Damaged Strength

Ten days in the redneck, hillbilly town I spent my teen years in. What the hell was I thinking?!I left the town 33 years ago. I’ve been back to visit a grand whopping total of three times, yes, roughly once each decade since my escape. Thirty years away… not nearly long enough.

I’m fearful of losing my marriage to this lousy town. I can clearly see and feel the roots of some of the strongest, most audacious and courageous elements of myself and how they were formed by living in this town. I can clearly see and feel the roots of some of the most painful, damaged parts of myself and my identity and how they were formed by living in this town. Both; in equal measure.

After thirty years, I’m still that angry eighteen-year-old grappling with the damage and grasping at the strength, trying marginally successfully to integrate the two extremes.

My original solution is still the best: Run like hell, and never look back!