Sleep never comes easy. I don’t know if the headache is physical or emotional in nature. My thoughts cause more problems than they solve. I wish someone had understood me 14 years ago when it was going on. I wish I had known I should have told someone. Despite knowing better I still blame myself for the things I did and did not do when I was 5. The pressure I place on the character who lives in my early memories is beyond the expectations I hold for myself today. I wish that he recoiled from the situation I see as I flinch from any motion that bridges the gap in my brain between this little boy and myself. Imagining the different paths that would have been available to the boy in my memories if he had not been taken down the dark and twisted path chosen by someone older and stronger is painful. The marks left on me were not scars, but camouflage. Hiding my emotions from others and myself was a mistake. Is a mistake. Pain is the result, sometimes my own, sometimes for others. Writing is the outlet that hurts the least. I wish I had known that sooner.