I see my ceiling. I see my window. I see my dresser. I see him. I see my ceiling, I see my ceiling, I see my ceiling ...

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump, shriek, pull away. Don't touch me, never touch me. But it's a familiar hand, a kind hand. A hand to help, not to hurt. My mind plays tricks on me and I forget where I am. I see my ceiling, I see my ceiling, I see my ceiling ..

My bed. My room. My life. MY CHOICE. We stopped when I said stop, not like before, not like you. You didn't stop. Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever stop.

I can see here, but my mind is not here. My mind is back there. I lie here, naked, shaking. Can't stop shaking, and he asks if I would like a blanket, but I am not cold. Talk softly to me. Don't hold me too tight, it will frighten me, but don't push me away. I don't want to be alone. Don't sneak up behind me.

"It's me," he says. "It's Andy, it's me, you're here, with me, just me. I love you and everything is ok. Everything is ok. Everything is ok."

I sit in the bath and I wash, and wash and wash. My lips are glued together and I can't speak but it's ok, he says. He knows, and it's ok. Everything is ok.

I feel disconnected and lost. I remember why I started running. To get away from you.

Your life is no different. What was a few moments to you is a lifetime for me. I know you are hiding behind the corners in my mind and I know you will never completely leave. Sometimes I go months without seeing you, and then you sneak up on me wearing his face.

How dare you. You are not him, you are not here, you are not here. You force your way out of that little box I put you in and for a moment I see you, but then I see my window. I see my bed. I see my choices. I see my life. I see his eyes. I see my ceiling. I see my ceiling. I see my ceiling.