The Opposite of Running

I’ve been obsessed with safety, the idea of being and feeling safe all my life. Safety is the very opposite of being afraid, it’s the opposite of running. Feeling safe at home, at school, but most importantly in my own skin. I imagine it’s like breathing very slowly, calm like the dark silky surface of a garden pond. Not a single ripple, not a sound. But my stomach is always in knots, my breathing rapid. There is always hesitation, a slight tremor in my voice, like it’s about to break but never does. He’s shy, she says and they nod and smile. Being shy can be cute when you’re a kid. Everyone likes a polite young man. You’ve raised him well, he’s come a long way. But I’m keys jangling on a key chain, I’m coins rattling in someone’s pocket. I sleep with my fists and jaws clenched tight. I feel vulnerable, I feel like prey. I still act like a victim, I never liked the term survivor anyway. To be a survivor means to have survived, to have risen above it all, to forgive and forget. To move on. But what if I can’t?

A Safe Place

There's a place far away where every day is a fresh beginning, an unwritten page, blinding white sheets drying in the sun. Houses far apart, homes scattered like toys on a child's bedroom floor. I can hear the wind, feel it on my face, it's whispering gently in my ear, telling me you'll be safe here. If I listen carefully, hold my breath for just a moment, I can hear things grow, new life breaking the earth's surface. It's always spring in this place, where sleeping trees wake to stretch their stiff branches, reach for the pale sunlight and come to life. It's a magic trick that never ends. A miracle I can believe in.

There's room to breathe, play and roam. I'm the boy exploring while Mother Nature keeps a watchful eye on her young, making sure we're safe from them and the evils of this world. The quiet is a soft blanket draped around my shoulders, it feels like being held, comforted by a close friend. The way a mother sings her child to sleep, I'm warm, protected in her arms. Fresh air in my lungs, strong bones, at home in my body and the wide open space around me. Running 'til my legs get tired, there's nothing blocking my way, no towering buildings stealing my sunlight. I've been given all the time in the world to think, listen and learn. This is my healing place, my fantasy. Please, can I stay here?