Chapter 1 of many

            I was guilty of having something at my fingertips, only to let it disembark across the sea, across the horizon. Treasures have a tendency to sail, as winds have a tendency to blow. The key is not resigning ourselves to the 'such is life' mantra.

No amount of internal dialogue was going to solve these circulating problems, most of which were rather trivial issues in the world most people live in, but for some odd reason were causing major problems in mine. 

A person id once known was quite wise in issueing me with several ethical themes to try and complete my circular behaviour. I always felt that i was missing something that completed the circle. Never sure whether it was one thing or several, i would regularly spend days trying to conclude which little pieces of the puzzle were missing. It always turned out to be centred around this replacement i was searching for. Places id been and people id met all didn't matter when i imagined my circle being completed with the missing radial. 

One morning late in June, just after id turned 5, my father entered my bedroom with his hand on his belt. Nothing about the movements of the man were overly violent, and nothing about his rants indicated anything that would seem suspicious of a violent tenure, but once a day he removed his belt and hit me once for every year i was old. It was this reason that birthdays seemed an annoyance to me. I cried for several minutes, and then continued on with my day. I hardly spoke to people. I spent most of my time playing with a small camera i had found in my mothers box of belongings. Something about freezing moments of goodness seemed to offset the dark cloud forever following me after i woke up. I sat in the corner and looked at several of the pictures i had taken the day before; a bee, a sunset, some people playing on the swings down the road. Trivial things apparently.

They only mattered to me.

How i became the person i am now is a mystery. I hadnt truelly spoken to anyone since the day i found out the truth about my mother. 15 years without a word. What was communication when it had no meaning? Meaningless words...

This is a story of how i came to talk again.