if it's not one thing

I prepare myself for todays
therapy
session
by lying on the floor
and crying
for an hour.
the dog comes over
and licks my face.
I tell him thank you
and wipe
his slobber off my cheek.
once that's
out of my
system.
I write down my list of
grievances
of all those that have
done me wrong.
I need two sheets of standard
typing paper.
then I think, what
about me, have I caused
any of this
angst or grief,
have i unconsciously caused
this turmoil
that I've been caught
in.
impossible.
me? it has to be them.
I laugh. I know it's probably
at least half
of me, if not more.
as i pack up my
brain luggage, my heart
sheaves of paper,
my laundry list
of pain, i realize
that's what I need to get to,
the me in me,
and stop believing that
if its not one thing,
it's your
mother.