The Fugitive

I feel like a fugitive.
I've been on the run for so long now, I don't remember where it is I belong.
Running from my past, dodging my future, ignoring the person I'm turning into.
I just want to rest in peace at night. Even at night, the things that make me who I am haunt me in my dreams.

Perhaps I'm just lost in the middle of a post adolescent identity crisis. These are the years I'm supposed to be searching for who I am. But after everything that has happened, I fear my status on the wanted list is more serious than that. Instead of searching, I'm running away. I feel like I can't control the person I'm becoming.

Maybe this is just my fear of commitment talking. Or maybe this is where my fear of commitment came from. The chicken-verses-egg debate will get me nowhere. Instead, I've got to find an out. It's high time I preformed my disappearing act again. My friends say I "fall of the face of the planet." And it's true. I figuratively pack up and leave, and move on to new things. I show up somewhere else, start over. I can be whoever I want to be, and that alias allows me to hide from my past for that much longer.

I'm running. From the things that go bump in the night. From my past. From my future. From myself. Because I'm not quite ready to face everything. Not yet.