A rambling of thoughts.

One night last week, dressed to kill for a friend's birthday dinner, with the bottle of wine I had just picked up, I headed to this fancy BYOB hibachi joint to meet people that I enjoy spending time with. At dinner, we had many laughs along with plenty of food and saki. I paid my bill, and left a generous tip. Just a typical night out.

The temperature had dropped drastically in the few hours lost to the alcohol. As I sat warming up my car, a memory caught me off guard.

My eyes wandered across the street, where the shelter still stands....step back in time, 14 year old me. Forced roommates, scheduled meals, and showers, and sleep, and life...practice prison. Just enough credit on my account for some shampoo and a razor, purchased during a supervised walk to the convenience store. Physically fighting off unwanted advances from a girl twice my size. No privacy, no free will. Nasty girls with something to prove. I was never scared, but I didn't belong. I thought of my family in our middle class home, sitting around the table for dinner, maybe missing me...maybe forgetting.

Have I gotten somewhere or is this where I was headed regardless? Being so far past that experience that I barely noticed the old building in the first place.

By getting somewhere, I don't refer to anything of monetary value. That means nothing to me. I've had six figures in the bank, and I've had nothing. I can't equate my happiest times with either. To me, beyond survival, having or not having money has never had any bearing on my inner peace. Walking in the sun, holding onto the pinky finger of a big strong hand, or having coffee and hours of conversation with a close friend is worth so much more than anything I could buy.

But I did notice. Some emotion came over me. And that makes me angry about back then and all the things I've endured. I'd like to think my defense mechanisms are strong. I'd like to think I'M strong. Even if I succumb to those feelings for a second, I disappoint myself.

What didn't kill me fucked me up. The shelter and countless other traumatic experiences made me a person that can't sleep soundly, that is anxious and can't sit still, that thinks way more than I speak, that is nervous and strange in one on one conversation. I will drink too much and I won't trust.

I've always been this strong.