing left to hide behind, it shocks you. Makes you question your motives. Makes you look at your life and wonder at the choices you've made. Marginal fears that you thought were so far behind you as to be forgotten... but never having been laid to rest, they now come back to haunt you. Surely healed scar tissue cannot bleed?? How do I make it stop? Those feelings that overwhelmed me once before, rapaciously grabbing at me, insistent on dragging me into the void again. The recognition of the humiliation of reverting to type, of falling victim to the same pattern is scant consolation as the wound oozes with impunity.