As a child, survival meant becoming small, silent, erasing myself or breaking off pieces. Wanting was dangerous, get rid of it. Noise was dangerous, get rid of it. Presence was dangerous, get rid of it. Until nothing was left to prove I was there.
The hole in my chest is cavernous. It should be impossible for a human body to contain this much emptiness. The echoes created there ripple out between past and present, creating confusion between the then and the now. I survive with one foot nailed in the past.