I am on the receiving end
of an emotional hierarchy
on the power dynamic of control
and it is based at the core foundation
of my childhood
rooted inside the deep seeded
fear of isolation and abuse.
I have come a long way since then.

Since the corner
of my shut closet
became a museum
for these guilt pangs
in my 7 year old stomach.

But the shouts of my parents
still haven't diminished
and neither have these pangs.

A constant reminder
I am closer to my childhood
than I am my progress.

So I have to take a step away
from all of these things
putting me back into
that dark closet
into the Eminem show soundtrack
on the 6th grade bus
crying because I didn't feel loved.

I don't want to go back
to not eating for weeks
or showering for a month
just so I could get the attention.

I never had it anyway
so why was I fighting for the nonexistent?
why am I fighting, still now
for the constant validation
and acknowledgment of existence.

I am still closer to my childhood
than I am my progress
and I keep stepping back into
people, place and things that put me there.

every friend and boyfriend
reminding me of my father or my mother
and every minute of isolation reminding me
that there is no lesson that I haven't been taught
from loneliness and inadequacy.

So I should be thankful
I am closer to my childhood than my recovery
because that's where it started,
and for me-
that's where it ends.

Somewhere between the closet space
and basement walls-
I am buried there.