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Projections

It was for at least three years that I could no longer project myself into other people’s minds.

When I finally escaped from that cell, strangers out on the street mistook me for a feral animal. I wasn’t confused about what I was, what I’d become.

Before he took over my life, I would assume different identities. I loved being other people. (This was before he broke the part of me that could control people from a distance.)

As I healed slowly over time I gained some of it back, but I’m not as sharp as I was. I haven’t told anyone what happened.

He left me for dead in the room that he built. My astral guides had long since given up on ever finding me. I was alone.

I could feel myself dissolve into the stars below me, before I came back to myself. The stars were always there, quietly watching from the periphery.

Even after you’ve escaped from him, you go on and continue escaping, now from everything else, including yourself.

One day I was skipping stones at the pond. I exhausted myself by willing one of the stones to extend its path, tracing a spiral of skips all the way to the center of the water. That’s when I knew I could bring it back.