I vacillated on the publish button. This is the story of the 17-year-old kid holed up in the dark, the 5-year-old in the hospital, and the Red Thread that ties them together. A journey through the 'Posterior Lie' of trauma to find the gold hidden in the mud.

Tonight is my 30th High School Reunion. I thought about going. I'm not. While I feel less animosity than I did for the 10th or the 20th, the invite—and the social media blitz from the class Instagram account—opened a trauma wound that hadn't fully healed. It was a May weekend in 1994. The Rangers had just beaten the Devils in triple overtime to stay alive in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. There was a gathering at a popular guy's house because his parents were away. It was the recipe for the dark side of youthful hijinks.

I sat with my coffee and journal this morning and was feeling iambic. At first I was afraid my iron was low, but the hemogleebinglobbinglobin all the while and it was then I realized I was straining a terrible pun way beyond its tensile strength (you tensile! Fork you!)... but I digress... my puns are anemic but my verse was iambic, ish, and I danced the pentameter a tad but lost my rhythm on a step or two, but I've always liked progressive beats and I'm enamored by J Dilla and his spicy thyme...

I hated coloring inside the lines, so I decided to make my own. As soon as that sentence entered my head, I knew it was important. I knew it was more than the sum of its words’ meanings.

How many fields have fallen fallow from failure to follow A path that seemed to far For fear of finding my self Forgetting I'm found?

A very sick, cruel, sadistic, manipulatively maladjusted sociopath is punishing the half of the country who haven't sold their souls to him. The Democrats refused to allow him to strip working-class people of food stamps and healthcare. Surprisingly, they held their ground as he and his minions kept the government closed—among other things—to stave off a vote to release files that could further prove his reprehensible actions. Now he’s making everyone suffer. Just like the abusive husband or father: “You made me do this.” It is textbook abuse. He will continue to destroy, to dismantle, and cover what remains with the gaudy, diamond-encrusted gold to show his opulence as millions lose food stamps and health insurance. Let them eat McDonald’s.

Dear Donald, May I call you Donald? You've made it quite clear that you would like to win a Nobel Peace Prize before you die... and let's face it, brother, you're not looking very good. It's becoming increasingly clear that you're not the one pulling the strings anymore on Pennsylvania Avenue. You seem to have outsourced that to the Hobgoblin and other psychopaths.

40+ years of surrendering in advance. 40+ years of self-deprecation as self-defense. 40+ years of believing what they tell me so that they'll like me. 40+ years of wearing a mask that never let me fully breathe.

I never felt like I belonged in that town. Leaving it is one of my personal triumphs. But it still lives in my head... The bullying, the classism, the snobbery, the racism... It all formed me, for better or for worse. It gave me a conviction. Make no mistake, there were and still are good people there. Maybe that's why I'll never write it off.

What is a year? 365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months, a spiral journey around a star around a black hole around infinity?