Some Thoughts

The thrill of independence, experienced for the first time was like a drug to me. From that day forward, for some time, my childhood was lived outside, away from rules and scrutiny and pressure.

Memories haunted me, and still do. But there, in that time, in that place, they did not torture me like they would later. Then, they were hauntings and ghosts, later they would become torturers and demons, imprisoning me in the deepest darkest recesses of my past.

But in those early, heady days of new found independence I was unaware of the impact the recent past would have on me, unaware of the madness lurking so close to the surface. Unaware too of how little I knew of light and dark and freedom and bondage, of madness and peace. And, most disturbing of all, how little I knew of myself. How ignorant I was of the damage, the internal divorce, the compartmentalization of everything. It took many more years of living before I would discover how young I was when I died.