To regain what was taken

How can I retrieve the pieces of my mind and soul I so fearfully scattered as a boy?

There is a name and a face and a reflection- and somewhere within I'm sure it MUST be me- yes? Of course..and yet, not so sure. It may be fear. Maybe it's my mind protecting itself. But that hasn't worked.. and it won't. Only by facing these demons may I potentially gain.. anything. I've run all my life. When I finally escaped that house, that place of perversions so grotesque that to put them to words here would likely offend any notion of humanity. I ran, and I ran so far. Like many times. But it wasn't far enough. So I went farther, in all directions. My Soul one way, my Will another, and the balance of each lost and forgotten. I cloaked myself in anger, in wrath and fury. I armed myself with a hair trigger temper, rigging bridges to burn and ensuring none could know me, none could touch me. For some time it was fuel. I moved forward with angry, distorted purpose. I was powerful, I felt powerful. I felt that though I'd been so hurt, said pain brought me an anger only a life of tortures and perversions could give, and thus, it made me something else. A little human and a little I'm not sure. I lied to myself, I said it was strength. But how can one find himself buried under an entire mountain, and look to his fellow and say "Because the stone rests atop me, clearly; it is held up."

It didn't last. Eventually anger gave way to sorrow. Sorrow gave way to fear. I started to see a young boy in my mind who was frightened and enraged. He wore my face. At first I cursed him. How weak, how pathetic I must be to even consider empathy to my younger self. All the failed escapes, all the.. everything. The abuses. I was weak, and then, one day, I hit back and I fucking ran. Which must mean that now, I am ten feet tall, no? Ugh.

But the hurt of that young kid- of me- this weird, almost separate(as my conscience would have liked me to believe) 'version' of me, as a kid.. he needed help. He cried. He sobbed. And sometimes if I listened, such cries could almost have been said to come from me. But no one was allowed to know that. I run again. And again. Thousands of kilometers. How many cities, provinces? How many states?? Even countries? Never far enough, never fast enough. And now? I've run again. I've stayed.. longer than ever. I am tired. I am thinking in many ways different than those years. Sometimes kinder. Sometimes defeated. But never without anger.. And what a poison that is. A young man, his hair already graying because of the sins of his progenitors. What madness robbed me of who I am. Why can I not accept? I tell myself I have let things go, but have they let ME go? Never. I just want to find myself again. If I ever existed. I wish I could forgive myself for being powerless. God, I wish I wasn't so broken.

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