Texting Darkly

Through a childhood trauma, what may have been intended naturally as a generous and gregarious personality became solitary, indwelling and twisted.

Injury absorbed, then later, injury inflicted.

The Cycle of Sin.
I cling to Christ, terrified to let go.
That’s who I am.

The injury I inflicted was not to a random child, but to my brother.
I hit him in the head with a baseball bat.

I was ten. He was two.

I could not share my mother.

I sent the above, with minor edits, in a text to what amounts to a random stranger today. Up until then, I had only told three people.

It’s the dark secret, the mother wound, that defined my life.

I have no idea what prompted me to put the thought into the public space.

Perhaps it’s the chrysalis calling.