Finally, after four years, anguish (which filled the cavity of my character caused by shame) has slowly been reduced by the evaporation of time, to a degree of forgiveness and pieces of understanding of how the cataclysmic events of late June, 2008 had been roaring near the surface many times prior, and quietly patient as often. Like Pompeii, can they really claim themselves victims when they built their lives atop a volcano?
I always knew I was different and always reasoned that it was due to eccentricity and a helping of creativity.
In late June, 2008 my predictably unique life, one which resembles the repetitive lane crossover of Olympic speed skaters was defined. It wasn’t what it said that crushed me, but what it described, and how it behaved, and its odds of happiness and contributions to society and successful relationships and wealth. The hope I’d safely tucked away for this exact day became one more devastating example of my unimaginable ideas dissolving into folly. I knew that day that my pardon from a life-sentence of roller coasters wouldn’t arrive. And the cruelest understanding that I, like Pinocchio, would always be a puppet, out of my own control, and never, ever be “just a normal boy.”