Born with a disease, yet I wrestle which disease drives the other disease.
Growing up, my soul, wired after years of trying to figure out what was wrong with me, never knew what ailed its aching spirit. I only knew that I was in pain – sadness at the root of my being. Childhood years spent preoccupied with my distorted mirror image, always reflected on “why do I do what I do? Why is the moment so awkward? Why fat? Why no follow through? Why am I so afraid? Why do I always dream about being somebody else? Seven year olds should not be asking these questions. I did.
For years I believed that I was born bad – a seed that never developed right. A young person stammering their way into things, and saw the world from a different tree top. When I tried to follow, initiate some project, it always seemed to fail to my expectations. With each stilted end, the I “damaged” feelings emerged. Drugs seemed to make it all right.
So I spent my days, years, lifetime, searching for rightness. Death eventually knocked at my door, while I desperately chased normalcy. It was never found. A day finally came where the end was in clear sight. The winds, the sun, the earth and the seas exposed my heart ready and willing to be taken into their care. My parents called and bought me a plane ticket. With the temptation of money, I got on the plane from San Fransisco to New York. There in lies the end of a world, and the beginning of a new one.