By Saviabella

Pain from my past has been bubbling to the surface lately, making my world feel unsteady, making me wonder if I even know myself, making me doubt that I’ll ever feel “normal” (though what is that, really?) I was going through some of my old journals tonight and found this. It says it all.

My inner child

That little blonde curly haired girl
who was me
but who I am not.

She left when I was four.
Where did she go?
Is she in purgatory somewhere,
serving penance for what a twisted sixteen-year-old did?
No, it’s not dirty
I washed it today
it’s just like sucking on a bottle
a baby bottle
Is she safe there
or continually being molested for all eternity?
Locked in a dark box
nowhere to hide
except from me.

But if I could find her
I would protect her
because no one else did
or could.

I could save her by rewriting her story
by writing me into it.
I would walk into that living room
and grab her away from him
and stop it all from ever happening.
I would embrace her
and stroke her hair
and tell her that everything was okay.
And she would still be naive
and a child
instead of gone.
She wouldn’t even understand
the significance of my actions
or why I was there.
But I would.

Saving her is a nice thought
but would I truly want that?
Would I even exist
if she hadn’t been crucified?

Maybe it has to be this way
Two fragments of one soul
one lost
and one found.
Originally published on March 24, 2006 at Saviabella