Now I See It

They're old patterns,
well worn, automatic,
my triggers. I know them.
Well. Through long years
I've felt them in my gut,
denied vociferously when accused,
seen them in hindsight,
felt normal with them
until I couldn't stand them,
loathed them, hated them,
swore they'd never reappear.
But they do. Even now.
Maybe I should feel hopeless,
but far from it. Recovery works,
even here. Yes, they're still triggers,
but the explosion's a popgun,
not a howitzer and it rarely fires.
And now, I feel them in situ,
watch them happen,
and at day's end review the day,
see the proof without remorse,
and consider a course correction.