Eyes closed, mind racing. Thoughts of my childhood, like running down 13th ave. with it’s littered curbs and cracked cement, on an especially hot and sticky afternoon in late July. I am 8 years old and wearing my favorite pink, white and black L.A. Gear sneakers.
My shoes hit the pavement in rhythmic bursts. My frail, young body, out of breath but not in the least bit tired. My long mousy brown hair flowing behind me, sweat pouring off of my neck, down my spine and gathering in a pool at my almost non-existent waist.
I’m running from something, it’s just not physical. I turn my head over my shoulder with every 5th step, half expecting to see someone chasing me. With each glance, I am somewhat disappointed to find the street empty behind me.
There has to be a reason for this gripping fear in my chest. It feels like icy cold fingers wrapped around my heart, squeezing gently, but firm enough to cause discomfort.I could run forever, but it will not cause this feeling to leave me. I finally stop, heaving almost to the point of vomiting.
The problem is me. The fear is in my mind.
Flash ahead 24 years. I am perfectly safe, yet feel as if the world is closing in on me. It is a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the years. It is a feeling I have become great at hiding. It is a feeling I would never let the world see.
All of my choices are affected. The way I live my daily life is evident of someone who was/is somewhat damaged. The question is… Aren’t we all somewhat damaged?
I could go on pretending that I am happy. That my life has taken the course I had always planned for it to take. I could go on pretending that my childhood did not damage me, that excessive drug use did not damage me, that choosing the wrong men did not damage me.
The fact is… It all did. It all took its toll.
Yet, I wake up every morning and I wrestle the devil inside of me to the ground. I dredge up the strength to force myself out of bed and smile. I live my life everyday by doing the right thing. It’s not always what I want, but I know it’s *right*.
Things could be so much worse. I could be a homeless, drug-addicted lunatic in the streets. Somehow, I found the courage to make it through all of that – why would I give up now when the race is not even halfway done?
Life…
Is funny sometimes, kids.
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