I was a lost child, finding my solace in reading books about magical worlds, writing adventures in space, sitting among many notebooks, with only a small glowing lamp guarding me. With the dog always by my side, throwing rocks in the car windows to let her carry them again to me – only by accident; I was made of accidents and incidents. Made of stardust and fairy mist. Very often I looked up to Peter Pan, when the only way to keep hazy mornings filled with the scent of just baked bread and phloxes was to stay – forever – as a child. I wanted to stay the fae who can negate the passing time.
That of course ended when I was due school. Never finding a place, never interested in what other children were interested in, I became a punchbag, the odd one, the pariah among eight years old judges. Battles for safety replaced mist and bruises replaced magic. They eventually returned, during high school, when they were the only way to cope with blood.
I was a small teenager, always dressed in black, with black metal in headphones. Easy target for those who thought they are normal, better. Blood came and went, came again and covered my vision for most of the high school years. Mine. Theirs. And no adult supported. No adult said it was wrong. I was after all a child of an alcoholic, I was meant to fall in line or drop.
I dropped. I went to university. When my peers again tried to put me down, I became numb, focusing on knowledge, focusing on what makes me happy. I flew on wings of imagination, which was much better than any balm on a rejected heart. I left it wiser, better, and understood that being a fighter won’t mean always fighting with fists, teeth and legs.
Adult world made me tougher and everything that came after it… I thought it weakens me, I thought it cuts my wings. But it never did.
I still dream about magical worlds, write adventures in space, and bathe in the golden honey of fantasy.
They tried to change me. Wanted me to fall in line.
But however they tried, they failed.
I was fighting to not lose myself.
And I won.
And even if fears still consume me, and probably always will, I know they don’t define me. And I look at them with courage, even if they hurt.
I always have an army of me, keeping my forest uninhabited by terrors. Guarding my secrets and pouring cold water onto my bothered heart.