A voice from the past

Pain from my past has been bubbling to the surface lately, making my world feel unsteady, making me wonder if I even know myself, making me doubt that I'll ever feel "normal" (though what is that, really?) I was going through some of my old journals tonight and found this. It says it all.

My inner child

That little blonde curly haired girl
who was me
but who I am not.

She left when I was four.
Where did she go?
Is she in purgatory somewhere,
serving penance for what a twisted sixteen-year-old did?
No, it's not dirty
I washed it today
it's just like sucking on a bottle
a baby bottle
Is she safe there
or continually being molested for all eternity?
Locked in a dark box
nowhere to hide
except from me.

But if I could find her
I would protect her
because no one else did
or could.

I could save her by rewriting her story
by writing me into it.
I would walk into that living room
and grab her away from him
and stop it all from ever happening.
I would embrace her
and stroke her hair
and tell her that everything was okay.
And she would still be naive
and a child
instead of gone.
She wouldn't even understand
the significance of my actions
or why I was there.
But I would.

Saving her is a nice thought
but would I truly want that?
Would I even exist
if she hadn't been crucified?

Maybe it has to be this way
Two fragments of one soul
one lost
and one found.