I was a kid. Didn’t feel like one. Never felt like one.
I don’t really remember the details. Those days are a vague memory of a movie I didn’t enjoy, but was compelled to watch.
Something broke inside of me that day. Irrevocably. That much I do remember. I still hear the sound. I remember the shock. I remember that day as the day when I started to be what I am.
I’m probably wrong, because you come to be from a series of experiences, not just one defining moment. There’s no fixed dramatic structure in life.
That day, looking at the faces of my friends, on a sunny summer day, something ended, someone came to life.
Opened up my heart to the people I thought were closest to me; people I thought felt the same. Ended up being laughed at and ridiculed.
It kills. It maims. It scars.