screwed, unglued and tattooed...

every day was hard for him to get through without an attack. his vision would narrow and his head would stand and the thoughts would stray off like balls of fire, each object and decision resembling "swooosh!"
OK, I'M AT THE SUBWAY STATION. WHERE AM I GOING? WHY DID I COME HERE?
often he would turn and go straight back home. home was safe for him from the eyes of passer-by's, cold hearts and shady lies. and he would think, "oh why? why does one lie?" and he would get lost in memories of the abuse. the physical, the mental and the sexual.
and he would feel his father's hand smack down hard on his temple. and he would remember the stairwell in his sister's apartment in the projects. and how his head whirled that evening. only cost him a fractured skull and a fractured nose...and many bruises...oh, and the strangulation marks around his neck. and then he laughs quickly and thinks, 'oh yeah! who could forget that one?'
SHOULD I JUST TELL THEM I WENT TO THE CLINIC? OR SHOULD I BE HONEST? THERE'S NO QUESTION THAT I WILL BE HONEST BUT IF THERE IS PROBLEM WITH HONESTY, TELL ME NOW SO I KNOW HOW YOU STAND.
but he would never really say all that unless he was provoked into frustration and panic. and he felt bringing it up would imply 'pity case'. 'cause it is sad, man. sad man. that's sad, man. and now he remembers to never cry too hard because it scares people away...they put on their brakes on when he speeds up, they speed up when he slows down...and for a while that carousel goes around... because after a long while it becomes more tragic and almost....pointless... because he has a new inspiration to live and it's called love... and it's not any kind he's ever seen before... and it's desperate and longing and exhilarating and strong and funny and happy and thinking and challenging and driving and laughing and crying and feeling...so powerful. oh, and beautiful... but then he remembers that it is fate that his love would be far far away... and he feels heat... and his vision spasms slightly...and he stares down at the sidewalk as he walks along trying to avoid eye contact with that stranger...that fucking bitch from the cafe...that stupid guy from the market, that asshole(s) he stupidly wasted time with a long time ago... the smug looks on their faces look just as pathetic as his mind...he knows that blaming everyone else would be denying a lot of his past and he nods to it as to acknowledge it...but he maintains pride and dignity behind his scars. he continued not to try to understand people...the ones around him got distracted long ago....and some were frightened. and he sighs a heavy breath and raises his eyebrows. 'this life' he thinks in a kind of golly-jee way. he breaths in air as he feels eyes around him. he lets out a heavy sigh of relief. caring eyes. he thanks a god for people who care.